Note: I finally went through the other chapters and changed "Misael" to "Mizael." I'd been resisting doing it for consistency's sake but I really just had to do it.

Chapter Fourteen: An Oath of Treason

"…all found dead just a short ways from the Shrine. It had to have been the Kamishiros."

"How long?"

"About a week."

Hushed voices drifted into the infirmary from the hall outside, drawing Kaito out of his uneasy rest. His body still ached, but instead of being sharp pains, it was a dull stiffness, not much different from the times he had come down with a fever. His bandaged hand brushed against something warm, and he finally opened his eyes, his breath hitched in his throat as he tore his hand away from the sword lying next to him. It shouldn't have felt warm. It was metal; it should have been cool to the touch.

Chris wasn't there, either. Maybe it was for the best.

"…what Durbe thinks."

"He's worried, and frankly, if he's not going to tell us why-"

Kaito looked over in time to see Alit enter the room, followed by an enormous Barian whose name Kaito couldn't recall. Alit held himself with none of the usual swagger; his broad shoulders were slumped and his brows furrowed. The large Barian walked with a distinct stiffness in his shoulders, holding his arms rigidly by his side with each step. Both had a curious, helmet-like outcrop on their faces; much different from the seamless skin on Durbe's face or the masklike, winged protrusion on Mizael's.

They stopped when they realized Kaito was awake and watching them, and Alit straightened up unconvincingly. "You're awake. Good. Durbe sent me to check… a few things." He eyed Kaito's sword with narrowed eyes.

"Such as?" Kaito sat up, his hand reaching subconsciously for his sword.

Alit noticed. "No need to get uptight about it." He pulled a small vial from an inner pocket and set it roughly on the side table. "Drink that. When you're done, remove your shirt."

Kaito lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Just drink the damn potion. We don't have all day." The large Barian crossed his arms.

Without taking his gaze from the two, Kaito reached over and picked up the vial with stiff fingers. It smelled awful; like decaying citrus. He grimaced and drank it as quickly as he could, gagging on the overwhelmingly sour flavor. Despite its potency, he could feel the dull throbbing ebb somewhat. Fighting the urge to throw up, his fingers fumbled over the buttons of his sickbed clothing. As he pulled it off, he glanced down at his chest and let out a terrified whimper.

Alit made a soft noise of disgust and leaned over Kaito, who recoiled from Alit's attempt to touch him. "Don't you dare lay a hand on me," he spat, placing his hand over the protruding veins covering the area over his heart. Touching them made him queasy, like he was touching a parasite that had burrowed its way into his skin. The urge to throw up intensified, but he clenched his teeth to hold it back.

"Move your hand or Gilag will move it for you. Neither of us in a very good mood and I promise you I don't want to touch you either."

"What are you going to do?"

"Just look at it."

Slowly, Kaito lowered his hand and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the grotesque display on his body, nor did he want to see the Barian's face. He tensed at the claw touching his chest, tracing the veins, before the hand withdrew. Kaito opened his eyes in time to see Alit exchange a grim look with Gilag.

"What?"

Alit jerked his head at Gilag and the pair headed back toward the door without a second glance at Kaito.

"What's wrong with me?"

Alit paused. "Durbe is really the only one qualified to tell you that."

Kaito placed his hand over his heart again as the door closed.

Alit and Gilag walked side by side in silence toward the east wing. Durbe had dragged Alit along with him as far as he could get from the infirmary before dropping Alit on a bed and collapsing on the floor next to it. Alit woke first; when he found Durbe's unconscious body on the floor he had promptly alerted the Healers. Yet upon awakening, Durbe had insisted on their treating Alit first, and when Alit was cleared, asked him to check on Kaito.

At this rate, Durbe was going to kill himself before he could sort out the problems facing him.

As they reached the intersecting hallway to Durbe's chambers, Mizael swept from the opposite direction, hands clenched. He wore his golden travelling cloak, which was an oddity in itself; where would Mizael be going without Durbe?

Mizael came to a stop when he caught a glimpse of his fellow generals. "Have you seen them?" he demanded without preamble.

