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Looking back on it, it had to have been a hideous error in judgment and, had anyone—especially Günter—realized the possibility before hand, steps would have been taken.
The candles dimmed threateningly in their sconces and room felt cold: as though ‘sad’ was sadder and ‘dark’ was darker when she came near. She hovered in The Royal Throne Room several meters away from Yuuri. The only relief he had was that his black uniform had long sleeves, keeping him warm.
Yuuri turned to look over his shoulder. Conrad was still standing behind him, lost was his enigmatic smile, and Wolfram was to his right.
The double black tore his eyes away from the sylph and glanced at his accidental fiancé when he heard the rattling of a sword in its sheath. Wolfram was, obviously, on his guard and doing his best to calm himself but doing a bad job of it.
As unnerved as he was, Yuuri tugged Wolfram’s hand into his, which got him an astounded look.
“It will be fine,” Yuuri assured him in a private, hushed tone.
He got back a non-committal hum, green eyes returning to the woman who appeared to be solid from the waist up and black, smoky webs moving in slow motion from the waist down.
No feet.
Absolutely no feet.
Yuuri remembered stories of ghosts having no feet. So, maybe, this wasn’t as strange after all—somewhere, this was…maybe…normal?
The double black put a hand to his head for a second. No, there was no way this could possibly be normal. One minute, they were all sitting down to dinner and the next, a guard reported—her—in here. At least, he thought it was a “her” by the long, black curtain of roughly cut hair hanging down and the small, pert breasts on the lithe body.
“Um…What is your name?” Yuuri asked, trying to start a conversation with her. She simply shook her head and continued to pace in a large circle, confused and looking for something she couldn’t name. “Can you understand me?” He looked to the side where Günter was standing. “Any idea, Günter? You’re the languages expert.”
He shook his head as The Great Sage entered with Shinou perched on his shoulder, standing no taller than an action figure, in Yuuri’s opinion. “She’s a sylph,” Murata explained, coming forward.
“We knew that much,” Wolfram shot back, sounding a little harsh. He got a squeeze on the hand as a reminder and the blond backed down.
Yuuri fought off a smile. Lately, he had come to understand Wolfram a little better. Tiny gestures between the two of them, especially if unseen by others, had the greatest impact on him. So, instead of raising palms and pleading pitifully—which usually ticked off the ex-prince even more, Yuuri would giving a meaningful look or a small nudge to get his point across.
Now was one of those times.
“I will not let her harm you,” Wolfram vowed in an undertone, his glare at her backing up his words.
“I know, Wolf. I know.”
Shinou and Murata turned to the air spirit, born from alchemy. Shinou began to speak, his tone and accent changing dramatically as the phrases tumbled out. The only word, if Yuuri could call it that, which he could make out was “kasyãḥ” and the sylph replied “Kilda” in an unearthly voice.
“It can speak,” Günter whispered to Gwendal, horrified.
Wolfram suppressed a shudder again.
“Okay, your name is ‘Kilda,’ I take it?” Murata said with a nod confirming it. Shinou’s interest grew. He continued to speak, but the sylph seemed to barely hear him, eyes roaming the room, searching.
“Shinou, could you please ask her why she’s here. I mean, what does she need?” Yuuri said, taking Wolfram’s hand a little more firmly and tugging him closer to the throne.
The blond sliced a look in his direction but, otherwise, said nothing. He just assumed that Yuuri was as nervous as he was and wanted to draw comfort from each other.
The Original King looked back at Kilda and rubbed his chin as he thought out loud, “Just the kind of thing I wanted to know, too. She shouldn’t have been able to leave the void between worlds. And, by the look of her, I think she’s just as surprised as we are.”
Shinou asked more questions. Again, he spoke in the choppy, ancient tongue of old but with more purpose, more emphasis. But, she didn’t appear to understand, cocking her head to the side. So, Yuuri guessed that Shinou wasn’t as proficient as he was pretending to be or his accent was totally foreign and unintelligible.
Losing interest, the air spirit sighed a sarcastic “vipra” and continued her graceful pacing.
Shinou crossed his arms against his chest and countered with a haughty “sunya.”
And that got the air spirit’s attention. She stopped, visibly darkened for a moment, and the room took on a whirling breeze.
Gwendal turned to Günter with a “You know what to do.” If necessary, they would have to step in with shields (and, from years of research, Günter understood far more magic than he ever let on—being able to combine his powers with Gwendal to boost the magic he had being one tactic).
