Chapter 1. The World After Death
The early sunlight slipped through the gap of a curtain left half-drawn, spreading a soft, warm gleam across the still room. Pale golden beams stretched over the edge of the bed, brushing lightly against the gentle contours of the two people sleeping in silence.
The blanket had been pushed aside, covering only their waists and legs, leaving the scene unmistakably intimate. One of them with tousled, white-gold hair was lying face-down atop the other, while the other's arm rested loosely across his back.
The atmosphere in the room was strangely serene. The light skimmed along the sharp lines of their forms, laying bare a wordless closeness.
Juwel had no idea where he was; dizziness washed over him again and again like cold waves crashing into his body.
He felt as though he was brushing against that thin boundary between awakening and fog.
A scent he did not recognize drifted around him, unfamiliar enough to disturb his mind, yet somehow calming him in an inexplicable way.
Someone's cold fingers brushed against his skin.
An arm wrapped around his waist, touching the skin at his hip. The weight of it pulled his drifting mind back into the realm of the living.
Juwel's eyes flew open.
The room was bright with morning light. His gaze swept across everything, but inevitably settled on the face beneath him.
Simply because it was right there! Close, too close eyes closed in sleep. And that face was…
Corvos.
Just that split-second of recognition was enough for hatred and boiling fury to seize him whole.
His mind went blank, but his body moved before thought could intervene.
"Thou serpent."[1]
Juwel didn't hesitate. Rage guided his fist; before any explanation could be spoken, his punch crashed straight into the face of the man who had been the target of his hatred for so long.
Corvos awoke to a violent shock, vision dimming for a heartbeat, confusion flickering across his face at what had just happened.
But before he could even gather himself, another punch came harder accompanied by the grinding sound of clenched teeth.
With a resounding thud, Corvos's head snapped to the side.
Blood dripped from his nose onto the sheets; the state of his nose was unclear.
The force of the blow sent birds and rats outside scattering wildly, as though even they sensed the murderous aura radiating from the room.
Juwel's chest rose and fell sharply, showing how much fury he was holding back. He tightened his fist, eyes wide as if to catch every movement yet he did not strike again.
Because something was very, very wrong.
Gray? Or… silver?
Whatever the exact shade, it was strange.
Corvos was covering his mouth and nose to stop the bleeding, but Juwel yanked his hand away. Grabbing Corvos by the jaw, he forced him to lift his face.
Juwel frowned, suspicion glinting in his eyes as he stared at the man in front of him.
In his memory, Corvos had black eyes matching his hair. No disguise could ever change eye color at least not in any world without witches or miraculous sorcery, and Juwel firmly believed neither existed.
To be sure, Juwel's fingers twitched as if he meant to gouge the eye out but he stopped himself just in time. And the man didn't only have different-colored eyes; he even looked younger.
This… was not Corvos?
Another clear sign something was wrong: Juwel's hair now reached all the way to his waist. As he leaned slightly forward, the long strands slid down and brushed against Corvos's body.
But he couldn't think everything through clearly. His thoughts were tangled, his emotions chaotic, and his mind still fogged from waking up.
Looking at the man again, his cheek was swollen from the punch, his lip cut, blood still trickling from his nose, proof of just how much force Juwel had used despite barely waking.
Corvos studied Juwel calmly, eyes showing concern as if he were the one worried for Juwel instead of the injured party. He pushed himself up slightly, gently touching his bruised cheek. His expression remained composed, unpanicked every gesture seeming as though he wished not to alarm his lover further.
"My love, did you have a nightmare?" Corvos asked softly curious, tender, and far too natural, as though such endearment were ordinary between them.
Faced with someone who looked exactly like his enemy yet spoke with worry for him, Juwel stayed perfectly still, expression blank as a poker face, his eyes never leaving the figure before him.
Now he wasn't just unsettled he was genuinely confused.
Could it simply be someone who just happened to look like him? But if that were true… then who exactly was the man in front of him?
"Do you want to sleep a bit more?" Corvos kept acting concerned, no matter how obvious Juwel's irritation was.
A brief stillness settled between them.
Seeing his lover still unmoving, Corvos reached out, meaning to touch him, but Juwel swatted his hand away on instinct.
"Don't touch me."
His reaction was sharper than intended.
Whether this was him or not, Juwel refused to let anyone wearing the face of his enemy lay a hand on him.
Because of that clear rejection, the air between them turned strangely strained. While Corvos looked genuinely worried about his "beloved" suddenly behaving in such odd ways, Juwel kept his face unreadable.
He curled his fingers slightly an old habit whenever he concentrated. His intuition tugged at him, whispering something: that this man truly was "that bastard," or at the very least, that he needed more concrete proof before deciding whether this was really "that bastard" or not.
