ONE: There's No I in We

Kouen Ren thought that he was quite a deal more artistic than his siblings gave him credit for.

Sure, the essence of the "fine arts" evaded him like a horse turd marinated in piss and blood but Kouen Ren was an artist nonetheless. Every day, he wore his confidence like a mantle, self-crafted with experience as his needle and deliberation as his thread. And in this moment, sitting among blowhards and the most deadly types fools, ones with power, in one of the numerous council rooms in Kou's extravagant palace, he felt lucky to have it.

Yes, confidence came in handy in these sorts of situations. But like most things, it meant nothing without the knowledge of how to use it. In his honest opinion, a person of his position should have such overwhelming confidence in themselves that it oozed out of every pore and that, when entering a room, everyone would have no choice but to feel the weight of your presence. It just made everything so much easier.

It had taken twenty-two years but Kouen believed that he had mastered the art of arrogance as well. For when dealing with fools, one cannot give one hundred percent. Always two hundred. It rarely worked out that "I believe such because of reasons x, y, and z" was followed without being challenged. At the end of the day, it was phrases like "because I said so" and "you will do as I say" that got things done.

Arrogance was in his stride, in his gaze, in every idiosyncrasy that made Kouen Ren, Kouen Ren. And it was arguably this feigned arrogance that made him the First Imperial Prince of Kou. That and his reputation for war.

He gnawed subtly on his inner cheek as the debate proceeded. He zoned in and out, ignoring the hot air the council members were spouting and catching only the important bits. Subjugating the Eastern Plains had been tough enough but keeping them united was proving to be the real challenge here. The topic of the debate was such; Karim, an area that had been under the Kou's control for at least a decade, was on the brink of imploding. Two hours in and they still were unable to come to a consensus on how to handle the issue but Kouen had yet to lay down the law. The reason why was simple at its core.

Politics was not his forte.

He was far too blunt for it and cared nothing for the profession in general. Kouen was just as much fighting man as he was an intellectual one. And politics required neither. At least in his opinion. Kouen's brows drew together and his frown deepened. Now that he actually considered it, his brother would be perfect for handling this fiasco. Having more tact in his pinky finger than Kouen did in his entire body, Koumei was a natural diplomat. But then again, could he really send him there alone?

If the in-fighting was bad enough to draw the attention of politicians whose concerns revolved around how to maximize what little power and profit they held, all the way in Rakushou no less, then the place must have been a war zone for quite some time. Kouen would gamble four or five years at the very least.

As to why they were just hearing of the conflict now, it was also quite simple. Distressing, but simple. Secessionist rebels had hijacked and shut down the iron mines about a month ago. And no iron meant no weapons. It was a brilliantly stupid way of catching their attention but effective nevertheless.

After having dealt with their own issues for so long, they wouldn't take kindly to an Imperial Prince appearing out of the blue and giving commands. In laymen's terms, they'd be pissed the fuck off the moment they got word. Angry enough to plot an assassination, perhaps.

In any case, he'd made up his mind to go.

Narrow red eyes jumped from face to face. He stood and all eyes focused on him. "I will ride out to Karim tomorrow with Koumei and my household."

There were a few protests made as a courtesy but the councilmen were relieved to have the responsibility taken off their backs. He could see it on their faces, in their eyes. So Kouen walked out of the council room, shoulders back, head held high, looking every iota the Warmonger Prince that he knew he was.

And before he'd even taken ten strides, who else but his spitfire youngest brother Kouha came bounding up to him, bright-eyed and eager. He could tell what the little prince was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

"I can come with you on the campaign, right?"

"No."

Kouha's excited face fell. He pouted, small hands balled up at his sides. Despite him only being nine years of age, the boy was a force to be reckoned with.

"And why not," he said loudly, crossing his arms. "I'm not a child anymore, brother."

Kouen blinked.

Well, that was...new.

Kouha had never called him 'brother' before. The thought made him smile for an instant.

"I'm strong now!" The boy whipped out a small wooden sword from his robes and started showing off his moves, slashing wildly at the air.

