I DO NOT OWN KYOU KARA MAOH OR ANY OF IT'S AWESOME CHARACTERS.

WARNINGS : OOC, OC, OC DEATH,

IN THIS CHAPTER, I TRIED TO GIVE MORE PERSPECTIVE THAN I USUALLY DO, HENCE THE ABNORMAL WRITING STYLE,

ENJOY!


Gisela stood in front of her desk. Her eyes empty as she removed her surgical gloves from her small hands.

I should have told him.

She reached placed her hand on the desk. Trying to steady herself. Her heart plummeted, her soul dragged, her eyes rained. She had whisked all her nurses away, stubborn to try to heal the blond herself. Stubborn, because she knew she fucked up. Stubborn, because she foolishly made a promise she shouldn't.

Stubborn, because she had just cost a life of an innocent.

She held stronger to the desk, trying to maintain her composure. She feels it in the air, the guilt. She can even smell it, death. Something she had sworn to protect people from. She failed herself now. She failed her king. She failed Wolfram. It wasn't her fault, honestly. She did what she thought was the best for everyone.

What have I done?

She felt herself crumbled to the floor, weeping and sobbing. She heard her helpers rushing to her door, trying to pull her up to her feet. She smelled blood, and knew that she had probably hurt herself. She saw worried faces looking at her, looking at the best medic in the whole kingdom. And she decided that she doesn't feel anything anymore.


"Can't we go?" Cleo asked him, her face full with worry as she pulled at the Sage's sleeves.

"No. Shibuya had used up quite a lot of his Maryoku. He is not powerful enough to transfer. And no. Magik might be too raw on his body now," he sent a warning glare toward Axel who immediately shut his opinion, removing Cleo's small hands from his jacket.

"You can come visit him when he's better," Murata finalised as he walked away, his eyes and mind full with regret.

"If he gets better," Adam muttered, as Cleo smacked him hard on the head and glared at him, her eyes dripping with tears.


The king crumbled to his knees, tears almost brimming in his eyes. Wolfram immediately rushed to his side, embracing him in a protective hug.

"What have I done, Wolfram?" he young king croaked, his eyes brimming with tears.

Wolfram looked at his brothers from over the king's shoulder. It was not their fault. It was nobody's fault. Just some stupid hooligans thinking that they can rule the world better. And killing a few innocent lives on the way somehow always seem to be a part of their plan.

"You had done nothing wrong, Yuuri," the blond soothe him, pulling him to his feet.

"You had been a great king. These people are what's wrong Yuuri," Wolfram reminded. The king clung tighter to him, overwhelm with guilt.

"Really?" the frail boy asked as he peered into his eyes. Wolfram smiled fondly.

"Yes. You are the greatest king ever, Yuuri. You did great. Now, you need some rest, we will settle this in the morning," Wolfram concluded as he led him out of the room...

"Wolfram?" the king called out. The blond hummed as a response.

"Would you stay with me? No matter what I do?"

"Yes, Yuuri. I know that I can fix this, but I promise I will stand with you through all this. Okay?" the blond coaxed.

The brunette smiled fondly.

"Okay, Wolf".


A new dawn broke.

She knew because she had been sitting on her bed for the past 30 minutes waiting for the sun to peek over the horizon, albeit a little. She smiled as the tiny rays started to lightly enlighten the small city that she could see from her opened balcony doors, still sitting on her bed.

Dawn.

Her father had once told her that for every stormy night, there will come a dawn. That dawn will be a new start to everything. It will bring hope, but only if she believes that it will. For you see, it's not the stormy night, or the sun that brings out the best in people, it is people themselves. People that make shelter to protect from crazy weather, and make gardens to enjoy under the sun's warmth. The dawn does not only bring a new day, it bring a new hope. An inspiration.

Inspiration?

Papa, really? Inspiration?

A new dawn would not give her an inspiration, or bring a new hope! Or bring the best in people. What dawn does is make you feel messed up. Hope, is not going to do anything! For Shinou's sake, hope gets burned down every new dawn. And people will not change just because they see the sunlight. To be truthful, people might only change once they see what a storm could be.

