Late in the night, the Nekarasi crew snuck out of Izaki and into the secret mountain passes. The road, not that it deserved such a title, was rocky and overgrown in the best places and nonexistent in the worst. What Hinata had estimated as a couple hours' worth of travel instead took two days. Even then, they all relied more heavily on Hinata than Tsukishima would have liked to admit. The redhead took on his beast form more often than not; he only turned human to communicate when grunts and wild gestures wouldn't do, not that that was much different than how he spoke as a human.
As tedious as traversing the mountain pass had been, Tsukishima couldn't help but admire the view. The air up high was thin, but the breeze was cool, and the sight before him was incredible. At their highest point, still not even close to the mountain's summit, the Nekarasi crew could see Fukoni and Inari almost in their entirety. Behind them, in Inari, Izaki glittered, and if he squinted, Tsukishima could just barely see the hustle and bustle of the merchant caravans that came in and out of the city. It was a far cry from the vision of Fukoni that lay ahead of them.
Fukoni was a mostly flat country, all rolling hills and shoreline. Outlines of cities dotted the countryside, easy to make out amongst the low-lying greenery and shrub-like trees. It would have almost been charming were it not for the billowing plumes of smoke that seemed to rise from every big city. The smaller towns and villages seemed to have avoided most of the violence, but from the vantage point, Tsukishima could see that the once great cities had been turned into smouldering ruins. He couldn't name the emotion it caused in him, fear, regret maybe. The sooner they got to Odanii, the better.
They spent the next day walking aimlessly in the picturesque countryside of Fukoni. Odanii was far south, but Akaashi insisted that they find a smaller village and try to buy transportation first. With a little bit of luck, and more guidance from Hinata, they managed to stumble into a small town before nightfall. There couldn't have been more than fifty homes, but their town was connected to roads, so that was something. Tsukishima, with his last few gold coins, bought a rickety cart and an old plough horse. He had been overcharged on both purchases, drained completely dry of the last of his funds, but couldn't find it in himself to be upset. It was probably more money than any of the townspeople had seen in several years.
The old Clydesdale wasn't the fastest horse Tsukishima had ridden, not by any means, but she was reliable and sure-footed, and she pulled the entire Nekarasi crew in their little cart with ease, so she was a good purchase in his books. Tressa, Hinata had insisted on naming her, got them to Odanii in six days. She moved at a steady clip day in and day out, stopping for breaks infrequently, seemingly as determined to reach the destination as the former steam engine crew.
Akaashi nearly broke into tears when they entered through the city gates. Odanii, a once beautiful city of art and culture, had been utterly destroyed. Buildings had collapsed, the roads had been left to disrepair, and the ground was stained rust with dried blood; it looked like a painting from the great war, come to life. Tsukishima, to an extent, tried to understand Akaashi's grief. This was his home; he had grown up in Odanii. Even though he had fled the country with Bokuto, Akaashi still loved his homeland. The horrified gaze and shuddering breath were the most emotion Tsukishima had seen on Akaashi's usually stoic face.
The people of Odanii, there seemed to be so few citizens left in the once great city, stared as the Nekarasi crew passed by in their cart. It was, perhaps, a grander entrance into the city than Tsukishima would have liked, but none of the attention seemed hostile, just curious.
After they passed through the city gates, Tsukishima handed Tressa's reigns over to Bokuto. He knew the city streets better than anyone, even Akaashi, and the wild-haired man steered them towards the centre of the city. They had decided to head towards the castle, whether or not the king would still be there was up for debate, but Akaashi had insisted that the king's soldiers would never allow the snakes to take over their country, so to the castle they went.
As they reached the city centre, a once bustling commercial sector full of storefronts, a man practically threw himself in the way of the cart. Tressa, well-trained horse that she was, stopped near instantly, although not without a disgruntled snort. The man himself, a tallish fellow with fluffy, semi-curled, hair and a Cheshire curved mouth, stood resolutely in front of the cart. His eyes, bright and wild, were set unblinkingly on Akaashi.