Not too bad for his age but he could be leagues better if he had a proper sparring partner. He would have to arrange that later. The memory of their first meeting came to mind and Kouen was suddenly quite thankful that it wasn't a real sword in his baby brother's hands.

"First of all, it's not a war campaign so there won't be any of the armed combat that you want so badly. Second, until you know the meaning of the phrase 'to lie with a woman' and have executed it, you will always be a child. Third, can you even ride a horse yet?"

The disappointment on his young, cherub-cheeked face gave him his answer. He reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. Kouha, looking more like a mountain lion ready to bite off his hand than a nine year old, turned and stomped off.

Proceeding through the palace with a purpose in mind, servants moved around him like water. They glanced at him, keeping their heads down, but that was about it. He found the servants of Kou's palace to be like spirits. Unseen and unnoticed, they single handedly kept the palace looking shiny and new. Occasionally, he would wonder how they did it. He picked one out and asked whether or not they knew where his brother was. The servant responded that he was in the library so that's where Kouen went.

He found his brother, unsurprisingly sound asleep, surrounded by a certifiable fortress of texts and scrolls. Now Kouen considered himself to be a heavy sleeper but his younger brother made him seem like an insomniac with how deeply he could slumber whenever there was work to be done. The man could fake a coma if it meant getting out of work.

Valuing practicality over everything else, Kouen thought of the best and fastest way to wake his brother. He pulled a few scrolls from the bottom of the pile, sending the mountain of parchment tumbling onto Koumei's head.

Koumei jolted upright in his seat, understandably startled. He noticed his brother and frowned, immediately understanding the situation.

"That was completely unnecessary."

Kouen didn't feel bad. Not in the slightest.

He folded his arms across his chest and responded a little more matter-of-factly than he intended, "Yes, it was."

Koumei, being the overdramatic man that he was, sighed while rubbing his temples in tiny circles. As if it took a tremendous amount of concentration just to keep his eyes open. "What do you want?"

"Where are the scrolls on the Karimi?"

Koumei quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. "The Karimi," he repeated. He jabbed a finger over his shoulder. "Over there. Hang on, I'll get them."

Koumei stood up slowly, stretched, and meandered over to a wall of scrolls.

"So why the sudden interest in the Karimi?"

"Apparently, it's a mess over there. We will be leaving tomorrow to handle all of that."

"Oh yes, that. By which I can only assume you're referring to the secessionists trying to overthrow the government, the ever increasing possibility of a slave rebellion, the typical Karimi-Arash related in-fighting and crimes-did you just say we?"

"Yes. We. As in you, me, and my household." Kouen paused for a moment. "Chuu'un can come too, if you want."

"...But if I go then who will feed my pigeons?"

"Anyone who is not you."

"Their little systems are extremely sensitive, you know. One missed feeding and they'll just keel over. Dead forever. Unable to take to the open blue skies that they adore so much. I don't trust that just anyone will be able to -"

"You're not getting out of this Koumei."

"No?"

"No."

"Even if I beg?"

"Especially if you beg."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure?"

"Positively."

"Alright then." Koumei came shuffling over. There were about ten to fifteen scrolls piled up in his arms. Most looked as if they'd disintegrate if he so much as breathed on them and all of them were as thick as tree trunks.

"Here they are. All of them."

Kouen stared as his brother gingerly handed them over, like one would do when giving a newborn over to a rambunctious younger sibling to hold for the first time.

"It's not much," admitted Koumei with a shrug. He scratched the back of his head and Kouen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I hope it helps. I threw in some stuff on Arash as well."

"It's plenty."

The two of them were young when their uncle and his eldest conquered the nation of Karim in the unification of the Eastern Plains. They had been around Kouha's age and had participated in the war of unification alongside Hakuren and Hakuyuu. Two kids fighting with the grownups, bleeding with them, killing with them. He can't speak for Koumei who more than likely remembered Karim as clear as daylight, but Kouen's memories of the place were foggy at best.

Some were nothing more than sounds and sensations. The shouting. Blood rushing in his ears. That intense fear that he was going to piss himself at any given moment. The usual things that came with war.