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!", somehow she wished that no one had heard that.

She is so freaking tired of everything! Everyone look at her as if she is a child. She is sixteen, for Shinou's sake! She deserves to know what is going on!

She sighed heavily and dropped back to the bed on her stomach. She pulled the soft white cotton blanket around her, forming a protective cocoon around her body, away from the world.

Why life does have to always be hard?

Is she that much of a bad luck?

Why is it that people who cares for her always involved in these types of situation?

What had she done in her past life?

A lone tear fell from her cheeks.

Why do you do this to me, Papa? Am I that bad of a daughter? I promised to be better. Please. Come back.


The document in front of him remained unsigned.

Obviously. They can't sign themselves, stupid.

He heaved a heavy sigh as he rubs his palm on his face, pinching the bridges of his nose. The parchment in front of him seems intimidating now, as if glaring at him to sign it. He took the fountain pen and dipped it in black, giving a quick one-over over the document then signing it without a second thought.

He continued with several more papers, and then more, until he was positive that the amount of paperwork he had done is at least half the total amount.

Then he heaved another heavy sigh, and was surprised when he was answered with a cough.

He looked up to the young man in front of him, smiling slightly. He put his stencils away and started to clear his table.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying not to care too much in his friend's facial features.

"Nothing. I just want to check on you," he replied simply as Yuuri raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.

"Why?".

"Just checking up on a friend, and my king. Can't I?"

They stared at each other. Each trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

The silence was broken by Yuuri, who let out an awkward laugh.

"Come on, Murata. What do you want?" he leaned back on his chair, popping out the muscles on his shoulders.

The sage pulled a chair in front of the desk and took a seat, crossing his legs.

"Are you okay?" the sage started, his hands on his lap.

He nodded slightly, "why wouldn't I be?"

Murata pushed a knuckle under his glasses, correcting them as he pondered on how to continue. He straightens up in his chair and opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when Yuuri held out a finger at him.

"No riddles, Murata," he demanded and pleased to see the sage nodding.

"Do you know?" the sage asked, the question purposely left hanging.

The king nodded.

"When?"

"Right when we get back here".

"How?"

"I heard you and Cleo in the castle, Murata. I can link the dots," he justified, looking almost angry. Seconds later he heaved another sigh.

"I fucked up, Murata. I fucked up, bad,"

"Yes, you did. But everyone does at some point."

"Not this bad. I killed an innocent, Murata," he said, his head in his palms.

"Yes you did. But you didn't know and it is not your fault. You did what was best at the moment,"

"What are you going to do?" the sage asked after the non-existent reply of the king.

Yuuri sighed again.

"Honestly, I don't know," he smiled sadly at the sage and put his hand on his desk, bringing his whole body forward.

"Gwendal and Conrard would kill me. Heck, I would kill me. And I don't even know if he knows," he continued, fisting his hand.

"Why do you think Gisela wanted to come in the first place anyways?" the sage responded and he raised his face, perplex.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he cursed, now standing. He started a tiny pacing, to the edges to his desk and back.

"I can't confirm. You should ask," the sage stood in his chair, and walked to the door. Relieved that the purpose of his visit is fruitful. He opened the door but turned around to look at the young king, still pacing, digesting, and thinking.

"Do not make him feel threaten, Shibuya. Go slow," he warned as he closed the door and left the king to his own thoughts.

He is right.

Minutes later, the king stepped out of his study, stalking to a certain green-haired healer's office.


Conrard opened the door but immediately stopped in the doorway. The maid told him that his brother had taken to knitting to relieve this tension. That statement was, undoubtedly an understatement.

He picked up the small fluffy toy by his feet and closed the door behind him. He stood standing in front of his brother, now somehow flooded by plushies. Rainbow of colours seemingly threatening the stoic Mazoku to be just as cheerful as them. He watched as a blue bunny-toy fell from the overcrowded desk into the pile of soft cottony mass of knitted stuff on the floor.