Alit held out his hands and raised an eyebrow. "Seen who?"

"The two younger Arclight brothers. They're not in their chambers, they're not in the common areas, they're nowhere that I can find in this palace."

Gilag scowled. "Do they matter right now?"

"King Byron wants them," Mizael snapped.

Oh. Gilag glanced down at Alit, who furrowed his brows. "I haven't seen either of them since before… since yesterday afternoon." Since before my soul energy was depleted for a selfish prince. He felt anger toward Durbe for forcing him to go through with it… but at the same time, Durbe had borne the brunt of the ritual. Any of the other lords would have expended as little energy as they could get away with, or perhaps even have forced others to do the ritual while they watched.

Mizael rubbed his face. His body was stiff, his eyes narrowed almost to slits. "Damn those little bastards," he muttered, half to himself. He turned back to Alit. "Did you need to talk to Durbe?"

Alit briefly explained Kaito's lingering physical abnormality and Mizael let out a disgusted humph. "I'll let Durbe know. I need to talk to him anyway. I need you two to set out some scouts and look for the Arclights."

"Where?" Alit asked skeptically. "They can make portals. They could be anywhere they've ever been before."

Mizael studied a portrait of a long-dead former king for a moment, shaking his head ever so slightly. He seemed to be arguing with himself. Alit would have preferred to see Mizael in his human body at that moment; it was much easier to read Mizael's human face. Finally, he spoke. "North Heartland. Send a small squad to North Heartland. Very small, mind you. Three or four. We don't want them noticed."

He turned and strode down the hall, ignoring Alit's bewildered stare.

"Why?" he muttered when Mizael was out of earshot. "Why would they be there?"

Gilag shrugged. "Can't really argue with him, can we? Let's just hope the Arclight brothers aren't as bloodthirsty as the Kamishiros."

Durbe looked up at Mizael like a child who had been caught breaking his parents' rules. With each scathing word that Mizael spat at him, Durbe flinched, and his hands clenched on his blankets.

You could have killed Alit.

You could have killed Kaito.

You almost killed yourself.

He deserves every word, Mizael convinced himself. He's behaving stupidly and recklessly.

When he paused to compose himself, Durbe shifted and pulled his blankets closer. He looked more drained than Mizael had ever seen him. His eyes were dull, his skin tight, and his body showed signs of malnourishment that Mizael hadn't seen on him since their days as new recruits. He looked like a man on his deathbed.

"It was the only way," Durbe murmured. "We command Tenjo now and not a drop of blood was shed. It was worth it."

"If you had died, we would be trapped with six lords with six different agendas clamoring to control things," Mizael snapped. "That would certainly not be worth it."

"I am prepared to give my life for my cause." Durbe's voice was a little stronger at this. He turned his gaze from the hanging canopy above his bed to Mizael. "Didn't you accept that, when you gave me your oath of loyalty?"

I intend to abolish the system of the Seven Lords and bring up one ruler to unite the Barian Empire. Fragmented rule leads to chaos and competition. One ruler will bring us together. Only together will we achieve our dreams.

That's treason, Durbe.

It's reality. If we stay as we are, we will perish. If my dreams for the benefit and prosperity of my homeland brand me a traitor, then so be it. I will accept my fate knowing I tried to save my people.

Mizael wordlessly shook back the sleeve on his travelling cloak and held it out to Durbe. On his forearm was a small, faded scar. Thirty years ago, Durbe had pierced himself with a Barian knife, then Mizael, and they had gripped arms tightly as their blood mingled together. They had been young recruits, in the Barian army for only a few weeks, when they had run into each other in a dark library afterhours and made a decision that would make or ruin them.

A blood oath. A blood oath to treason.

"You trusted me. I trusted you. I remember every word of my oath to you, Durbe. Every word."

I swear to willingly and obediently serve and protect Durbe, who will unite my homeland under his wise rule. I will lay down my life to defend his, and search out the greatest power of the Barian World to achieve this goal.

"Do you remember yours?"