But, could they defeat a sylph even with a chibi Shinou in the room?
“She’s been summoned to this world,” Shinou proclaimed, “but she’s not pleased about it. Kilda’s looking for a way back, I believe.”
“And she’s suddenly ticked at you!” Murata pointed out. Why did Shinou’s arrogance always cause problems?
“Well, maybe, something was misunderstood…in translation,” he admitted vaguely.
“What’s the issue?” Conrad asked.
Murata readjusted his glasses with a finger. “She’s beginning to sound desperate which is never good when dealing with this type of spirit. Sylphs who stay in the material world have a nasty habit of being trapped and enslaved by dark mages.”
“Those magic weavers,” Gwendal gruffed, “are the most despicable…using any force, good or bad, for their bidding…seeking power above all. Mother’s proclamation that their activities were not acceptable within the borders of Shin Makoku brought an end to most of their activities, though.”
“But not all,” Günter pointed out, his voice quivering as Kilda approached, suddenly taking great interest in him. “Some still practice their dark arts in the battlefield ruins of the von Voltaire lands.
“And we shoo them out, first chance every time,” Gwendal defended hotly as the spirit hovered a tight circle around Günter. “And…would you stop doing that!?” He narrowed his eyes at her as Günter took on a fearful look.
Too bad Kilda took that as a challenge. She gritted her grey teeth back in defiance.
A sharp-nailed hand reached out. The sylph snatched Günter, wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place. It happened so fast, all he could do was stare at her with wide, bulging eyes. She placed a frigid hand against his cheek, turning his face towards her. Kilda’s mouth found his, kissing him savagely and with great need. The adviser visibly struggled, arms flailing.
And, then, nothing.
The sylph seeped deeply into Günter’s body and his hair darkened, becoming salt and pepper. The room burst with shouts. No one knew what to do or how to save Günter.
Gwendal tried to take him firmly by the arm but a vicious shock sent him backwards. He stumbled, almost falling onto his ass.
“The Hell!” he cursed at her.
Flipping his long hair back, the handsome adviser seemed vastly amused and looked around the room with new eyes—dark silver-grey eyes. “Your name is Yuuri…” Günter-Kilda pointed out in a tone that was both male and female. “Conrad…Gwendal…” His eyes turned to Wolfram. “Lord Brat.”
A chuckle.
“Wha!” Wolfram said, leaning forward with a clinched fist.
“Wolf!” Yuuri barked, fearful for Wolfram’s safety. If Kilda could do this, who knew what else she was capable of?
“Now, everyone,” Günter-Kilda said, with an unnaturally pleased tone, “I think we can all come together now…and work to help me find a way back…” The accent was foreign and thick—totally alien for him. “Your word…a contact of words… You will give aid, yes?”
But it sounded like an order, not a question.
“Or what…?” Gwendal growled, needing to know the worst. If he did, he could prepare for it. That was a soldier’s way of thinking.
“Or…” There was a brief laugh as Günter’s arm extended itself in Wolfram’s direction, fingers spread. The fire wielder’s sword left the scabbard all on its own—flying, rotating, and then hovering before him. The tip pressed against his chest. “Golden hair gets it…and it will be your fault.” Günter’s fingers laced themselves together, as a thought occurred. “Perhaps, it would be for the best to end him this way…with honor.”
As the breeze picked up in the room, the sword slowly pushed its tip through Wolfram’s clothing. He could now feel its cruel sharpness against his skin. And, once he did, Wolfram tried to let go of Yuuri’s hand. He would not endanger his king. If necessary, he would walk forward, allowing the blade’s tip to pierce through his own body and save Yuuri. That would give his brothers time to retrieve their king.
Green eyes grew hard.
“Stop!” Yuuri ordered, standing from the throne with panic clearly written all over his face. He took the hilt of the sword with both hands and gripped it tightly—trying to stop what Kilda was doing. “I know you’re desperate, but…stop!”
“I should not take the king’s toy, eh?” she asked darkly. “I’m sure he would scream beautifully.”
Yuuri tried not to take offense, knowing that the spirit was only using Günter’s knowledge and language to convey meaning. But the concept was totally off. “He’s not my ‘toy’. He doesn’t belong to me.” But in saying that, in defending their relationship, he could also see Wolfram’s shoulders sag. And Yuuri knew that he had to tell the truth before everyone. Because, if he didn’t, Wolfram would still die—but in another way, a more important way. “…Not a toy…but he is…mine.”