Others were jarring my vivid. He remembered being flat on his ass gawking at a man with an axe raised toward the sky, ready to cleave his head in two. Ever since that day, Kouen had been a firm believer of the famous adage; "the eyes are the windows to the soul". That man had had brown eyes, cold and unfeeling.

He remembered someone's hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him, telling him to run and never come back. Violet eyes, filled with wisdom, cowardice, and a violent will to live.

The three pairs of pale blue eyes, those of his beloved cousins and uncle, had been calm and clear on that day.

Needless to say, any fond memories Kouen might have had of Karim were terribly few if not nonexistent.

Kouen was alone in his study. He hoped that these texts could shed some light on what his ego had gotten him into. As far as he knew, Karim had been left to its own devices on most matters. In addition to the basic information Koumei had provided him with on the present state of affairs, Kouen knew that their governor was a man of Kou, born and bred. Not expressly loyal but with a decent head on his shoulders. It was nearly night now and out of the twelve scrolls that his brother had given to him, Kouen believed that he had enough time between now and sunrise to get through at least a few of them.

Understanding the Fate of Arash:

"I write this by the light of my burning countrymen. The Karimi are everywhere, pillaging, raping, demolishing. There will be few prisoners taken tonight, I fear. They will build their empire with our ashes and yet I still cannot bring myself to say that this grim fate of ours isn't entirely undeserved. We lost the war. As I watch the palace burn from the window of my home, this fact becomes painfully apparent. I can feel the reality of it in every fiber of my being, like a nail being hammered into the brain through the is the end of Arash and I write this with the purpose of explaining why so that other nations may try to avoid our fate. And what a miserable, bloody fate it is. The first fault lies within the culture of complicity..."

Before and After: The Karimi Nation:

"The Karimi were conquerors. It is thought they were once part of the great Kouga Empire, though this is mostly speculation. The only similarity between the two is their reliance on horses…"

"Muders of Arash perpetrated by Karimi are the most common type of crime, even today. There was even a case of a soldier bludgeoning another man to death for no crime at all other than the fact that he possessed the trademark Arash violet eyes but with dark Karimi eyes and skin..."

The Hierarchy of Slaves:

"...By law, any person who is of confirmable Arash origin may be made into a slave. When a child is born in Karim, it is required that the child be taken to the local chieftain for examination. If the child possesses any Arash traits (pale skin, fair hair, violet eyes), then the chieftain places one of his household in charge of watching the family until the child comes of age. Females may start the decade long mandatory service at twelve years while males start at sixteen…"

"...The age difference in service stems from…peculiar belief that while males obviously have the stronger physical constitution, females are more capable of handling pain…"

"...According to the law, the type of service may be determined by the parents although this is rarely enforced. The political system is that of an absolute monarchy. The children belong to the state and the reigning monarch, as 'the father of the state' may override any decision made by the parents."

"Both males and females normally start work in agriculture."

"The lowest and youngest slaves...iron...the middle...the highest are… as a sign…"

"In the case of a child of mixed origins...Karimi and Arash...value is placed on…end...blood."

The rest was too faded to read. So he rolled the scroll back up with care, set it aside, and took up the next one.

Culture and Customs of the Karimi:

His eyes flitted down the parchment, unfurling the scroll as he went along and gave cursory glances over sections with which he was already familiar.

Section I. Introduction

"The closest comparable culture to that of the Karimi is that of the Artemyrans. As in Artemyra, a strong importance is placed on women. However, this society cannot be classified as a matriarchy although it is quite close to becoming one..."

"...they are a very relaxed and cunning people, prone to playing tricks…"

"...In conclusion, the Karimi love their women but they don't love them in positions of power."

Section II. Slaves

"They decorate their slaves to show their wealth. The monarch is usually rather unassuming..."

"Approximately forty percent of the population is made up of Arash slaves."

