Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: HARPG0, sinamour

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of GwenAni.

Warnings and Disclaimer: See previous chapter. =D

A/N: Hi again! This fic's pace will perhaps go a little bit too fast, but it's only beginning, so I hope everyone would stick until the end. Uh, just a little bit warning for this chapter's ending—I know this might make some people mad and throw flames at me, but this particular fic is one experiment of mine to see how far I could write an angst fic. I'd be utterly glad if you would read this fic until the very end and give me constructive criticisms through reviews. :3

A mountain of thanks to HARPG0 for beta-ing and bearing with all the grammar mistakes I made—I know my English is getting worse. Thank you so much for the wonderful suggestions, too; now I know which part I still have to work hard on! XD And then for sinamour, for beta-reading and suggestions on characterizations and a bit of grammar. Last but not least, my soulmate Rizuka, for beta-reading and critics on the plot-pace, as well as the reassurance. You guys are the best. :3

Alright peeps, do enjoy and please tell me what you think! A review a day keeps the doctor away, y'know… :DDD

A Kyou Kara Ma-Ou! Fanfiction

Hymn of Two Souls

Chapter 3: Ashes to Ashes

A week before the Royal Marriage, in the middle of inspecting the ballroom decorating progress in Gunter's stead, the Great Sage had asked Conrad a question that had never occurred to him.

"If both Shibuya and von Bielefeld-kyo were in danger and you couldn't save them both, whom would you save, Weller-kyo?"

He would save both—that was the first answer that left his mouth—no matter how; because while Yuuri was the beloved King he'd pledged his loyalty to, Wolfram was the brother he loved, and raised himself, with all his heart. Both boys were equally important to him, and he wouldn't be able to choose one of them. Wolfram in such situation, however, would insist that he saved Yuuri first, and told him not to worry because he was strong, and could take care of himself.

It was that thought that ran through his head, overriding all the panic and hesitation upon seeing his younger brother trying to burn the helpless Maou, laughing maniacally as if possessed by something wicked. It was the sole logic that made him move when no one else could move, ignoring the blistering heat of the burning fire on the grass, and letting his right hand strike the very last person he'd ever want to hurt, strong enough to send Wolfram's figure flying before crashing with a loud crack—indicating how hard the impact was. Everything was burning, hot, but Yuuri was safe in his arms, as he shouted for anybody to "Get Gisela and put off the fire, now!"

Even then, not once did his gaze stray away from the limp, unmoving figure of his blond brother.

Gwendal was the next to move after that—shouting firm orders and handling the situation with perfect professionalism. The oldest of the three brothers lifted Wolfram up, bridal-style, and with a nod, indicated Conrad to follow the lithe figure of Gisela—the green-haired healer barking at the soldiers to move faster and get the best healers ready—to the infirmary.

As he followed his older brother and Gunter's adopted daughter, Conrad could taste the bitter anger coiling in his throat. To whom the anger was directed, not even he himself had known. One thing was certain, though, the question Daikenja threw him never left his mind since the second his right arm struck Wolfram.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

His head hurt like hell—but at least the irritating voice in his head stopped.

A pair of brilliant emerald eyes slowly fluttered open, and as the light filled his vision, Wolfram let out a hiss. The pain that had been steadily pounding in his head suddenly turned into a searing one, leaving him dizzy. Where was he? What had happened?

"You're awake,"

The gentle, yet firm voice—Gisela. The smell of medicine, wet bandages and—fainter but still there—blood. Infirmary? His vision slowly grew clearer, and now he could see the female sergeant standing next to his bed—an unreadable expression on her face, and when she spoke again, her voice held a strange tone of formality. "Your brothers wanted to talk to you—do you feel well enough to see them, Wolfram-Kakka?"

"Yeah, fine—" an irritated tone sneaked into his voice—his head hurt so much.

Watching Gisela cross the room and step outside of the infirmary from the corner of his eyes, Wolfram took the opportunity to try to shift to a sitting position. His body felt lethargic for some reason, as though he had just released his whole maryoku into a single attack; his memory of what had happened was blurry, except for one vivid memory of Sara and Yuuri dancing across the room—and his anger raised slightly at that—Yuuri, you wimp.