"Akaashi-san! You have returned, you couldn't have come at a-" he abruptly cut himself off as his eyes darted from Akaashi to Bokuto to the rest of the crew sat dumbly in Tressa's cart. He wetted his lips, floundered for a minute more, and spoke again, this time less frantically, "It is good to see you back and well, Akaashi-san. Are you – do you have a specific, ah, purpose for your visit?" He hid it well, but beneath the formalities was an undertone of desperation and hope.
Akaashi smiled, as wide as he would smile for someone who wasn't Bokuto, "Saru, it's good to see you! We," he gestured to the others, "have come to help in any way we can, if you are in a place to accept it."
Saru, whom Tsukishima faintly recognized from his brief visit to Odanii as a child, was one of the knights-in-training for the king of Fukoni. He looked around warily, before putting on a false air of relaxation. "Come, follow me. I'll give you a tour of our fine city."
Hinata gave a rather indignant grunt at the seemingly useless offer, and Kageyama, too, looked as if he wanted to argue, but Akaashi silenced them with a pointed glance, and Bokuto allowed Saru to lead the way. He rambled on aimlessly about nonsensical features of the city, many of which had long since been destroyed, but with the cheerful tone, was a sharp edge that betrayed his nervousness.
They meandered out of the city centre casually and made their way to the outskirts on the other side. There, the streets were emptier, almost silent. For a stretch, the buildings were more destroyed than any of the others that Tsukishima had seen in the city, then further out, there were buildings that seemed nigh untouched by the war. Looming in the centre of the somehow undestroyed city sector, was a massive building.
The building was, as best Tsukishima could guess from its sturdy stature, some kind of stronghold or storehouse. Doric columns held up the great stone roof and formed a sort of unwalled courtyard around the raised foundation of the building. Behind the rectangular ring of columns was a wall of smooth, unmarred, stone, and one set of metal doors. There were no windows in the building, no cracks or decorations in the stonework, and no visible entrances save for the one door; it was as impenetrable as a building could get.
Men in uniform, dark leather armour with added metal plating, stood at attention by the doors. When they saw Saru approach, the broader of the two stepped forward, "What trouble have you brought this time, Sarukui?" Sarukui smiled, polite but smug, and gestured wordlessly at Akaashi and Bokuto, who both waved. The guard inhaled sharply but bowed and opened the doors with his compatriot.
Bokuto hopped out of the cart and held out his arm graciously to provide Akaashi with extra balance. The rest of the Nekarasi crew, with varying degrees of gracefulness, followed suit. Sarukui took Tressa and her cart and led them to what presumably was the stables as Akaashi strolled inside.
The second he passed through the doors, Akaashi seemed an almost entirely different person. He straightened his already formal posture, raised his chin high, and held firmly onto Bokuto's offered arm. The two strode into the massive building with false confidence, and not willing to be left out, everyone else followed in pairs. Every pair of eyes in the hall focused on the motley group, much to the displeasure of Kenma and Yachi. Tsukishima, who had Yachi at his side, cringed inwardly at the similarities between their entrance and a royal procession. It was, in a way, fitting, given who was leading.
The crowd parted seamlessly around them as Akaashi made a beeline for someone he clearly knew. Dusty-brown eyes whipped up to meet Akaashi's, before their owner's face split into a joyous smile.
"Akaashi, you're alive!" The man looked near tears.
Akaashi loosened his arm from Bokuto's and held his hands out in an invitation for a hug, which the man accepted. "Konoha, it has been too long."
Konoha broke away from the hug and offered a handshake to Bokuto and then a curious glance at the rest. "I don't suppose you've heard from your father, have you?"
Akaashi grimaced and shook his head, "Not since I left, but I do have reinforcements with me. We're to help in the fight against the Slithering Isles."
Konoha winced, "Oh… So, as much as I would love that, there's not much we can do as of now."
Bokuto huffed and butted in, "Like hell you can't, you guys are armoured to the teeth! What in the Goddess' good name could possibly be stopping you from protecting your country?"
Konoha stumbled back from Bokuto's intense glare, "We were fighting the snakes, if you had come but a few weeks earlier we still would be, but our last message from the king was an instruction to stand down. We haven't heard from him since, and none can find him, so we must assume he is negotiating a peace with the snakes."