"If a slave in the custody of the state attempts to escape, any number of punishments…"

Section III. Wildlife

"Located on the very edge of the Eastern Plains, the flora and fauna (like most issues in Karim) are polarized. On the one hand, you have what's typical of the plains; jack rabbits, foxes, wolves, bobcats, mice, deer, bison, bats, vipers...etc. But the south is almost entirely made up of mountainous terrain…"

"Individuals of certain traits, be it personality or physical, are often likened to the animals of the area. The national symbol is the fox..."

The heavy cloud of sleep crept up on him, making his eyelids droop and blurring both his vision and consciousness. But there was still work to be done. Raising his arm, Kouen gave himself a hearty smack across the face. The sting was jarring enough for him regain focus, if only for a little while, and continue reading.

Section VIII. Celebrations

"Feasts are held in honor of the dead and take place immediately after a burial. Fish is always served."

"...It is said that…"

"...ceremonial dances are…"

"Guests are often treated with…"

"...quite often…"

"...a sight to see…"

With a mixture of wistful visions and bloody memories of Karim running through his head, Kouen drifted off to a rather fitful sleep.

Darya's violet eyes stared off into the distance, narrowed into slits. She stood with arms crossed, jaw clenched, and fingernails digging into the side of her arm. The wind nipped at her black hair and tossed it in her face but she didn't mind much. What she did mind was her lord and master, the esteemed governor of Karim, fucking around, both figuratively and very literally, when there was a hundred different things that needed to be done before the arrival of Kou's prince and his entourage.

There was no doubt in her mind that they were coming. How could they not come with the stunt those fools pulled? If they didn't watch their step then the lot of them, Darya included, would be dragged into another war with Kou. The mere thought of those bloodthirsty maniacs returning sent shivers down her spine. Sadly, lord Khalil did not share her sense of urgency. He thought it prudent to drink and connive and flirt instead of actively planning a strategy of handling Kou.

Darya tugged at the chain around her ankle. Khalil himself had fastened it to a massive ball of iron right outside the building so that she would have nothing to do but wait and ponder. Knowing Khalil, he wanted her to do the latter. "I believe that one should devote at the minimum, one hour to thought and imagination," he would incessantly remind her. Clever man, Khalil. Clever and strange and deadly.

Sneering down at the damned thing, she gave it a sharp yank but to no feasible avail. Darya huffed, blowing air past her lips and looked at the sky. It was an ocean of foreboding gray. The threat of a storm did nothing to assuage her nerves. She rubbed at the mark on her chest. The old wound ached in response to the coming storm. Nothing good ever happened to Darya during a storm. Her stomach turned, her hands tingled, and her whole body was as tense as a bowstring.

Now, Darya considered herself to be the farthest thing from loyal. In the mind of a slave, there was no room for such a thing as loyalty. Her motivations and choices have consistently been influenced by those which would allow her to best avoid the pain of a whip or a stick or a brand or a fist.

Or at least they had been like that before she'd met Khalil.

Now, she was confused. Happy, though she was frightened to even think the word lest she jinx her good fortune, but terribly confused.

If she ever had the choice of braving the storm and continuing to learn from Khalil under the legal guise of being his slave, there was no doubt which she would choose. Considering it, Darya thought it sad. For all intents and purposes, she owed him everything. He had given her protection and showed a degree of kindness that she had previously thought could be attributed only to the heroes of children's fairytales.

And yet, despite his generosity and teachings, Darya was convinced that, if she ever had the choice, she would always choose the storm.

"I hope the wait wasn't too long."

Having been snapped out of her thoughts, she yelped, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sound of Khalil's mellow voice. She frowned at his snickering face and pointed a thin finger to the ball and chain attached to her ankle.

His jade eyes flashed and the smile faltered.

"Don't be too mad at me," said Khalil, patting her head affectionately. Darya made no attempt to swat his hand away. He took the key that hung from around his neck and lowered himself down onto his haunches. "You know that I had to. For appearances and such." The chain came off with a satisfying clank. He stood and looked expectantly at her.

"What are you going to do about Kou?"

Khalil blinked at her, eyes going wide and mouth forming a small 'o'. As if he'd forgotten something very important. And, without answering, he started walking off at a hurried pace. Darya followed, trailing slightly behind.