“Lies…” Kilda chuckled. “Günter tells me so…” But, she released her magic on the sword and it fell uselessly into Yuuri’s hands.
The young king sighed with relief as he held the sword. This evening was getting worse and worse. “I promise you that we will help you find a way to get…home.” He decided that this was the way to phrase it. “But, in return, you promise that you won’t hurt any of us at all…especially like this.”
Yuuri turned and came face to face with Wolfram. He presented the sword with both hands as he’d been taught. Knights and soldiers always deserved the respect of having a sword “offered up.” Wolfram, in front of everyone assembled, should have that reverence.
The blond Mazoku bowed in return, taking it and whispering, “Thank you, Yuuri.” But from the dead tone, Yuuri knew that Wolfram had seen this as an act to appease the air spirit. Nothing more. With a metallic sound, the sword was smoothly placed back in its sheath and Wolfram straightened his shoulders a little too stiffly.
“You’re welcome, Wolf.”
Yuuri turned and casually slung an arm around Wolfram’s shoulder, surprising him. Green eyes widened impossibly.
“But what you didn’t understand was that…I didn’t lie,” Yuuri explained, head bowed slightly as his cheeks tinged. “Wolfram is mine because he decided to be…because he chose to trust me and to wait for me to grow up a little more.” He hugged Wolfram with one arm, head leaning against his for a second. “And, for that, I’m totally grateful.”
Wolfram glanced in Yuuri’s direction and then bowed his head, too, hiding the blush that was coming to him. He had neither expected nor prepared himself to be confessed to in such an open way.
But Yuuri was always like that.
“So, please…” he went on “I’m asking you, as the king, to trust me and to accept my word when I say that we will help you get home.”
Murata and Shinou, by this time, had moved to a more comfortable position by the closest door. With arms folded, Murata leaned against the wall and Shinou, by extension, leaned against his cheek, also with arms folded. Though, with the Original King, the posture seemed more arrogant than fitting.
“And no more translating for you,” Murata hissed to Shinou under his breath.
“Because I’m a little rusty?” He pouted slightly.
“No, because you totally suck.”
The candles dimmed threateningly in their sconces and room felt cold: as though ‘sad’ was sadder and ‘dark’ was darker when she came near. She hovered in The Royal Throne Room several meters away from Yuuri. The only relief he had was that his black uniform had long sleeves, keeping him warm.
Yuuri turned to look over his shoulder. Conrad was still standing behind him, lost was his enigmatic smile, and Wolfram was to his right.
The double black tore his eyes away from the sylph and glanced at his accidental fiancé when he heard the rattling of a sword in its sheath. Wolfram was, obviously, on his guard and doing his best to calm himself but doing a bad job of it.
As unnerved as he was, Yuuri tugged Wolfram’s hand into his, which got him an astounded look.
“It will be fine,” Yuuri assured him in a private, hushed tone.
He got back a non-committal hum, green eyes returning to the woman who appeared to be solid from the waist up and black, smoky webs moving in slow motion from the waist down.
No feet.
Absolutely no feet.
Yuuri remembered stories of ghosts having no feet. So, maybe, this wasn’t as strange after all—somewhere, this was…maybe…normal?
The double black put a hand to his head for a second. No, there was no way this could possibly be normal. One minute, they were all sitting down to dinner and the next, a guard reported—her—in here. At least, he thought it was a “her” by the long, black curtain of roughly cut hair hanging down and the small, pert breasts on the lithe body.
“Um…What is your name?” Yuuri asked, trying to start a conversation with her. She simply shook her head and continued to pace in a large circle, confused and looking for something she couldn’t name. “Can you understand me?” He looked to the side where Günter was standing. “Any idea, Günter? You’re the languages expert.”
He shook his head as The Great Sage entered with Shinou perched on his shoulder, standing no taller than an action figure, in Yuuri’s opinion. “She’s a sylph,” Murata explained, coming forward.
“We knew that much,” Wolfram shot back, sounding a little harsh. He got a squeeze on the hand as a reminder and the blond backed down.
Yuuri fought off a smile. Lately, he had come to understand Wolfram a little better. Tiny gestures between the two of them, especially if unseen by others, had the greatest impact on him. So, instead of raising palms and pleading pitifully—which usually ticked off the ex-prince even more, Yuuri would giving a meaningful look or a small nudge to get his point across.