"Gwendal?" he called out softly.

He heard a loud groan in reply, and to his amusement, the small lifting of an eyebrow.

"Are you okay?" he tried again as he stepped closer, the toy in his palms.

Another groan followed.

"Do you know how much you have knitted?" he put the innocent toy on top of the brown desk, on one small patch of wood still uncovered with the same kind of toys.

He was answered with yet another groan.

A vein popped on his flawless forehead.

"Gwendal?" he asked again, this time his voice a lot louder and harsher.

"What?" came the disgruntled reply?

"How long are you going to do this?"

Silence followed. The commander watched as the general continued in knitting a pink plushie, trying his hardest to ignore him.

"Gwendal, stop! This is ridiculous," Conrard barked as he grabbed the two sticks from his brother's hand, sending plushies bouncing to the floor. Two sapphire eyes glared back at him. He stared back incredulously.

The engaged in a staring contest, both determined to make the other flinch first.

It was the younger one who finally subdued.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I was doing?"

"Gwendal," Conrard warned, hands on his hips.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, CONRARD?" the general suddenly barked out, sending the brunette a few steps backwards. Gwendal glared as his brother squinted at him.

"What do you want me to do? You want me to face the king? To defy whatever prophecy he filled because he runs a sword through our younger brother just to save the world? Or do you want me to console mother? Who at this very instance is on the edge of losing her mind? Or are you asking me to bring back the life he had just sacrificed? Is that what you wanted me to do?" the general bashed.

The younger man looked at him pitifully, a small sad smile gracing his lips.

"I want you to be you. The protective brother I know. It not the end of the world, Gwendal. Yuuri did what he though was best, at the moment,"

"At the cost of our brother's life!" Gwendal barked back.

"He never cared for Wolfram. After all those years he had been using him, I was actually relieved when they finally broke off. Then this happened. The child has no respect for our brother at all!" he continued.

"Gwendal! Be reasonable," Conrard raised his voice as he stepped closer to his now standing brother. The two thin wooden needles snapped under his palms.

"I am being reasonable! I am thinking of every reason that Wolfram might have deserve this!" Gwendal urged on, his face red with fury.

"Gwendal!" Conrard shouted, momentarily shocking his brother who immediately fell seated on the chair. Seeing no further argument, he opted to continue.

"Yuuri was but a child when he came here. 4 years of experience is nothing compared to sixteen years of culture. He was afraid," Conrard said, slowly.

Gwendal scoffed.

"He was clearly not afraid when he took Wolfram's virginity," Gwendal said sadly and smirked at his brother's horrified look.

"Gwendal, that's..," Conrard trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

"He was clearly not afraid when he fucked Wolfram for years after that," Gwendal reminded.

Conrard spared him a glance before looking at his polished chocolate boots, head bowed in shame.

"Wolfram was stupid to let himself being treated that way. He was desperate, I know. That, however didn't make what the king did, right. Wolfram gave him his heart and his consent. That child pranced on his feelings. I know it was also my fault. I didn't...," "it was our fault," the brunette corrected, lifting his head to face his brother.

"It was my fault too. I didn't watch over him enough. I wasn't there for him. Do not blame this on you, Gwen. I am at fault too," Conrard pleaded.

They stared at each other again. Looks filled with misery and apathy.

"But it is in the past, Gwendal," the younger spoke up, delighted to see his brother nodding, agreeing to his words.

"We should focus on the future now," the general concluded.

The brown soldier bowed and turned on his heels and started for the door.

"Conrard?" he called out.

The ex-prince stopped in his tracks.

"Yes, brother?".

"Make sure he is fine," the general said, voice only loud enough to be heard by the now smiling brunette.


Three sharp knocks shook her out of her reverie. She turned her head to the thick wooden door before shouting a meek 'come in'.

Geesh, who is it now?

She started to clear her desk, something she notice that somehow calm her down when she felt messed up. And now is such time. Though it is not calming her down.