It took four times before he successfully pulled himself to sit up—and that was thanks to Gwendal's strong grip on his arm, helping him. Muttering a gratitude, his green eyes flew around to find the figure of his other brother, who stayed rooted to his place after closing the door behind him. Glancing up to look at Gwendal, Wolfram noticed his brother wearing the perfect stoic mask—determined blue eyes looking at him sharply.

Wolfram knew something was off.

"Aniue, what—"

"Heika is in the Royal Chamber, still unconscious." The news of his husband made Wolfram's eyes widen. He was about to open his mouth and ask what had happened, but Gwendal beat him to it. "Gisela said that he was holding his maryoku so he wouldn't hurt you when you attacked him—"

"Gwendal—" Conrad's soft protest sounded like a plea, and Wolfram felt his heart stop.

"—and it took a lot out of him. So it will take time before he will wake up. His upper left arm was burnt quite badly and it will take a long time to heal, and there were marks…like being strangled. Otherwise, he's considered fine, since his injuries aren't life threatening." Gwendal finished, eyes still locked with Wolfram's now wide and petrified ones. Behind him, Gisela sighed, and murmured something about "—the possibility of it being an accident—"

Gwendal's grip on his arm tightened almost painfully. "Wolfram," there was a thinly disguised worry and desperation lacing his gruff voice. "Explain."

And memories flooded his whole being—of the garden colored in red and black and Yuuri's neck under his tightening fingers; of the strangled sound of his name uttered into the smoke of the blazing grass; of the tumultuous laugh that was ripped from his throat and his body moving without his own consent—of him not being him. The realization brought a wave of trepidation surge through his whole existence, causing his body to shudder.

He hurt his King.

How did it happen again? He didn't even realize when exactly he had lost control of his body. There were voices, yes. Voices that had scared and frustrated him to no end lately, voices that whispered traitorous things and hurt him to some extent. Voices that he didn't understand what it was, or what it wanted from him. Voices that made him sick to his core, feeling like the worst liar ever whenever he thought that it was him thinking those horrible things the voices whispered…

His head pounding, Wolfram looked up, scanning his older brothers' faces to read how bad his situation was—but the mere thought of hurting Yuuri itself made his very existence ache with unbearable guilt and pain. Gwendal's stoic look hid any hint of the current situation, but Wolfram could practically hear the desperation that had sneaked into his older brother's voice: the desperation for Wolfram to clear up any misunderstanding caused by the incident.

Except—it wasn't a misunderstanding. He did hurt his King, even though he wasn't himself; but he did it. He'd strangled Yuuri with his own hands. He'd laughed and smiled at the satisfaction of hurting Yuuri—with his own lips, his own voice. He couldn't—wouldn't deny that. If he did, he'd be lying to himself. To everyone—to Yuuri. And he would never, ever lie to Yuuri.

His gaze fell upon Conrad's reserved manner and carefully-arranged blank face, and his heart fell. He knew that face. Unlike Gwendal, Conrad was not a stoic person—he was capable of expressions; he just wore his masks really well. And as a younger brother tied by blood, Wolfram prided himself for understanding Conrad's masks. This particular one that he wore now, however, rarely came out. The last time Wolfram had seen him wearing that blank expression was—

—when Julia died,.

Beneath the blank façade, Wolfram knew, was heavy guilt and regret. Conrad was torn with worry and desperation; and perhaps, Wolfram thought as his eyes caught Conrad's for a second, fear and uncertainty. Definitely not a positive expression—and that alone is enough to tell Wolfram how bad his situation is.

He hung his head. Hurting Yuuri. Hurting his beloved of all people—he didn't know if he could forgive himself for that.

"Aniue, please—" It was hard to keep his tone even, much less covering the fear apparent in his voice. "Please, seize me and put me in prison."

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

The words that came out of his youngest brother's lips froze him.

"What did you say?"

"You can't let me be here, Aniue, please." Wolfram raised his hands, looking at them as if he was seeing the most dangerous thing in Shin Makoku. "I—you don't understand, Aniue, this could happen again and next time—next time you and Conrad might not make it in time and Yuuri—Yuuri would—"

"You're injured." Gwendal snapped, anger growing rapidly in his chest. "Your head collided with the pillar and Gisela said there was a small fracture on your skull—you're in no shape to punish yourself over something that is not definite whether you were at fault or not."