Now was one of those times.
“I will not let her harm you,” Wolfram vowed in an undertone, his glare at her backing up his words.
“I know, Wolf. I know.”
Shinou and Murata turned to the air spirit, born from alchemy. Shinou began to speak, his tone and accent changing dramatically as the phrases tumbled out. The only word, if Yuuri could call it that, which he could make out was “kasyãḥ” and the sylph replied “Kilda” in an unearthly voice.
“It can speak,” Günter whispered to Gwendal, horrified.
Wolfram suppressed a shudder again.
“Okay, your name is ‘Kilda,’ I take it?” Murata said with a nod confirming it. Shinou’s interest grew. He continued to speak, but the sylph seemed to barely hear him, eyes roaming the room, searching.
“Shinou, could you please ask her why she’s here. I mean, what does she need?” Yuuri said, taking Wolfram’s hand a little more firmly and tugging him closer to the throne.
The blond sliced a look in his direction but, otherwise, said nothing. He just assumed that Yuuri was as nervous as he was and wanted to draw comfort from each other.
The Original King looked back at Kilda and rubbed his chin as he thought out loud, “Just the kind of thing I wanted to know, too. She shouldn’t have been able to leave the void between worlds. And, by the look of her, I think she’s just as surprised as we are.”
Shinou asked more questions. Again, he spoke in the choppy, ancient tongue of old but with more purpose, more emphasis. But, she didn’t appear to understand, cocking her head to the side. So, Yuuri guessed that Shinou wasn’t as proficient as he was pretending to be or his accent was totally foreign and unintelligible.
Losing interest, the air spirit sighed a sarcastic “vipra” and continued her graceful pacing.
Shinou crossed his arms against his chest and countered with a haughty “sunya.”
And that got the air spirit’s attention. She stopped, visibly darkened for a moment, and the room took on a whirling breeze.
Gwendal turned to Günter with a “You know what to do.” If necessary, they would have to step in with shields (and, from years of research, Günter understood far more magic than he ever let on—being able to combine his powers with Gwendal to boost the magic he had being one tactic).
But, could they defeat a sylph even with a chibi Shinou in the room?
“She’s been summoned to this world,” Shinou proclaimed, “but she’s not pleased about it. Kilda’s looking for a way back, I believe.”
“And she’s suddenly ticked at you!” Murata pointed out. Why did Shinou’s arrogance always cause problems?
“Well, maybe, something was misunderstood…in translation,” he admitted vaguely.
“What’s the issue?” Conrad asked.
Murata readjusted his glasses with a finger. “She’s beginning to sound desperate which is never good when dealing with this type of spirit. Sylphs who stay in the material world have a nasty habit of being trapped and enslaved by dark mages.”
“Those magic weavers,” Gwendal gruffed, “are the most despicable…using any force, good or bad, for their bidding…seeking power above all. Mother’s proclamation that their activities were not acceptable within the borders of Shin Makoku brought an end to most of their activities, though.”
“But not all,” Günter pointed out, his voice quivering as Kilda approached, suddenly taking great interest in him. “Some still practice their dark arts in the battlefield ruins of the von Voltaire lands.
“And we shoo them out, first chance every time,” Gwendal defended hotly as the spirit hovered a tight circle around Günter. “And…would you stop doing that!?” He narrowed his eyes at her as Günter took on a fearful look.
Too bad Kilda took that as a challenge. She gritted her grey teeth back in defiance.
A sharp-nailed hand reached out. The sylph snatched Günter, wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place. It happened so fast, all he could do was stare at her with wide, bulging eyes. She placed a frigid hand against his cheek, turning his face towards her. Kilda’s mouth found his, kissing him savagely and with great need. The adviser visibly struggled, arms flailing.
And, then, nothing.
The sylph seeped deeply into Günter’s body and his hair darkened, becoming salt and pepper. The room burst with shouts. No one knew what to do or how to save Günter.
Gwendal tried to take him firmly by the arm but a vicious shock sent him backwards. He stumbled, almost falling onto his ass.
“The Hell!” he cursed at her.
Flipping his long hair back, the handsome adviser seemed vastly amused and looked around the room with new eyes—dark silver-grey eyes. “Your name is Yuuri…” Günter-Kilda pointed out in a tone that was both male and female. “Conrad…Gwendal…” His eyes turned to Wolfram. “Lord Brat.”