Durbe closed his eyes. "I swear to be a wise and generous ruler, unable to forget the efforts of those who lift me. As such, I will help Mizael find and contain the power he requires to help defend the home we both love so dearly." He opened his eyes again and stretched out an arm. Mizael took it, right below the crook of the elbow, as Durbe held Mizael's forearm with a weak grip.

"You need to live," Mizael whispered. "Fulfill your oath, Durbe, and don't do something like this again."

"I need time to rest," Durbe murmured, finally releasing Mizael. He slumped back on his pillows. "I'm so tired."

"Don't move from this bed until you have strength enough to stand without requiring anything to hold you up."

Durbe's eyes creased in a small smile as he closed them. "What is the state of Kaito's body? Alit said he would be back with a report, but…"

In his haste to berate Durbe for his actions, Mizael had forgotten to pass that information along. He didn't see any need to concern Durbe with something that Durbe had no control over. He would let Durbe rest first. "He's weak. The Healers are tending to him."

Durbe nodded sleepily. "Has the chest swelling gone down?"

Damn it. "It's been over a day since the ritual."

Durbe's eyes opened again. "That's… not what I…" He tried to sit up. Mizael placed his hands on either shoulder and pushed him back. Durbe grabbed his hands, face twisted in worry. "Mizael, the failure of his body to produce a soul gem could have caused the blood to pool to the surface instead of escaping through his pores like it should have. He won't survive a week in that condition."

"I'll take care of it," Mizael murmured. "Stay in bed, Durbe."

"Mizael-"

"I said I'll take care of it." Mizael released Durbe's shoulders, but Durbe didn't let go of his hands. Mizael let him hold them until he finally drifted off to sleep.

He was relieved that Durbe hadn't asked about his travelling cloak. He had been foolish to wear it to see Durbe… but he would take the matter of the missing Arclights into his own hands.

Rio rubbed her brother's back, grimacing as he threw up over the side of the stairs. She had hoped that taking him outside for some clean air might help his sudden, violent bouts of nausea, but so far she had been disappointed. It had been over a week since they had arrived at the Dragoon Shrine, and he was still in no fit shape to go anywhere. Time was running out, and they would have to cover ground at twice the rate to get to Tenjo on schedule.

Ryoga shook as he dropped his head back in his sister's lap. She brushed his hair out of his sweaty face and sighed. "I think you're getting worse, Ryoga."

He mumbled incoherently in reply.

Truthfully, she hadn't been feeling her best either, though she was by no means as ill as her brother. Her sleep had been plagued with memories of her village burning, of Barians giving chase after the three young Dragoons who fled westward to the safety of the Astral Kingdom. The things that she remembered, the smell of the burning bodies, the taste of smoke on the air, didn't help her unsettled stomach.

"Come on." She pulled his arm over her shoulder and hoisted him up. Without his armor, he was much lighter than he had been as they trekked up the mountain, but she was tired and he was still heavier than she.

She dragged him through the entrance hall, a circular room built entirely out of stone, with a high ceiling and small torches that cast eerie shadows over them. Down the side corridor to the left were the dozen bedrooms; to the right were the kitchen and latrines. She took him to the right, to the kitchens, and dumped him in a chair as she searched the cabinets for some kind of spices to fashion into a soup. There were precious few provisions that were still useable. She thought about reprimanding her brother for letting the Shrine be neglected for a year without bothering to resupply it, but his pale, clammy face looked so pitiful that she decided to save it for another day.

"Ryoga, I found some dried noodles, so I'm going to make you a soup out of it. I expect you to drink it all."

He gave a noncommittal grunt and slumped forward on the table.

When the soup was finished, she had to shake him gently to wake him up. He gazed blearily at the bowl and reluctantly picked up his spoon.

"How is it?" she ventured after he had eaten a few spoonfuls.

"Bland as hell."

Typical.

"Thanks," he muttered.

She nodded and began eating some of her own. It was bland, and she grimaced. But they both needed to eat.

"I wonder how they're doing," he said suddenly, staring into his soup. "They should be in central Heartland by now."