She just lost a patient. A very important one. One that might change the world on some perspective. But well, she lost her. Three of her healers are on maternity leave. The general of the kingdom had been behind her back for the past few days. She can still hear the muffled growls and wails of her own father. The king is so hopefully dependent on her right now. And she hadn't, no, couldn't get a sleep since the last two days.

To top it off, she is a sworn Shin Makoku's healer. So even though her father's secret stash of vodka is hers if she had asked for it, she was truthfully restricted from alcoholic drinks by the order of the 25th Maoh of Shin Makoku himself. Great, just great. Why did she decided to be a healer anyway? Oh, Julia. Right.

A soft coughed pulled her again from her thoughts.

She raised her head to face a very handsome young man. Perfectly tanned, chiselled jaws, imperious nose, dreamy eyes of fire and that earthy sweet scent around him. Not to mention that tall lean sexy body, and beautiful silky hair that blow in the non-existent wind. And that aura that screams dominance, and that smile of an angel. Alright, no more dreaming about your king.

He came in without asking?

"Your Majesty?" she croaked out.

"Yes, can we talk?" the king asked, his eyes tired as he looked around the room for a place to sit then settle on a wooden chair by the balcony. His question now an obvious demand.

She decided to ignore the question, and settled to fill a kettle with tap water. Tea. Might calm her down. A few herbs. Honey. Some herbaceous drugs. Traditional remedies. Syrup. Okay, that might calm her down.

"Did you know?" the voice of the king reminded her that she has a guest in her room. She placed the kettle on the fireplace, opting not to use the stove, too tired to fire it on. She decided that the most important part of the tea, the drugs, is out of question then. Oh, well.

"Know what, Your Majesty?" she asked, searching for her tea jar and two mugs. She reached her cookie jar first, and handed it to her king, who took it gratefully.

"Wolfram and..," the kind looked out the window. Not wanting to continue. Not needing to. She sighed. Fuck laws. She really could use some rum now.

The kettle whistles, and she poured the steaming hot water into the mugs, now set in a tray. Two cubes of sugar followed and a bottle of milk at the side. She took the tray and took a seat in front of her young king and placed said tray on the table between them, right next to the cookie jar.

"Yes, I confirmed it," she said. She is not allowed to reveal things about her patients, its protocol. However, this is a king. A young and very confused, troubled king at that. She wanted not to make it hard for him. The two never really try to keep secrets from each other anyway.

Well, except this one. But yet, the king seemed to have somehow found out. Less guilt on her side.

"You...," the king somehow, in all his legality, seemed not to be in the mood to form perfect sentences it seems tonight.

Why am I being so sarcastic? What did I eat?

The stress, it seems.

"Didn't make it," she declared, then regretted it.

"Couldn't, make it," she corrected, in a much slower voice.

They sat in silence after that. Watching the stars, smelling the air. Seeing the city lights and hearing the wind, the tea turning cold by the minute.

She bit her lips, trying not to feel. She realised she failed, when she noticed a certain familiar wetness on her left cheek. She wiped it down, only to feel the same sensation on her right cheek. She wiped that down too, then gave up because they just wouldn't stop coming and tried her hardest not to sob.

So when she heard one, she immediately turned to her right. The previously regal king, now just a broken teenage, curling up with his knees to his chest on the small chair. Unwanted sobs clearly can be heard by the world, and it was no question if the certain wetness had enveloped him too.

A young boy a lot younger than her, so fragile now. Beaten and depressed. All because a certain someone thought that not telling the truth was the best way. Because someone thought that they had a fool proof plan and that that someone will be the only one hurting.

She looks at the sky, tears now flowing freely down her face into her scalp. The blue sky is no longer starry now. In fact, it is grey. It wasn't long before it downed on her, just how powerful the Maoh is and how every element in nature would follow his decisions.

Such as now.

Small, frail, frightened child, rocking himself slowly, still wrapped in his own salty tears. To which the sky had responded dutifully, embracing them both in her own tears.

She sat there, looking at the innocent being, trying to console himself in the rain, so hurt and so insecure and couldn't help feeling and knowing that it was her fault too.