"But I hurt the Maou!" his brother's voice raised, and Gwendal's gaze flew towards the silent Conrad, standing on the doorway, unmoving. The Lion of Ruttenberg couldn't even mask the troubled expression. "No matter who I am—even though I'm his Consort—anyone who tries to hurt the Maou shall be put on trial and given the death sentence—"

"How do you think Heika would react if you were put on trial for attempted murder, Wolfram? Think about it!"

"You don't understand! You can't let me be here. You can't! I'm not myself, and I don't know what'll happen or what's the worst I could do—and if Yuuri—if this happened again and I—and I killed him—I—" The last words came out in a shuddering breath, as Wolfram buried his face on his hands. "Please…"

"You're in no condition to—"

The blond looked up, emerald eyes blazing with anger and frustration. "Your loyalty to the King should come first before anything else, Aniue! You can't let me endanger Yuuri's life further! Next time… next time I might not—you might not—"

Gwendal's eyebrow twitched in irritation—he knew how Wolfram was when his youngest brother got really stubborn. And to think what urged him to talk to Wolfram was the sheer panic of having to put his brother in trial—he was desperately hoping for Wolfram to explain, to defend himself, in any way possible; but instead, this happened.

The irony of the world.

He let the silence that fell among the four of them stretch a little bit longer, silently weighing his choice. He was a Royal Administrator, and Wolfram was right: his duty and loyalty to the Maou and the country should come above anything else. Tonight's incident needed no time to spread out throughout all of Shin Makoku. And Gwendal knew too well that the people would expect a trial very soon—to witness with their own eyes how well they could keep the country's laws, even against the Prince Consort. If they failed to hold a trial when Wolfram was not even trying to deny his crime, the country's image would definitely tarnish—not only in the eyes of the Alliance, but also in the eyes of the people of the country itself.

It was no use trying to protect someone who did not even want to be protected after his crime.

But the thought of closing the prisoner's bars before his youngest brother's face—

"Please, Aniue." Wolfram's voice broke the silence, calling for him softly, pleading with a hint of helplessness tinting his voice. Almost like the time when he was only ten years old, begging him to go to the town festival. "Please. If I hurt Yuuri again, I won't be able to let myself live. Please."

Closing his eyes, Gwendal let out a deep sigh. His brother was stubborn. Doubly so whenever it came to their Maou. "I understand."

The expression on Wolfram's face seemed to relax a little—but Conrad instantly burst out into an angry protest, "Gwendal! We can't—"

"Not the dungeon. Not with the other criminals." Turning to face the younger man, Gwendal's gaze turned into that of a stern one. "We'd only make it worse for the country if we denied what Wolfram had done, Conrad. You know I can't do that. And Wolfram doesn't want to, either. We don't have any choice."

"But he's injured!" In three firm strides, Conrad closed the distance between him and his older brother, staring right into Gwendal's stern eyes. "You mean to let him face the trial after—after what happened? It's not even his fault!"

"We'll find a way to prove that it's not his fault," Gwendal replied evenly, slowly gaining back the unyielding persona of a Royal Administrator. But the look in Conrad's eyes was fierce, telling Gwendal that he would not accept those words as an excuse to throw their youngest brother into the prison. The hard eyes of the eldest son softened a little, a brotherly gaze sneaking into his blue eyes. Conrad had to understand. "Conrad. I promise we will."

The fierce look faded a little, replaced by a torn look on his face—the one that Gwendal recognized as the expression when he had been ordered to go to the Earth in order to look for a vessel for Julia von Wincott. But then, Wolfram's hands raised up, tugging them both on the sleeve, just the way he did when he was little and trying to get their attention.

"Conrad," Wolfram said, voice soft. "Please."

There were so many emotions crammed in that plea, so much trust in the way he said Conrad's name; Gwendal couldn't even begin to describe it. Perhaps it was I'll leave Yuuri to you, or You have to protect Yuuri, even if at the cost of my life, or maybe it was a question of I can trust you more than anyone, can't I? Or perhaps, it was a simple Thank you for stopping me, and I'm sorry you have to go through this.

And that was all it took to get Conrad to relent.