She blew gently on her soup and studied his expression. He looked forlorn, his eyes heavily shadowed and framed by creased brows. "If they keep out of the cities, they should be fine. It'll take longer to detour around them, but it's safer."

"Safer." Ryoga stared into the broth in his bowl. His shoulders slouched. "I hope he doesn't have to kill anyone."

Rio set her spoon down and reached for her brother's hand. To her surprise, he didn't pull away. "He wouldn't unless it was completely necessary."

"Even so." He looked up. "Rio, did I ever tell you about what he was like… that day? When the rest of them died?"

That day. Ryoga never referred to the day of the Arclight Kingdom's fall any other way. Rio had seen Yuma that morning, screaming in his sleep, tearing his bedsheets, a completely broken man. She couldn't imagine how much worse he could have gotten. "No."

Ryoga leaned his head back, resting it on the back of the chair. "After I told you about Mara, I went to see him…"

Captain-Commander Kamishiro wasn't alone when he approached the hospital wing. A man dressed in black mourning silks that contrasted with his pale skin, making him look nearly translucent, stood at the door, looking in the small window leading to the quarantine room from which Ryoga heard anguished sobbing.

"Lord Astral," Ryoga murmured, giving the man a deep bow, hand resting on the hilt of the sword he carried at his waist. "What brings you here?"

"Captain." The prince inclined his head courteously, taking in the Captain-Commander's dark leather armor down to the black leather boots and red-lined black cloak trailing behind him. "I heard one man survived the scouting party to the Arclight Kingdom, so I came to see him." His eerily mismatched eyes flicked back to the window. "Though I wonder if 'survived' is the right word."

Ryoga stepped closer and followed the prince's gaze. Yuma curled up on the bare cot, hands clenching his hair as he shook violently.

"Where are his bedsheets?" Ryoga asked quietly.

"Lady Kotori removed them when he tried to hang himself with them," Astral said rigidly.

Ryoga felt a sickening clench in his stomach. "Has he said anything about… about last night?"

The prince shook his head imperiously. "He's been cursing the gods that he didn't die with them." He placed a stark-white hand on Ryoga's shoulder. "I am grieved at your loss, Captain. Our kingdom mourns for those taken by the Barians."

Ryoga gently removed the prince's hand and opened the door to the room. Astral followed him in, but stood back by the door as Ryoga approached the shaking man on the cot.

"Yuma Tsukumo."

Yuma glanced up slowly, terror evident in his red eyes.

"On your knees," the captain commanded in the same flat voice.

Yuma whimpered. "Leave me, Captain. I failed them, all of them-" He cut off as the captain reached down and seized him by the front of his shirt and yanked him off the bed onto the floor.

"I gave you an order and I expect it to be obeyed," the captain continued as though Yuma had not spoken. "You will not disobey me again."

Yuma's hands and knees pressed into the cold marble floor as his chest shuddered to take in air.

"Tell me what happened last night."

Yuma shook his head.

With a heavy, frustrated breath, Ryoga drew his sword and placed it inches from Yuma's throat. Astral made a noise of alarm, but the captain ignored it. He waited.

"Will you kill me?" Yuma whispered. Pleading. The sight of him made Ryoga's stomach churn with anger, pain, disgust, sadness. He kept his face impassive.

"No."

"Why?"

"I want your answer. Only a man who has embraced his past and prepared for his death deserves the honor of death."

Yuma's face paled. He couldn't speak.

The captain slammed his sword point into the ground, making the younger man jump slightly.

"You're afraid to die, but you're more afraid that you've killed. Taking another's life isn't so easy, is it, Yuma Tsukumo?"

Astral hovered by the door, watching Yuma's shoulders shake and the captain's shoulders remain stiff as a board. The expression in the captain's eyes… it wasn't the same cold indifference he spoke with. It was a deep concern.

The captain reached down and pulled Yuma by his shirt again, pulling him to his feet, until they were eye level. Noses barely a finger's width apart, Ryoga whispered to him.