This feeling of familiarity it wasn't the face, not the voice, nothing so surface-level. It was something deeper, subtler.
Was Juwel familiar with Corvos? Not really.
But did he understand Corvos? Juwel believed he did. This was the extremely dangerous leader of the most infamous criminal cult in the world, a man who had expanded his church's influence across continents in just twenty years.
Corvos was vastly older meaning vastly more experienced, more knowledgeable, more powerful. Against such a monstrously advantageous opponent, Juwel had spent countless hours studying him, because he knew he would only ever get one fleeting chance. Miss it, and there might never be a second. Not once Corvos was prepared.
A heavy silence hung between them. Corvos saw his own reflection in Juwel's sharp blue eyes.
"You. Corvos, leader of the Church of the Wanderers?"
Juwel asked directly. Juwel's gaze was like a hawk's, watching every change in Corvos's expression.
"Corvos? Who the hell is that. I do not know that guy."
Corvos even rubbed his chin, acting as if he were digging through his memory, then let out an amused sound. "And the Church of the Wanderers? What kind of organization is that. The name sounds so cringe."
Then, unexpectedly, Juwel leaned forward just slightly, just enough to breach the safe distance and Corvos reacted.
The movement was tiny, almost invisible, but Juwel caught it. A subtle shift of the shoulder, the faintest retreat of weight yet all maintained within the veneer of relaxed normalcy.
But Juwel noticed immediately.
That was not how a normal person reacted in such a situation. They would have stiffened, pulled back more clearly, or simply frozen. But this man reacted like someone whose instincts were forged through countless battles.
Most of all, it was a defensive habit Juwel recognized well from their previous confrontation. Corvos never exposed his weak points to an enemy. And because he'd lived so long with enemies stalking him from every direction, he had developed unconscious self-defensive reflexes good for duels, but now a telltale flaw.
Juwel kept his expression neutral, but his gaze sharpened.
If it were just coincidence? No. Nothing involving Corvos was ever coincidence.
Swish.
He decided to test again. This time, he leaned in further, breaching every layer of safe distance.
"What's wrong, beloved?" Corvos smiled faintly, looking both puzzled and helpless.
And again he reacted the same way. A tiny defensive motion, but deliberate.
A second confirmation.
Juwel returned to his original position and closed his eyes for a heartbeat.
This was Corvos.
His enemy.
"Drop the act, Corvos. I know it's you."
His voice was calm yet frigid, a clean, merciless unmasking.
Corvos didn't look troubled by the accusation. His gaze remained fixed on Juwel's face.
He wiped the blood still trailing from his nose. But there was no anger, no resentment. He behaved as if Juwel's punch had been nothing more than a small, affectionate tap.
The atmosphere froze. Now it was Corvos's turn to study Juwel.
Realizing he could no longer overturn the situation, Corvos lowered his head slightly as though laughing. His expression remained gentle, but the nuance had changed entirely.
Still composed, but with something more worn in the corners of his eyes. A wandering breeze of worldliness. His faint smile now gave off an enigmatic warmth, almost as if he were quietly praising Juwel for recognizing him so quickly.
That stubborn serenity ignited Juwel's anger again. But before fury could drown reason and before violence reclaimed his hands, he saw Corvos open his eyes fully, tilt his head slightly, and glance downward.
A strange sensation surged up again. When Juwel looked down, he immediately felt a wave of something that could only be called shock racing through his whole body.
His night-robe had fallen open, exposing the bare skin underneath. His abdomen and every inch of his body were displayed without resistance. But worst of all, he was sitting on Corvos's hips in a position that was not only defenseless, but also carried an almost mocking sense of seduction.
Corvos's robe hung loosely on his body, the entire upper half exposed, so their skin was essentially pressed directly against each other.
"!"
Juwel clenched his teeth. A burn of humiliation flared up inside him like a rising fire. He grabbed the edge of his robe, hastily fastened the ties, and slipped off Corvos in one swift but graceful movement.
He turned his back to Corvos to fix his clothes.
In stark contrast to Juwel's flustered panic, Corvos slowly sat up once Juwel was no longer pinning him down. His silver-gray eyes followed Juwel's every movement, yet they held none of the amusement or mockery that Juwel had expected. He gathered his robe back over his body, moving neither hurriedly nor with the slightest hint of annoyance about what had just occurred.
Only then did Juwel notice the uncanny space around them. It was something he would have noticed from the very beginning if his mind had not been completely occupied by the presence of his enemy.
[1] An archaic noble insult, meaning "treacherous, venomous deceiver," used to condemn someone as dangerous and morally corrupt. = You bastard!