-o0oYuuramo0o-

The sharp, familiar odor of Anissina's lab whiffed through her nose as she closed the door behind her, warm brown eyes quietly searching for a slender figure with shocking red hair somewhere in the white fog that somehow had manifested in the room filled with weird machines. A small smile graced her lips as she shook her head—no. This room was filled with dreams, brilliance, and dignity. She'd associated Anissina with those words, placing her up high in the pedestal of an idol.

"Anissina?"

"Come here, Hime-sama, I'm in the corner."

She found Anissina standing before her newest project—Kiss-Away-All-The-Wrinkles-Kun—with a book on her hand, looking apprehensive. Taking a good look and mentally guessing what this newest machine would do it was finished, Greta looked up. "It's not going well?"

"I haven't found the right formula for this one. I will later, though." The book was snapped closed and put back on the table. "What time is it?"

"It's almost dinner time. You've been holed up in here for three days. Are you coming to dinner tonight?"

The woman's hand found Greta's head and mussed it, upsetting the carefully arranged brown locks crowning her head. Not that the princess minded. She watched Anissina as the redhead sigh tiredly and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same. She complied, aware of the calculating gaze Anissina kept at her as she took her seat.

"Tea?"

Greta blinked. "But it's almost dinner time."

"Ladies have the right to eat as much as they want." Anissina's trademark smirk appeared as she poured a cup of tea and placed a plate of Maou manjuu before her guest, before sitting back down. "Let me guess—you don't want to come to dinner alone tonight?"

Greta fidgeted for a second before allowing herself to let out a sigh. "Greta still finds it hard to have dinner with royal guests without Yuuri and Wolfram," she said quietly, unconsciously reverting back to the way she talked when she was little. "Gwendal is there, and Conrad, too… but it's not the same. Greta doesn't feel… safe."

Anissina nodded once. "You don't have to have dinner with the others if you don't want to. Everyone deserves a break. Say, let's go to the kitchen and eat whatever we want with the maids later. How's that sound?"

Greta's face brightened in a way only a little child's could. "Really?" she asked excitedly, widening her eyes for effect. "I don't have to? But is that really okay? Günter might get mad…"

Rolling her eyes, Anissina let out an amused chuckle. "Don't worry about Günter. I can always threaten him with my invention." She gave a cheeky wink, drawing a laugh out of the princess. Greta grinned then, eyes twinkling with childish mischief she still retained as she grew up.

Silence reigned over them—leaving only the sound of Anissina's machine working automatically in the background; her maryoku-collecting machine pumping up and down continuously. Greta took a manjuu, playing it between he fingers as she stared at the grinning face of Yuuri imprinted on the snack. The light in her eyes faded almost instantly.

"Greta hopes Yuuri will wake up soon…" Again, her way of talking reverted back like when she was little.

"Heika is still in bed?" Anissina stood up, taking a seat next to Greta. It was the easiest position she could have when comforting the princess, and she knew how upset Greta could be when something bad happened to one of her fathers. True enough, the twelve-year-old princess leaned on her shoulder while still looking down at the manjuu, and Anissina softly stroked the girl's hair.

"They won't let Wolfram out of his room. Greta can't visit him, either." She paused when her voice trembled, and took a breath to control it—the way she noticed Wolfram often did long ago. She scrunched up her face, searching for the term she'd hear Gwendal told Gisela earlier—what was it? "Gwendal said Wolfram is to be put in… uh… room confinement? What does that mean, Anissina?"

She felt Anissina's movement paused, and felt her shoulders stiffen—a bad omen. Whatever a room confinement meant, it definitely was not good. "Anissina?"

"I'm going to have a talk with Gwendal about this." Anissina murmured under her breath. "Wolfram is injured, isn't he? This isn't something—unless—and if Wolfram asked—then we don't have any choice except putting the trial on, and if Heika isn't conscious—and now all the country guests would stay for the trial to be held—"

"Anissina?" Greta repeated, worried. "Will something bad happen?"

The redhead blinked, as if Greta had just snapped her out of a stupor. A forced smile appeared on her face, and Greta felt a hand petting up her head. "Don't worry, Hime-sama. Gwendal will handle everything just fine in the stead of your fathers, okay?"

Worrying her bottom lip, Greta swallowed down the worry that threatened to rule over her existence, and stood up. "Let's go to the kitchen," she said, tugging Anissina's hand. "I want sweets. Lots of them."

