Author's Note: Ever since rewatching the show for the— I don't know, thousandth? —time, this plot has been stuck in my head. Everyone that follows me on Tumblr knows how much of a shameless shipper I am when it comes to these two… so don't say I didn't warn you.

Also, this story takes place after the last episode of the Season One anime. There'll be spoilers if you haven't finished the anime, or haven't reached chapter 46 of the manga. Anything after Ep. 12/ Ch. 46 doesn't apply in the confines of this story (as of June 2017).


"Oh, no." The sound of her terror was low in her throat, barely tickling her vocal chords as she watched the fire stretching from horizon to horizon, past the tree line, even farther than the human villages she knew lay behind the rolling hills. The heat of the dancing flames lifted her bangs from her face, the warmth sticking to the back of her neck and pulling the moisture from her skin until a fine sheen of sweat coated her forehead and stung her eyes. She blinked the pain away, squinting and trying to pick out a familiar face in the darkened shadows that permeated the opposite side of the blaze. "Oh, no!"

Despite the horror churning her stomach, despite the panic fogging her mind, despite the immense heat squeezing the air from her lungs, she propelled herself forward. Stumbling down the hillside towards the carnage, confusion and fear warring for dominance, she felt in her clothing for the last three stone charms she had. They were the only thing she could use to aid her allies, but she had no clue how large stone walls could be of help now. If I can find Toyohisa, Nobunaga, or even Yoichi, surely they can come up with a plan!

She found one of the boys at the outskirts of the village: just not in the way she'd hoped.

"T-T-Toyohisa, sir!" Revulsion and shock stopped her dead in her tracks, but morbid curiosity pulled her towards the body. "Oh… oh my… oh no…." She found herself repeating, hands over her mouth to keep the sounds at a minimum as well as to forcefully keep the contents of her stomach from coming up her throat. What had they done to him?!

It had to have been one of the Ends, perhaps the general that had marched against them on the Orte capitol. Who else could have cut the samurai so thoroughly, or even gotten close enough to do the same? She was unable the count the gashes stretched across his lone form, the crimson armor lacquered blackish-red with blood, the dusty ground around him soaked through as though by a steady rain. The tears spilled unchecked from her eyes as she knelt by him, knees pressing into the grotesquely wet earth. He was on his side, and she gently turned him over onto his back and tried to straighten his shitagi over the worst of the mortal wounds.

"And he didn't even take your head," she gasped in short, choked sobs as she worked. Her gloves quickly soaked the blood covering his form and she peeled them off, placing them neatly over his solemn expression as a makeshift face shroud. She knew that the Satsuma warrior would have considered the lack of beheading a heinous offense. "I'm so sorry… that you're still wearing it," she continued as she covered the serious brow. She could barely look at it—Toyohisa's face should have been as gleeful in death as it was in life. "When it's over, I'll get someone—Nobunaga, Yoichi, someone—to fix it… to make it right by you," she promised him, smoothing the fingers of her gloves over his cheeks before rising slowly to her feet.

The structures around her were burning, some with people still trapped inside. Their screams echoed in her ears, but as she tried to move towards a few of the smaller buildings the wall of fire kept her at bay. Her own instincts warned that the heat would burn her flesh if she grew too close, and even as she watched the blackened beams collapsed and buried anyone unfortunate enough to still be inside the walls.

She wanted to do nothing more than close her eyes, run back up the slope towards the cool safety of the forest, and wait for dawn. But that was out of the question. Even if she was only interested in self-preservation, she had oaths to fulfill. She'd put her hand across her heart, all those years ago, and sworn faithfully to the Grand Master—the Grand Master! She fumbled in her pocket for the palm-sized communication orb, holding it with both hands as her breath fogged the preternaturally cool surface.

"Grand Master! Grand Master, please answer me! This is Olminu!" The orb lit from within as she spoke, letting her know that everything was working fine on her end, but… her employer did not respond. "Grand Master!" she tried again, fingers tightening around the orb until her knuckles were white. "Yoichi! Shara! Anyone?" She'd have even taken Count Saint-Germi at this point, despite her dislike of him. The orb was silent in her hands, its coolness seeping through her fingers and wrapping around her heart. She gulped, sliding it back into its place in her jumper. She had to keep moving. She was a sitting duck out in the open, and if the enemy didn't catch her, the fire would. She could see the flames licking at the wooden gates of the village, which meant that the entire landscape had just become one large ring of fire.

"This is bad…." Ducking around the burning buildings, she kept an eye out for anyone she could call a friend. "Where is everyone? Why aren't they fighting?" Perhaps the roar of the fire and the screams of its victims were too loud, and drowned out the sounds of battle? "I can't be the only one left… Grand Master, where are you?" He was the one who should have been here in her stead, aiding the Drifters. She was a neophyte at best, a mere magical apprentice that had no business being on a proper battlefield, despite the Grand Master's faith in her ability. She could barely make two charms in three days! Why did I ever think that I could be of help to anyone in this war against the Ends? I should have just run back to the Academy and hid under my bunk like the other trainees.

Again she felt the instinctive need to run far away, but her vows gnawed at her heart. She had sworn to uphold the Octobrist's sacred duties to the best of her abilities, hadn't she? And one of those duties was to aid the Drifters in any way possible, and to protect them with magic if need be. That's why the Grand Master had told her to stay with the Japanese trio, who were the foolhardiest of the current bunch, and would need the protective magic of her stone walls the most. If a Drifter was still alive and she ran for safety, she would be a deserter in the eyes of the Octobrists. And even worse, she'd have failed her own moral code.