It was then, that despite her own tired body, in only her nightwear, and that she isn't even wearing her bra, and that it would be uncanny or that she might even seem like a paedophile, she did what she thought was best. She rose from her seat and sat by the immature fellow and pulled him to her chest, and rested her chin on his head. Trying to soothe him as she battled her own aching heart.

The rain kept pouring for the rest of the night, enclosing them in their own tiny world. Both tired and hurt.


Cheri clutched at the gold locket hanging from the chain. It pressed white-hot against her skin. Each gasp tore down her throat and her mind raced even as she lost herself in the storm. This is all her fault! She hadn't been a good enough mother! She is such a fool. What have she done? She was so selfish, too keen on herself that she had forsaken her baby.

No. This couldn't be the end. Not when he promised her he'd fight, dammit! She pounded the cold floor. Hissed a breath through clenched teeth. But the strength left her, even as she attempted to stand. Her throat held back something between a sob and a shout. She had to see him. Through the blur of motion and colour she entered the room. She would see him. And hope as a mother. She had to be strong. For her baby boy.


"Wolf?" the teen looked up to him from his chest.

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?" the king asked as he pushed his body up, facing him while crossing his legs Indian style.

"What kind of question is that?" the blond retorted, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.

A king pondered on the question for a few seconds before deciding to answer.

"A question," he smiled widely, proud of his somewhat intellectual remark. He watched as the blond leaned his head to the right and smiled beautifully, his face radiant.

"Of course I do," the blond answered, looking at him straight in the eyes.

"Why?" the king asked again, pulling the blond into the same posture as his and holding his hands. The blond immediately blushed at the affection, and looked away.

"I don't know," the blond started, moving his shoulders in awkwardness.

"I just thought that you were cute. And you are very kind. You are also different from other people. I mean, I like the way you smile, or how sometimes your dumb acts make Gwendal angry. I like that you always put yourself before anybody else, though I am not saying that it's the right thing!" Wolfram warned.

"Is that all?" he asked again, pulling the blond closer, their knees touching.

"Well, you made me a better person, Yuuri. You adopted Greta and she's now a huge part of my life. You made me see the world for what it really is instead of my opinion on it. I really don't care that you are a wimp, Yuuri. Honestly, if you were sent here as a gardener I would still just love you the same. You are my everything, Yuuri. Everything else is just, nothing. I know that you might not feel the same, but I love you, Yuuri. I love you for all that you are, all that you've been and all that you'll be," the blond poured.

His heart was telling him to cry, yet he told himself to hold on, to be strong.

The king smiled forlornly, his eyes longing. He took the blond into his arms and held him close.

"I can't promise you that I can love you the way you deserve to be loved, Wolfram. But I'll try," the king said, smiling softly as he kissed the blond tenderly on the lips.


The king entered the room slowly, closing the door behind him quietly. He inched closer to the clean white bed steps by tiny steps. The small figure on the bed lay inhumanly still, safely tucked under the white cotton blanket.

He suddenly felt a cool breeze and smiled when he saw the beautiful seductress walking from the balcony. Her eyes have eye bags, her hair unruly, her complexion is somewhat too pale, but to him, she still looks like the strong beautiful woman she had been when she was still the Maoh.

Donned in a thick uncharacteristically gracious white dress, she looked tired beyond her age. She smiled as she looked at him, inviting him for a hug. Yuuri obligated. He moved closer to the blond as she pulled him to the ample bosoms, embracing him like she would her own sons. After a minute of silent grief and relief, they broke apart.

"You should retire, Celi. I will look after him," he asked politely, his voice regal enough for her to note that it was an order. She opened her mouth to object, but closed them silently afterwards.

"Call me when he wakes up," she warned, giving him a final motherly hug before walking out of the room. Yuuri bit his lips at the woman's out of character persona, and then shook it off as worry for her son.

He flashed a look at the blond on the bed, his sleeping face serene.

He opted to sit by the window.

He noted that the moon is shining brightly tonight. So bright that the only visible stars are the distant ones. Soft winds blew at his face, refreshing him of the new start he had decided on. Hoping that his resolution is agreed upon.