-o0oYuuramo0o-

"What in the name of Shinou were you thinking, Gwendal?"

Conrad watched as Anissina rounded the table, a raging expression etched on her usually confident face. It was a wonder that Gwendal dared to challenge her—eye to eye—while she was on her raging fit, much more because the Royal Administrator didn't seem to waver at all.

"It's your own brother you're about to put on the trial! And you know what will happen—with all the Alliance guests and the whole country watching," she paced around the room, her heel clicking on the marble floor, going faster and faster as it indicates how angry she was getting. "You'll have no choice but to give him a death sentence!"

"I won't," Gwendal replied, using his matter-of-fact tone to counter Anissina's angry pitch. "We'll find the proof that Wolfram is not at fault—"

She nearly growled. Nearly—but no, she was a lady still, and Ladies did not growl. She eyes Gwendal exasperatedly, unable to believe that Gwendal—the ever cool-headed and strict Gwendal von Voltaire—made this decision. No, she wasn't angry because Greta got all depressed over her adoptive parents condition; and Anissina rarely cared about the political matters of Shin Makoku, really. What made her angry was the fact that one of her long-life friends' life is on the line, and Gwendal, who supposedly took care of everything to make them right, this time made a mistake just because he was unable to refuse Wolfram's suicidal wish. Since when did Gwendal grow soft on things like this?

Yes. It was Gwendal's inappropriate softness that irked her to no end. A softness in an inapt time like this, and it brought huge problems to them. To Shin Makoku. And even though Anissina could care less about the political situation, Shin Makoku was still her country, and Wolfram was still her friend—and she treasured both.

"But the fact is Wolfram did attack Heika!" Anissina cut in, stopping dead right before Gwendal's desk, glowering. Couldn't Gwendal understand how grave his mistake was? "The fact is that many guards saw it happen, Gwendal, and what they saw was Wolfram attacking Heika—and it wouldn't matter to anybody else whether Wolfram was himself or not! And to have Wolfram confined is the same as telling the whole country and alliance that the Royal Consort acknowledged that it was no accident, that it was his fault. We have no proof of esoteric stones controlling Wolfram or things like that. So, there's nothing you can do but to let the Ten Aristocrats judge him with a death sentence!"

"It was Wolfram's request." Gwendal answered quietly. Obviously, he had nothing to counter Anissina with. "When Heika wakes up, he'll forgive Wolfram, and that's that. If Heika gives a statement that it's not Wolfram's fault, everything will settle down."

"And how long do you think Heika will be out? There's no guarantee he'll wake up right on time!" she paced around again for several moments, exasperation mixed with worry apparent on her face. "Oh, Gwendal…" the redhead sighed, forlornly. "Why didn't you think about this further?"

"I had no choice." Gwendal said, voice steady—but Conrad noticed the stressed blue eyes looking up into Anissina's lighter ones; almost pleading for her to understand. Anissina paused at that, and Conrad could practically see her calming herself—her fist clenching and unclenching—before taking her previous seat. Silence filled the room for several moments, before Anissina broke it with a noticeably calmer voice.

"Have you told Celi-sama about this?"

"Yes." Gwendal answered, and there was an edge of nervousness tinting his voice. "Hahaue wouldn't come out of her room ever since the incident."

"Let me guess. It's her fault for holding the ball in the first place. That's what she thinks. Am I right?" At that, Gwendal and Conrad exchanged glances. She let out a bitter laugh. "Some things never change. I should've known where Wolfram got his self-blame streak from."

"Anissina." Conrad's voice held a warning tone now, but the long exhale that came from the redhead cut whatever it was he was about to say. Anissina stood up, looking pointedly at Gwendal.

"You do realize that you hold full responsibility of the Kingdom in the stead of Heika and his Consort, Gwendal." She said deliberately, and Gwendal's left eye twitched. It had been some time since Anissina talked to him with that kind of tone. "I believe you'll do your best to save your brother. Leave Celi-sama and Greta to me while you're at that." The inventor got up to leave. "Oh, and Gwendal? Don't mess up."

"You know… If you'd taken the trouble of inviting me, I would have provided a suggestion or two over this matter."

The familiar voice came just as the door swung open, and the three occupants of the room turned around. The familiar figure clad in all black, regal attire with glinting glasses perched on the bridge of his nose walked in, drawing the whole room's attention on him. Murata Ken closed the door behind him, offering a thin smile—and the rest of them knew instantly: whatever his suggestion was, it wasn't going to be easy on them.