A chuckle.
“Wha!” Wolfram said, leaning forward with a clinched fist.
“Wolf!” Yuuri barked, fearful for Wolfram’s safety. If Kilda could do this, who knew what else she was capable of?
“Now, everyone,” Günter-Kilda said, with an unnaturally pleased tone, “I think we can all come together now…and work to help me find a way back…” The accent was foreign and thick—totally alien for him. “Your word…a contact of words… You will give aid, yes?”
But it sounded like an order, not a question.
“Or what…?” Gwendal growled, needing to know the worst. If he did, he could prepare for it. That was a soldier’s way of thinking.
“Or…” There was a brief laugh as Günter’s arm extended itself in Wolfram’s direction, fingers spread. The fire wielder’s sword left the scabbard all on its own—flying, rotating, and then hovering before him. The tip pressed against his chest. “Golden hair gets it…and it will be your fault.” Günter’s fingers laced themselves together, as a thought occurred. “Perhaps, it would be for the best to end him this way…with honor.”
As the breeze picked up in the room, the sword slowly pushed its tip through Wolfram’s clothing. He could now feel its cruel sharpness against his skin. And, once he did, Wolfram tried to let go of Yuuri’s hand. He would not endanger his king. If necessary, he would walk forward, allowing the blade’s tip to pierce through his own body and save Yuuri. That would give his brothers time to retrieve their king.
Green eyes grew hard.
“Stop!” Yuuri ordered, standing from the throne with panic clearly written all over his face. He took the hilt of the sword with both hands and gripped it tightly—trying to stop what Kilda was doing. “I know you’re desperate, but…stop!”
“I should not take the king’s toy, eh?” she asked darkly. “I’m sure he would scream beautifully.”
Yuuri tried not to take offense, knowing that the spirit was only using Günter’s knowledge and language to convey meaning. But the concept was totally off. “He’s not my ‘toy’. He doesn’t belong to me.” But in saying that, in defending their relationship, he could also see Wolfram’s shoulders sag. And Yuuri knew that he had to tell the truth before everyone. Because, if he didn’t, Wolfram would still die—but in another way, a more important way. “…Not a toy…but he is…mine.”
“Lies…” Kilda chuckled. “Günter tells me so…” But, she released her magic on the sword and it fell uselessly into Yuuri’s hands.
The young king sighed with relief as he held the sword. This evening was getting worse and worse. “I promise you that we will help you find a way to get…home.” He decided that this was the way to phrase it. “But, in return, you promise that you won’t hurt any of us at all…especially like this.”
Yuuri turned and came face to face with Wolfram. He presented the sword with both hands as he’d been taught. Knights and soldiers always deserved the respect of having a sword “offered up.” Wolfram, in front of everyone assembled, should have that reverence.
The blond Mazoku bowed in return, taking it and whispering, “Thank you, Yuuri.” But from the dead tone, Yuuri knew that Wolfram had seen this as an act to appease the air spirit. Nothing more. With a metallic sound, the sword was smoothly placed back in its sheath and Wolfram straightened his shoulders a little too stiffly.
“You’re welcome, Wolf.”
Yuuri turned and casually slung an arm around Wolfram’s shoulder, surprising him. Green eyes widened impossibly.
“But what you didn’t understand was that…I didn’t lie,” Yuuri explained, head bowed slightly as his cheeks tinged. “Wolfram is mine because he decided to be…because he chose to trust me and to wait for me to grow up a little more.” He hugged Wolfram with one arm, head leaning against his for a second. “And, for that, I’m totally grateful.”
Wolfram glanced in Yuuri’s direction and then bowed his head, too, hiding the blush that was coming to him. He had neither expected nor prepared himself to be confessed to in such an open way.
But Yuuri was always like that.
“So, please…” he went on “I’m asking you, as the king, to trust me and to accept my word when I say that we will help you get home.”
Murata and Shinou, by this time, had moved to a more comfortable position by the closest door. With arms folded, Murata leaned against the wall and Shinou, by extension, leaned against his cheek, also with arms folded. Though, with the Original King, the posture seemed more arrogant than fitting.
“And no more translating for you,” Murata hissed to Shinou under his breath.
“Because I’m a little rusty?” He pouted slightly.
“No, because you totally suck.”
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