"I need to know what happened, so I don't make that mistake again. And you need to tell me so you can come to grips with the fact that you killed someone. The unpardonable sin, isn't it, Yuma? Is that why you're afraid? Let the gods sort out your personal bullshit and feelings of self-loathing in the afterlife and get on with your damn life while you're still here."

Yuma's eyes moved between Ryoga's eyes and his lips and back again. "I can't, Ryoga," he whispered back.

Ryoga let out an enraged yell and shoved Yuma into the marble wall. He heard a sickening crunch followed by a pained cry. Kotori burst in behind Astral and let out a shriek but Astral held his arm out, stopping her.

"You spineless coward!" the captain roared, yanking Yuma toward him again. "Do you remember what I said to you on your first day of training?"

Yuma whimpered in pain.

"I told you that you didn't look like you'd last a week!" Ryoga shoved Yuma into the wall again, ignoring Kotori's cries of protest and Yuma's gasps for air. He leaned his face close again. "You told me something I haven't forgotten. Do you remember what it was?"

A choked squeak, a barely perceptible whisper of his name.

Ryoga shoved Yuma farther up the wall. "You told me that you would never give up. Never. If your friends died around you, if you faced death yourself, you would fight. You would fight because people were counting on you and if you gave up, they would suffer for it. You said you'd always bring it to the people hurting your friends, no matter what. You said your father called it a kattobing spirit." A nonsensical word, but one that meant a great deal to Yuma. "Well, guess what?"

"Ryoga, please," Kotori whispered in horror, grabbing his arm. He ignored her.

"Your friends are dead, Yuma. The rest of us are going to be unless you tell us what happened. And yet you've given up. Where's your kattobing now?"

Slowly, painfully, a look of comprehension, of agony, appeared in Yuma's eyes.

"I understand," he whispered finally.

Ryoga slowly lowered Yuma to the ground and released his clutch on the shaking man, who collapsed on the bed.

"Heal him," he said indifferently to Kotori, who shot him a withering glare before placing her hands on Yuma's chest.

Ryoga watched as she closed her eyes and murmured in an almost songlike voice in a prayer-like tongue. As she murmured, a soft light spread from her hands and settled across Yuma's chest, causing him to shudder as though doused with a bucket of ice water.

She pulled her hands back and glared at Ryoga again. "I will not stand by as you injure my patients in my presence again, Captain," she said, tone clipped. "I don't care how important you think you are."

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Astral continued his silent sentinel by the door, arms crossed, though his eyebrows raised at Kotori's ire.

"Now." Ryoga pulled a chair up to the bedside. His voice was gentle now. "Tell me everything."

"…you've read the reports he wrote on what happened next. How they all died. How Yuma tried to save Mara." Ryoga met her eyes. She felt sick again, and no amount of bland soup could help soothe her stomach. She understood now why her brother didn't want Yuma to kill anyone else. The act of killing, even in self-defense and for the protection of those around him, had hurt his soul.

But she remembered one part of Yuma's report. How he had chased down the Barian that had stabbed Mara, chased him down and thrust his sword into its body four times, five, six – I don't know, I lost track of how many times I did it – even well after it had died.

I told him not to let revenge move him to foolishness, Ryoga had said, and the sudden realization of just how broken the pair of them were hit her painfully.

She squeezed Ryoga's hand in what she hoped was a comforting way.

"I think we should leave at sundown," she whispered. "We have so much to do, and we can't… we can't know how much longer you'll be sick."

He nodded and rubbed at the bags under his eyes. "We've got a few hours left to get some things together, then." He pushed the dregs of the cold soup away and climbed, shaking, to his feet.

Mizael froze at the sight of Alit sprinting down the hall toward him. Alit was never in this much of a hurry, so what-

"What is it?" Mizael reached out a hand and caught a handful of Alit's cloak as the other general tried to barrel past.

"Let go, I need to see-"

"Durbe is getting some much-needed rest. Whatever it is can surely wait until-"

Alit shook his head and tore free from Mizael's grip. "No, it can't!" His voice was panicked. "Lord Kaito is missing!"