"Who knows," he replied eventually with a careless shrug of the shoulders. He did this often, avoiding her questions in the hope that she would ask more. He was a strange man, Khalil. Focused too much on words. He believed with an ardent passion that one's vocabulary is the most valuable weapon that he or she could possess. More so than swords or spears or even magic. The first time he spoke of his little fascination, Darya's response to this had been simple. After he'd pried it out of her, that is. He did a lot of that too. She'd said with her voice soft and uneasy, "Can words kill?"

Khalil believed so.

Darya still needed time to think on it.

One of his favorite pastimes was making her work for her answers, to force him to answer them by some miracle or some slip of the tongue. But that's the thing about her master. He never had slips of the tongue. Whatever information he gave her was deliberate no matter how accidental he may have made it out to be.

That much she had come to understand about Khalil.

He wasn't the type to make mistakes.

"They are coming," she said in a strained whisper. Her violet eyes flitted from Khalil's face to the ground. "Which usually implies that someone is going to die."

"You are overreacting," he nodded to himself thoughtfully, "but correct nevertheless. Someone will die and if the secessionists get their way then it'll be an Imperial Prince, more than likely his Highness, Koumei Ren. And then we'll all be dead." His voice had gained a hard edge at the end.

"Exactly my point."

She could feel his eyes on her as she stared daggers into the ground. Analyzing her. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look down too much?" Darya looked up for long enough to give her master a weak glare. The only form of defiance she dared to attempt in such an open space. She didn't care for him pushing her to be confident at the moment. She was too tired and too afraid to be confident.

They were still in public and thus, by law, she was still a slave.

"Be proud," he said suddenly. "You are the student of one of the world's most renowned scholars. Be proud, Darya."

"A slave has no need for pride. And is it truly wise of you to advocate my cultivation of one of the cardinal vices which has led so many to their bloody deaths? I care nothing for such a silly thing as pride."

She felt his large, warm hand on top of her head again, tousling her hair until it stuck out at odd angles. Shooting him a questioning look, Khalil smiled his signature sign of contentment. She'd said something he'd liked apparently.

"Good, good!" He clapped his hands together in a congratulatory fashion. "You're learning. You asked what we're going to do about Kou?" Violet eyes blinked, a bit startled. Wow. He must have really liked the answer she'd given. "What we're going to do, you and I, is prevent the untimely death of the Kou Empire's Second Imperial Prince at any and all costs during his stay here."

She choked back a laugh.

Due to being locked up in a fancy castle all day with nothing to do but bark orders and pray that someone hasn't used the last of the good perfume, Darya doubted that Kou's Second Prince knew or could even comprehend how much the secessionists wanted another war. If they had to kill an emperor's son to get it, the so be it.

Truthfully, she didn't know all that much about the Second Prince. The First and Third Princes were the more popular subjects of Karim's gossip so any intel she could have gotten on him, however dodgy, depended entirely on the whims of chatty old housewives and doe-eyed girls. Unless, she asked Khalil of course but that would doubtlessly lead to a throbbing headache and Darya would rather not subject herself to that level of stress willingly.

"That sounds like it will be the greatest miracle on this side of the world," stated Darya monotonously and quietly. "I wish you luck in your quest for it will surely be your last."

Trying to prevent the secessionists from killing the prince would be like trying to stop an arrow from hitting you in the eye simply by wishing that it wouldn't. It would be equally as painful.

Khalil seemed to see the same humor in his proclamation that Darya did and laughed. She cracked a smile. She always did like his laugh. Raucous, unrestrained, and highly infective. Soon enough, she found herself giggling alongside him. To protect the life of one whose country had quite literally eaten theirs for breakfast and exacerbated the already festering problems. She knew her master was benevolent but this was getting to be ridiculous.

And then Darya paused, stopping dead in her tracks as her Arash eyes went as wide as saucers. All the tension that Khalil's laughter had assuaged came surging back so fast, her vision went blurry for a few seconds.

"...Did you say we?"