Tsukishima shared a look of disbelief with Yachi but nodded diplomatically along with Akaashi. Personally, Tsukishima had his doubts that the king was even alive, but it was nothing more than a hunch with no vision or evidence to back it up. The others might have believed him, his hunches were correct more often than not, but the soldiers were a different story. If the king's men were convinced that their leader would negotiate a peace, they'd just have to wait for proof otherwise.
For a war, the first week in Odanii was exceedingly dull. The soldiers patrolled their untouched pocket of the city, but beyond that, no action was taken. Tsukishima had even gone as far as to offer his help wherever needed, simply for the sake of occupying his time. The boredom and downtime, however, allowed for his thoughts to eat away at his mind like moths to cashmere.
Every unoccupied moment, which was most of them, filled Tsukishima's head with thoughts of Yamaguchi. Some were more pressing than others; where was he now, was he safe, could Tsukishima keep him from his assumed fate? While others found themselves as fleeting fancies, the kind that left Tsukishima to smile like an idiot or blush like a schoolgirl. Scenarios, purely imagined, much as he wished they were visions, played out in his mind. Yamaguchi in a princely suit, sat delicately upon a throne by Tsukishima's side. Yamaguchi, with a smile on his face and tools in his hands, working diligently on a mechanical masterpiece. Yamaguchi, in the Nekarasi, safe and alive with the people he and Tsukishima had learned to call family. He wished for nothing more than a simple, happy life with Yamaguchi by his side, for a chance to explore what could be.
Often, though, his mind wandered to other, less pleasant, places. A deluge of worries and fears crashed over him in a near-constant tidal wave. What if Yamaguchi had already been captured, and it was too late? What if Tsukishima couldn't get to him in time? What if Tsukishima's vision was wrong, and something even more sinister befell Yamaguchi? What if, despite his best efforts, Yamaguchi died? And, of course, the one that scared him most of all; what if Yamaguchi, so traumatised by war and imprisonment, he fell into a mere husk of himself, like so many war-torn soldiers before him? They were not pleasant thoughts.
After yet another sleepless night, Tsukishima wandered. The armoury was quiet in the nighttime, and empty save for a few lookouts. They paid him no mind as he slunk silently over to the makeshift kitchen and collapsed exhaustedly into a seat.
Sat across from him and sporting equally unseemly eye bags was Yachi. Tsukishima wasn't surprised by this, Yachi, much like himself, was a worrier. She looked up from her hunched position and wordlessly held up her still steaming teacup, a silent offer. At Tsukishima's grateful nod, she poured him a cup and plopped in the infuser to steep the tea. Tsukishima took it from her slightly shaking hands, bobbed the infuser, and stared absently at the unfurling cloud of brown that spread through the cup. Something about it pulled at him, a familiar tug at the back of his mind, and he allowed it.
The world faded out from around him, and replaced itself hazily, like a dream.
Tsukishima lay in a bed when the world reformed around him. The covers were smooth and of fine make, heavy and soft. The room around him was a luxurious chamber, full of extravagant paintings and furniture. Tsukishima tried to move his body, to get up from the bed he lay in but found himself weak, and tired. He always hated when his premonitions placed him in the eyes of others.
The great mahogany door, the entrance to the room, swung open with a slow creak, and in waltzed a woman. She dressed in fine clothes, not of the Fukoni style and carried with her a tray of drinks. She sat down by the bed and batted her eyelashes at Tsukishima.
"Your majesty, I am so dreadfully sorry for all the trouble my husband has caused you," she gave a pained smile, the emotion not quite reaching her eyes, "I am no medic, but might I offer you some tea and pleasant company in these trying times?"
Tsukishima, or rather, the body Tsukishima was watching from, grunted, "Your husband, if you can even find pride in that title, is a loathsome wretch. First, he sends his miserable men to take over my castle, and now he had the audacity to send his wench in with a peace offering? Bah! Leave me; you have nothing I want."