How many nights had Wolfram stood up watching the moons like this? How many nights had he been wishing for his feelings to be returned, his heart cherished? He remembered waking up one night a few months ago, to see the blond Mazoku crying by the window, yet dismissed him when he carefully mention it.

Wolfram had always been a proud person, he had heard as much though he never experience it first-hand. To him, Wolfram had been a very good friend. After the blond had grown out of his 'cheating fiancé' stage, the blond had been a close companion, a very needed one at that.

Wolfram will wait for him at night, listen to him. The blond was never afraid to tell the truth, even if it was cold and hard. He trained with him, showed him how to be a king. Wolfram took care of Greta when he is gone, and Wolfram was always polite to his mother.

It was no question that he merely thought of Wolfram as a friend with benefit. Someone to turn to when the world turn him down. Someone to warm his body when he was feeling cold. That was what he thought, though.

What have he done? He had forced Wolfram to make the hardest decision anyone had ever made, and it won't even have to be made if he wasn't selfish. Now everyone's hurting, because he was being selfish.

A disgruntled groan shook him out of his reveries and he turned back to the load on the bed now moving slowly. In a second he was by the bed, peering as an emerald eye opened their orbs to the world.

"Yuuri?" the blond called out in disbelieve, his voice coarse. The king smiled his goofy smile.

"Yes. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?" he asked as he rushed to help the blond get up, placing the blond softly by the head board.

"Water," the blond pleaded, his voice almost inaudible.

Yuuri immediately poured water from the jug on the bedside table into a glass and passed it to the blond. Wolfram drank the whole glass in one long gulp, sighing in relief when he is done and asked for another fill.

"What happened?" the blond asked as Yuuri filled his glass. He knew that this might not be the right time, his mind is foggy and his gaze is somewhat blurry. However this might be the last time he open his eyes, the aching pain on his stomach tells him that.

Yuuri took a seat by the bed, sitting as close as he can to the blond that he can hear the blonde's shallow breathing. He honestly does not know how to start, so he decided to do what Wolfram would so.

He tells the truth.

"I almost killed you," the king admitted, his voice full with guilt. Wolfram placed his hands on his palm, the glass between his palms.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Black hair snapped up as Yuuri turned his face to look at the blond.

"Sorry? I should be the one that's sorry, Wolfram! In case you didn't understand, I almost killed you. I rammed my sword though you!" Yuuri exclaimed as calm as he could, his fists by his side. He glared in annoyance when the blond put up a poker face.

"I forced you to do it, Yuuri. You had no choice," the blond said tiredly. The king suddenly lost his reply as he continues to marvel at the beauty and wonder when will the blond truly wake up.

His comforting gaze was broken when he saw the blond hunched and the half-empty glass tumbled to the floor, water spilling everywhere.

"Wolfram?" he called out softly and worriedly.

"You rammed your sword through me," the blond repeated his sentence, looking up at him teary-eyed.

He instantly climbed onto the bed and pulled the smaller boy to his chest. Rocking the blond in a comforting embrace, trying to soothe the shocked blond as his shirt became wet with tears. He holds on desperately as the blond clutched to him, pulling him close. Before long, tears enveloped him too. Pulling them both into an abyss of despair.

Wolfram had known. He had known all along.


Hi, everyone, it's Anies Miarie again!

It's the fifteenth of March already. Sorry for the super-late update!

I am so sleepy and I don't really have time to properly edit this, so please pardon any minor mistakes (I'll correct them, I promise)

This story had been confusing, even for me. One thing is for sure, though.

Next Chapter will be the last chapter, YEAYYY!

I seriously wanted this story to end in this chapter, so that the next chapter would be some kind of an epilogue, but I am just too tired (SORRY)

Oh, I'll be taking my final high school result tomorrow!

Please wish me luck :D

Thanks for reading and I promise I'll try to work on the next chapter as soon as possible.

Please comment everyone, help in in writing this (because I badly need help).

Please R & R

Until next time, darlings!