["And when I reached the mountaintop and stared into the sea of clouds, I felt like the last living soul. I had never felt more at peace, and I never would again." — Ylla Üron, Giving Up]
The rest of the day was a blur. He had a distant impression of soft sheets and a softer hand stroking his forehead, then he must have slipped into sleep. When he awoke, it took him a moment to recognize the lavish chambers the witch—Elana—had shown him.
His chambers. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Puffing out a breath, he sat up on the edge of the excessively large and plush bed. A slight chill on his left shoulder drew his attention. The sleeve of his coat was missing, cut cleanly away.
Guns.
A quick brush of hands in his pockets, then a sigh of relief. Both of his weapons were securely stowed, along the improbable bag of ammunition. He took another look at his coat, noting that it had been cleaned, the smaller tears sewed so skillfully they were almost invisible.
So much for a clean job. Now he'd gotten good and entangled with the people here, and things were going to get unnecessarily complicated. For a moment, he considered simply slipping out the window and striking out towards the Demon King's castle. He could blend into the populace, gather arms and intelligence along the way. The temptation to fall back into old habits was so tantalizing.
His jaw tensed. But it was far too risky. Too many things could go wrong. Everything was unfamiliar to him in this world, and one misstep could be fatal. Worse than fatal, for the boy he'd left behind.
Closing his eyes, he sighed and let his hands trail along the covers.
The boy, and also…
Yuusha-sama! Yuusha-sama!
Wincing, he stood up from the bed and looked around the room. There was a golden pitcher on the side table, along with a small goblet. The sight made him realize his throat felt like sandpaper.
Kiritsugu poured himself a cup and took a long swallow, too exhausted to worry about what might be in the water. The liquid was pleasantly cool in his parched mouth. He drank another cup, then dropped back onto the bed with another sigh.
Nothing's changed. Get into the Demon Lord's fortress, assassinate him, get out. Stay just long enough to form a plan, then implement. Simple.
A phantom trace of fingers along his arms, a fleeting impression of eager eyes and whispered prayers, made him shudder.
Damn it. Damn it. Things weren't simple at all. How far did his role as the Hero extend? King and Hero, his mind mercilessly reminded him. They'd mentioned something about a coronation.
Shit.
A knock on the door. An insistent one.
"Enter," he said, not bothering to face the door. It swung open as silent as midnight on well-oiled hinges. He'd have to scratch them up to achieve a telltale rasp.
"Finally!" The princess stomped into the room, firmly closing the door behind her. She came around the bed, the better to scowl down at him. "That's three times I've knocked, you lout."
He looked impassively at her. "Can I help you?"
She crossed her arms and huffed, as if she could murder him through the force of her gaze alone. A beat passed, then she gritted out, "…earlier today…"
He waited for her to get on with it.
Solaire sighed, as close to a surrender as he might ever get from this girl. "Look. You did a good thing today, helping the d'Alto family." Her eyes sharpened. "But don't get full of yourself! That was just one unlucky alchemist tripping up. It's nothing, nothing, compared to what the Demon Lord's forces have in store."
"Tell me," he said simply. Maybe he could get some value out of this conversation.
If she had glared daggers at him before, now it was a longsword boring into him. She hissed a breath in through her teeth, then—
"You fucking jackass." She slung the words at him viciously. "Could you at least sound interested, rather than like you're dropping off an order at the grocer's? These are my people—and they will be your people too—that we're talking about."
"They're not my people," he said. "I'm just here to do a job."
"Did you see how they were calling you in the streets?" she snarled. "They worship you. It may be a job to you, but it is a miracle to them. Everyone who has prayed to Senia, ever relied on her to carry them through their darkest moments, is looking towards you now. And you dare call it a mere job." She spat at his feet. "You fuck."
"That has nothing to do with me." He rolled his shoulders in an imitation of a shrug. "I never asked them to."
"So you'll just go through the motions? Follow things to the order, but never put your spirit into it?" Her voice lowered to an angry whisper. "That's what's going to get us all killed. You've failed before you've even begun, and you're going to drag my home down with you."
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Kiritsugu said shortly. "Tell me about the enemy forces."
Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. The silence hung again.
"Did you even listen to a word I just said?" she uttered quietly.
"I heard you. There wasn't any useful information in there. If you have nothing meaningful to say, then—"
She slapped him. The pain woke him up a little more, but it didn't last long. His body was too used to it.
"Not even this?" she said quietly, holding a fist out.
"You don't want to try that again." It was not a threat, it was a fact.
"I'd do it again and again, as many times as I needed to, if I thought it could finally make you feel something." The fist lowered, but clenched all the more tightly. "But it won't. I can see that now."
"Is there anything more?"
The silence hung for what felt like hours. The distant sound of servants' footsteps echoed down the halls, along with the shuffle of light armor. Third patrol in the last fifteen minutes. Better than the town, but still lacking.
"How can you stand it?" she finally asked, a tremble of outrage in her voice. He waited for her to finish the thought. "Being so… empty?"
He couldn't even muster a sardonic smile to that. "I don't."
The pause was even heavier.
"This is what we've waited for," she muttered. "This is what I've waited for. This is what's going to replace my father." Her eyes burned with fury. "You're not even alive, are you? Just a dead man walking."