Rounding the edge of the village, she found herself in a clearing that had once been the main entrance. The gates were ablaze, wood popping as thick smoke spiraled to the heavens. Lying in front of the gate were two figures. Taking another step, she caught her toe and stumbled to the ground. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a bow, the bowstring snapped. She felt the blood leave her face and turned back, crawling towards the bodies with shaking limbs and chattering teeth. Normally she was one to keep her head during battle, but now… oh, now—please, let my eyes be lying to me!

"Oh… Yoichi." The slender neck had been snapped sideways, body covered in lacerations and burns from nearness of the fire; his eyes were open wide and locked in a final state of disbelief. Even in death he was beautiful, a bluebird with broken wings. A lump grew in her throat as she reached with trembling fingers and closed his lids, giving his empty shell some semblance of repose. He was only nineteen, still little more than a child. She brushed the hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. What kind of cruel person would do this to someone who was still so young? It wasn't… it just wasn't fair! The Ends… the Ends had to do this. Even in their most ferocious battles, the Orte empire never caused this much destruction… to humans, at least.

Finally, there was no more she could do for the poor archer. She steeled herself, still hoping—even as she dreaded that it was Shara or the Grand Master—that it wouldn't be who she knew it was. Who it had to be. Who'd be foolish—courageous—enough to boldly go alone and attempt to rescue Yoichi from his tormentor. She stood, her back to the body, gulping as she stared at the ruined, burning village. She felt that the flames had taken the last of her tears—no more ran down her cheeks. She turned on her gore-grimed heel, her eyes landing first on the arquebus still clenched by a stiff, ringed fist.

"Nobu…naga." With that, it burned away. Her vision of a properly united Orte, of peace that hadn't been known since before her parents' parent's time, of the end of the destruction, the oppression, the fear and hatred that had torn her beloved country asunder for so long, for too long: it was all gone. He had been the key. Had always been the key.

Once, she'd called him a brilliant pervert, a wily strategist. She'd meant it, too. She'd never met anyone as brilliant as him in all her life; even the Grand Master, while intelligent in his own way, wasn't as cunning as Nobunaga. Wasn't as ruthless as Nobunaga. The Grand Master had more at stake than the daimyō, more to lose and less to gain with recklessness. Oda Nobunaga, on the other hand, was interested in power for power's sake. All the Drifters were. They couldn't care less about the Ends, or Orte, unless they tied directly into their own gain. But he'd been working hand in hand with the Octobrists despite that, because their magic was worth it to him in the long run.

And now… what was to become of her? Of them? He lay dead at her feet. She slid to her knees once more beside him, fingering the edge of his tattered hakama. He looked to have suffered less than Yoichi, probably as a result of rushing his attacker. She could see the hole in his chest, unhindered by the white cloth he always wore so loosely. Why had he not shot at the End from a distance? Was he caught off guard? Or had he just lost his head? Surely not—someone like him wouldn't have rushed anything unless the tide of battle had been decided and assured against him.

"You… you idiot letch!" she hissed through her teeth, feeling the hot tears despite the heat already blazing on her face from the fire all around her. "When I told you to go die all those times, I didn't… I never meant it literally!" She wiped her eyes and moaned. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue." She was still staring at Nobunaga, who had a peculiar look on his face that would have been almost humorous, had the situation not been so tragically dire. She lurched as her tears caught in her chest, the brittle, echoing sound of the voice behind her sending a wave of nausea to her core. Turning her head slowly, she looked to the gate to see two feet swathed in bandages, mostly hidden by a long robe. A staff, a jeweled dragonfly perched at the top and held loosely in a scarred hand.

Strength abandoned her.

"And they that love it…."

Her eyes were the only thing that could move, and even they were slow to follow the shadowy creases of the long robe up, up, up to the murky darkness of the hood.

"Shall eat the fruit thereof."

"Y-y-y-you—" The dragonfly pointed at her as a fat bird flew from the smoke-filled heavens to perch on the bony, cloth covered shoulder. "T-th-the B-b-b-b-Black—" This is what it felt like, then, to stare death in the face? And not even this, for she could find no features in the shadow of the hood, no eyes gleaming at her from the depths, no lines of a nose or glint of teeth in the firelight. Only hatred, torment, and pain. Blackness.

The Black King.

The free hand raised, gnarled finger pointing at her. Her shoulders slumped; she was unable to run now, even if she wanted to. She felt like a mouse must feel when frightened to death by a playful cat—her terror had built upon itself until she was numb from head to toe with it, unable to recognize it as an emotion anymore. It was her and she it.

"Please—" Why plead? This was the Black King, leader of the Ends, hater of humans. Hell-bent on their destruction, in fact. And who was she before him? A half-bit magician who was too late to save the three people she'd been entrusted with. And yet, still: please. The head lifted slightly at the sound of her woe, as if savoring it. An aura surrounded the body, flaming purplish blue from finger to bandaged toe, and she saw a flake of salt bounce from beneath the robes to the ground. Looking up, something behind her exploded in the flames and lit the world before her as a lightning flash before the storm. In the near-blinding light there was nowhere to hide, and as she raised her head she saw the face of the Black King for the first—and last—time.

She screamed.