The border of Misoria, tall silver gates, white banners fluttering like calm breaths, shimmered as if salvation in the snow light; but to Sirus and his vagabond companions, they might as well have been walls of iron.
Soon, two Misorian border guards stepped forward, faces stern, spears gleaming. To them, it smelled like trouble on the way.
"State your names," the lead guard barked.
Sirus, once the honoured Hero of the Astarkii Empire, now a fugitive from it, stepped forward. "We're refugees from the Astarkii Empire. We just… we need passage. Please—just let us in. Quickly."
One of the guard's eyes landed on Kian—the quiet boy pressed between Sirus and the others. Shadows clung faintly to Kian's fingertips, a side-effect of the dark magic he was born with. Not taught. Not chosen. Born with. The mark of non-humanity in the empire they had just fled.
"Darkborn," a guard hissed. "Non-person. Illegal." Spears crossed. "Leave him behind, and you may pass."
Kian stiffened, saying nothing, as he always did. He was trying to stand tall, but Sirus could feel the tremble in his spine. Their other companions crowded around—Serra arguing about fairness, questioning how it was his fault; Randolph unsheathing his sword, muttering about just slashing their way through; Yoshi calculating escape angles.
Behind them, the thunder of approaching hooves grew louder. Astarkii soldiers. They had minutes at best.
Sirus's heart pounded. They couldn't fight both sides. They couldn't run. The only way is to…is to abandon Kian.
The boy finally whispered, voice cracking, "Sirus… It's okay. I don't want you all to die just because of me."
Leave him?
Sirus looked at him—really looked. The barely-grown boy who had carried their food packs without complaint, healed their wounds with shaky magic, smiled awkwardly at their jokes, and never once used his dark-born power to harm them.
Leaving him?
No.
No way. Abandoning anyone, especially Kian, was out of the fucking question.
Sirus shut his eyes, tension tightening his jaw. And in that moment—somewhere between fear and fury—an idea hit him. A stupid one. A reckless one. But an idea.
Sirus exhaled once, sharp as the decision he made, then unsheathed his dagger.
"Si—Sirus?" Serra yelped.
Not answering her, Sirus looked at Kian.
"I'm sorry, Kian."
"Huh? What-"
He slashed his palm. Blood welled bright red.
Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Kian's chin, tilted it up, and—ignoring the boy's startled squeak—dragged his blood-slick thumb straight across the boy's forehead.
A bright, unmistakably ceremonial red mark.
The guards stiffened. But instead of speaking, they simply exchanged wide-eyed glances, flushed bright red, and — without another word — stepped aside, opening the gates in a fluster of awkward bows.
Sirus grabbed Kian's wrist and pulled him through before the Astarkii soldiers could appear on the ridge.
Only when the party reached a quiet courtyard did Kian finally touch his forehead with both hands, his face burning bright red.
"Si-Sirus! What did you just do!? Why did they let us through!?"
Before Sirus could answer, Yoshi threw his hands up and groaned, "Oh by ALL the stars — Sirus just performed the Misorian marriage-claim ritual!"
Kian blinked. "WHAT!?"
Serra burst out laughing.
Randolph choked on air.
Yoshi sighed, "feels like I've aged ten years in about a minute", then hesitantly explained, "It's a Misorian marriage ritual. The one who applies the red symbolically claims the other as well—spouse-property." He gestured helplessly at the two boys. "Usually, it's a man doing it to a woman, but, uh… exceptions exist."
Kian's ears turned a heroic shade of red. "Si-Sirus! DID YOU KNOW!?"
Sirus wiped the blood from his palm on his cloak. "Of course, I knew."
"THEN WHY—"
"It was the only loophole the guards would accept." Sirus shrugged, maddeningly calm. "Better married on paper than dead in a ditch."
Kian spluttered, "But I—I'm not even— I don't— We're both—!"
Sirus stepped closer, voice calm but firm. "You are my comrade. My responsibility. And I will not abandon you. If that means pretending to be your… husband…" He gave a helpless half-smile. "Then so be it."
Kian's heart executed a full somersault.
He absolutely hated that it did.
Serra elbowed him teasingly, "Careful, Kian. Keep blushing like that, and you will catch feelings."
Kian made a noise somewhere between a groan and a squeak.
Sirus, meanwhile, simply walked on ahead—steady, serious, and completely unaware of the chaos he had just ignited in Kian's chest.