That was truer than she could ever have known.
"What will you do about it?" he asked dispassionately.
She grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. His hands were in his pockets, ready to pull out the Contender if necessary. She pulled him up until their eyes were level—gray meeting blazing gold—searching for something. Evidently, she didn't find it.
"Fine!" she snapped. "If you want to be a weapon so badly, I'll treat you like one. " Her hand slammed on his chest and pushed him back. "Now get whatever arms you have and come with me."
"To?"
"You wanted to know the Demon Lord's forces, didn't you?" Her smile was anything but kind. "Now's your chance. I'll show you exactly what it is we're facing."
"Is your mother alright with that?"
"My mother," she spat, "wants to hide you away like you're a precious jewel. You may not care, but you're a symbol, and she wants to protect you because…" A pained inhale. "She needs you. Or at least she thinks she does."
"But…?"
"You'll never care about her, let alone our people." She was already halfway to the door. "You saved the d'Altos out of duty, not humanity. You'll never care about them, or anyone else. They might as well be pigs and horses."
She stopped at the door. "That kind of king doesn't deserve to be sheltered and protected. He deserves to be wielded til he breaks."
The door shut, just a few decibels down from slammed. "Meet me by the waygate in ten minutes. If you're late, I will come back up here and drag you down by your ankles."
He kept still, because she hadn't walked away yet. It took well over a minute before her footsteps began to echo down the hallway. Once they were gone, he lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
She isn't wrong.
He hadn't thought when he ran into that house, he just did it. It was an instinct, an old instinct he thought had long died. But that was all it was—he didn't even remember their faces. That could have been a byproduct of what was likely the concussion he received when getting the father out, but it didn't seem that way. Faces had long since become interchangeable to him. It was easier that way.
It was a simple thing, to dehumanize your enemy so as to make them easier to kill. A little harder for civilians, but he'd managed with practice. He just had to think of Solaire—the princess the same way.
Seven minutes, fifty six seconds. He could stay here another three before he had to get ready.
It had been a while since anyone had been so emotional with him. Even Raiga's granddaughter, for all the melodrama she carried herself with, was a reasonable kid at the end of the day. This one was going to be a handful. Luckily, he probably wouldn't have to deal with her for too long.
There was the slightest twinge in his chest. He left that unexplored in favor of getting up and checking again that he was armed. A quick search of the many drawers he could see yielded an embossed leather waterskin. He filled it from the pitcher. No food he could see, and there was no time to visit the kitchens. If this expedition ran long, he'd need to scavenge among the plants and fauna. A hunting knife joined the guns tucked in his coat pockets, then he headed cautiously out into the corridor.
Guards should be in the western staircase now. The next patrol is in two minutes.
Moving like a shadow over the white marble, he ghosted down the stairs a calculated distance behind the scrape of steel boots on stone. Elana—the witch had shown him the waygate earlier, a room containing a pillar of swirling indigo light stretching from floor to ceiling. Some sort of teleportation device.
Convenient and dangerous. He would need to learn more about them.
For once, his luck held. He encountered neither stray guards nor servants as he followed the route constructed from his memory of the tour. Approaching the waygate, he spotted the princess skulking in the shadow of a pillar. Not a bad attempt, but she was standing too rigidly to blend smoothly with the darkness, creating a visible outline of too black. At least she had removed the tiara, with its silver glint.
She seemed almost disappointed when he walked directly up to her.
"At least you showed up," she huffed, pushing a strand of auburn hair irritably from her eyes. "Where's your sword?"
He slid the knife into his palm and presented it without comment.
"…seriously?" She seemed genuinely taken aback. "No sword at all?"
He made another attempt at a shrug and put it away. The less she knew about his armaments, the better.
"Fine, whatever." She crossed her arms. "But if you die, I'm going to kill you."
"Get in line."
"Why am I not surprised…" she muttered, glancing up and down the corridor once more. "With such a charming personality, you must be adored at parties."
Another sliver of amusement, easily banished. He followed her into the waygate room.
The smell of ozone accompanied a gentle hum that vibrated in his chest. The light felt like it had a life of its own, flickering in apparent welcome as the princess reached her hand into the beam.
"Khuzard dûn anj," she stated, curling her fist. The light chuckled a deep blue, and she actually gave a small smile in return. He committed the words and action to memory, though it was likely that there was also another component that enabled the recognition. Maybe something to do with bloodline or magical signature.
"Well?" she asked, the smile long-dead. "You first."
"How do I know this isn't a trap?" It seemed unlikely, but if nothing else, her answer would be informative.
"If I wanted you dead, I would have stabbed you while you were asleep," she stated simply.
"Not all traps are meant to kill."
"Just get going, you obnoxious trash-fire of a human being."
He paused for a beat, staring into the light.
If anything happens to me, who will actually give a damn?
That was what pushed him forward. If he was lucky, maybe that goddess wouldn't even bother sending him back after he inevitably died.
The light tingled over his scalp as he stepped into its central beam. Nausea overtook him as his body seemed to stretch like taffy, the light swallowing him until he was in an abyss that glowed in impossible color. It was suffocating, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't—