"Would it save Wolfram?" Conrad spoke first, letting the very first hint of desperation sneak into his voice.

Murata sighed. "In a way, yes. We'll need some time to investigate what's happening. All we have to do is secure von Bielefeld-kyo while we're at it." He rounded the table, past Conrad and stood right next to Anissina, fixing calculative, but grave eyes on Gwendal. Conrad felt something tense hanging in the air when the silence followed the Daikenja's words, and he could not hold himself from inquiring much further, "Secure Wolfram?"

The soukoku nodded. "Shinou said he'd help us. The thing is—well, we have to keep this as a secret, even from Shibuya. He's not that good in the 'keeping secrets' department," he paused, pushing up his glasses as it glinted in a mysterious way. Conrad exchanged a glance with Gwendal—transferring his doubts and wary feelings about the plan Murata hadn't even mentioned. If it were something to be kept even from the Maou himself, then this idea would be very, very dreadful.

"We just have to be cautious, is all." The Daikenja offered a thin smile, trying to sound reassuring. "Our priority is to keep von Bielefeld-kyo away from the trial and death sentence."

"But to keep it secret even from Heika…" Anissina murmured. "Heika is the one who has absolute right over his Consort, since they're married and all—I'm sure he would not appreciate this if he ever found out…"

"But it'll save Wolfram." Gwendal repeated, blue eyes burning fiercely at the soukoku; showing his determination and desperation. "Tell us, Geika. We'll bear with it."

-o0oYuuramo0o-

Yuuri woke up at dawn.

His throat constricted the moment he tried to let out a groan, as if a handful of beach sand had just been shoved down into his throat. He hacked, and coughed several times, and that was all he needed to get a healer's attention. The silver-haired healer came closer—apparently, she was on duty to keep an eye on the Maou's condition. Politely inquiring whether the Maou was alright with a relieved look on her face, she offered a glass of water, and Yuuri drank it gratefully.

"It's a relief that Heika is back with us," the healer smiled as Yuuri sagged back into his bed, feeling utterly exhausted as if he'd just run an endless marathon. His left arm stung, but when he let out a painful hiss, the healer politely came closer and put a green-glowing hand to perform a healing magic. He felt his eyes gradually become heavier, and he snuggled deeper into his bed, ready to go back to a dreamless sleep.

The thought entered his mind, floating like a cloud: That's weird. Where's everyone..?

It was Greta's hysterical shriek that startled him up.

"It's a lie!"

His eyes snapped open—every sense alert, and he struggled to sit up, though the healer desperately tried to make him lie back down. He listened intently—there were hurried footsteps, light and heavy ones; scurrying out the hallway. Voices overlapped each other—Greta's shriek, a feminine and authoritative voice telling everyone to back off, horrified murmurs that weren't quiet enough to be 'murmurs' any longer, and panicked guards shouting to each other. Yuuri tensed; he could hear Günter's voice talking so fast he couldn't catch what he was saying; but it sounded like something was wrong.

"Out." He grunted, forcing himself to move and get off the bed. "Help me out."

"But Heika—"

"Now." The authoritative tone he learned from Gwendal had never failed him. The healer stuttered, obviously taken aback, before relenting and helped the Maou to stand up. Yuuri gritted his teeth; his legs buckled and he fell back down onto the bed at his first attempt. He reached for the bed post for his second attempt and managed to steady himself—but panic and worry had wormed their way into his heart, and he was practically dying to know what was happening out there.

The huge door of the Royal Chamber swung open and Yuuri stepped out, helped by the silver-haired healer. Several running guards skidded to a stop—looking terrified at the presence of their Maou, and it scared Yuuri even more. Down the hallway, Greta's shriek had turned into a painful wail, repeating the same word over and over again, "It's a lie, a lie, a lie, a lie, A LIE…!"

Yuuri paused, looking towards where everyone was heading, and his heart dropped to his stomach when he realized whose room it was.

Wolfram's old room.

"Wolfram…" he breathed out, and suddenly his feet found enough strength to move, to stumble forward and down the hallway. A guard caught his right arm and gripped it tight just in time before he fell, but Yuuri broke free from the hold and staggered further, grunting to anyone who could hear him to get off his way and let him through and what the hell was happening—

"Celi-sama!" Gisela's alarmed voice reached his ears as his hand reached the doorway, pulling himself forward, and he saw Gisela move to catch the falling figure of Cecilie. Guards rushed in at Gisela's call, crowding his line of vision—he could barely see a sobbing Greta in Anissina's arms.

"Heika!" Conrad stepped in front of him, blocking him from what was happening, and Yuuri subconsciously let a growl, warning him to step aside. Conrad tensed, tried to reason with a "You have just recovered, Heika, please—this is not something—"

Something smelt burnt.

Yuuri stepped in, reaching for Conrad's arm to steady himself, and finally got a good look.

His heart stopped.

There were ashes on the floor—black and still burning, scattered in a radius of fifty centimeters, and amongst them: pieces of torn blue fabrics singed black on the edges, frayed white, embroidered cloth that Yuuri just knew was previously a beautiful cravat, and several small round beads colored in dark blue, and some smaller white ones which some were horribly melted, supplying his brain with the picture of a familiar glint of a cravat ornament under the sun, encircling a cravat-covered neck. His stomach lurched at the thought. He tried to move forward; three steps, and his leg stumbled—strength ebbing away from him in an instant—until he fell on his knees right before a heap of ashes. With a trembling hand, he reached, grasping a handful of ashes and let them fall slowly; and his eyes widened as a strand of golden hair stuck between his forefinger and his thumb.

No.

Just—no.

Somewhere in the room, Greta choked a familiar name in a painful sob, over and over again. From the corner of his eyes, Yuuri saw Gwendal stand, visibly trembling, shoulders hunched up and looking as if he was trying with all his might to make himself disappear. Günter stood slightly off to the side, looking more horrified than ever as a hand covered his mouth, eyes shining with tears and disbelief. He felt a strong hand clamped on his shoulder, hard, as if transferring the pain of facing reality—and he knew it was Conrad.

"It's a lie—"

It's a dream, he thought. He must have been still asleep, out cold on his bed—their bed—snuggled safely inside the warm covers. When he woke up, he'd see his beloved there, waiting for him to rouse with his usual worry and annoyance mixed on his expression, would call him a wimp and yell at him for worrying everybody—would grasp his hand tightly half in relief and half in his usual worried anger, and he would laugh nervously in hopes for his Consort not to burn him on the ass.

"No…" he breathed out shakily, bringing his trembling hands upwards and buried his face into them, feeling the soft ashes left in his palms scraped against his skin—his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his lips—and he shuddered when he felt the golden strand tickled the corner of his lips; like a fluttering goodbye kiss—"Wolfram…" he whispered painfully, soundlessly, because his throat constricted and it hurt; it hurt like his own existence was ripped off his body forcefully, leaving an empty shell behind.

"He set himself on fire…?"

Someone murmured, sounding frightened.

"…burnt himself to ashes…the Prince Consort, I can't believe…"

"…could have been because of that incident…?"

Something in his stomach reeled, his head swam. He opened his mouth and tried to say something—anything, to deny the murmurs, to reassure everyone that everything would be okay, to call out for Wolfram—but he choked on nothing, and his voice just died.

"It's a lie—"

Yes, Greta, this is just a dream, he wanted to say. Don't worry. Wolfram would just waltz in at anytime and grin at them for falling for his joke—except that Wolfram would never play a joke like this, like this horrible joke and Yuuri couldn't understand why.

When the tears finally came, his world was already wrapped back in blackness and void.

Wolf…ram…

-o0oend chaptero0o-

A/N: I'm sorry to say this but—did you guys expect that? Ohohoho. –grins, ducks out of thrown tomatoes-

Uh—how should I say this, some of you perhaps wants to stop reading this fic and probably are disappointed of how this fic turns out. But as I've said, it's only the beginning. I'd be really, really happy if you guys decide to follow this fic till the very end, and I'll try my best not to disappoint any of you.

That and—since it's the first time I write something this intense myself, any constructive criticisms is welcome! I don't respond to flame, but I appreciate constructive criticisms and enthusiastic reviews very much. Thank you again for reading this far, and please do stick through the end! =D

Yours truly,

-isumi'kivic' and Ilde-