The woman's smile dropped, but she did not leave, "Oh, but you mistake me, your majesty. My dear husband has not sent me here. I disobey him by visiting you. Much as I love him, he is a cruel man. Still, I cannot bear to see someone so great wither away when a peace could be reached. Please, my people have good medics, the kind that can make miracles from nothing. Won't you at least humour me, your grace?" The woman pouted as she spoke and pressed her arms together to accentuate her chest. It was a tactic that Tsukishima felt rather disgusted by, but it evidently worked on the bedridden man whose eyes he watched from.
"Fine, I suppose some tea and company as amiable as yours won't kill me."
The woman's eyes glinted as she stirred sugar into an ornate teacup, "No, it will not." She helped Tsukishima into a sitting position and traced her hand along his collarbone and chest as she did so. With her other hand, she reached for a delicately carved box, no larger than a book, "Here, let me get you a remedy for your strength."
The body through which Tsukishima watched the scene, he assumed it belonged to the king of Fukoni, grunted, "I don't need your heathen remedies, girl, what I need is for your wretched husband to leave my kingdom to me."
The woman sighed and began to lean in close to the king. She pushed forward until her chest touched his, and her lips were right by his ear, she continued to run her fingers up and down his collarbone, "Oh, won't you just try it, your majesty? For me? I'll make it up to you, I promise." Her voice was high and breathy as she spoke, her light brown hair tickled the king's face and wafted her sickly-sweet perfume into his nose.
"Alright, alright, for you, dear, but don't expect me to be happy about it."
The woman grinned, toothy and wide, as she reached for the box once more and held it up to the king's face, "Trust me, your majesty, after this, you'll never have to worry about your strength again."
Out from the box sprung a snake, bright green viper, pupils slitted and mad as a hornet. In a matter of seconds, it opened its mouth, unfurled its fangs, and lunged. At the same time, Daishou made his way into the room with a smile plastered on his face.
Tsukishima jolted out of his trance and dropped his teacup, impervious to the crash as it shattered on the floor. Yachi shot up from her seat and shook like a leaf, concern etched on her face. Mostly, Tsukishima saw visions of the future, but on rare occasion, he was granted the absolute truth of the past. This was one of those occasions. Without word or explanation, Tsukishima bolted out of the kitchen and ran straight to the bunk that Bokuto and Akaashi shared, Yachi hot on his heels.
Insistently, Tsukishima shook Akaashi, "Wake up! Akaashi, wake up dammit!"
Akaashi did, albeit begrudgingly, wake up, "What." It was a curt response for Akaashi, but Tsukishima paid it no mind, even as Bokuto, who had also awoken, glared at him.
"The king is dead." It was all he needed to say.
Yachi gasped; Tsukishima had almost forgotten that she had followed him, Bokuto froze, and a thousand different emotions flickered across Akaashi's face at once before he settled back on neutrality. "Are you sure?" his voice wavered slightly. Tsukishima merely nodded as tears began to shine in the other's eyes.
Akaashi, calmly as he could manage, turned, hid his face in Bokuto's chest, and sobbed. His entire body shook with the tears, and out of politeness, Tsukishima and Yachi turned away as their friend utterly broke down in his lover's arms.
After a minute of awkward waiting filled with the sound of Akaashi's tears and absent shushing from Bokuto, Akaashi sat up and rubbed his reddened eyes. "Wake the others for me, please." He said it to both of the blonds in front of him, but only Yachi turned to do as he asked. Tsukishima stayed.
"I'm sorry, really, I am, Akaashi." It wasn't a habit of Tsukishima's to apologise or speak softly, but the time felt right.
Akaashi merely nodded, "It's alright, Tsukishima. What's done is done. Now, I must shoulder the burden."
Bokuto clutched tighter to Akaashi, "You don't have to, love. They can act on their own, protect each other on their own."
Akaashi huffed out a halfhearted laugh, "You know they won't, Koutarou. Without a leader, they are lost, the kingsmen will fall into disarray and despair without someone to lead them. We need them to fight, if not for their own sakes, then for the civilians."
The two grimly got out of bed, and Tsukishima followed as they made their way to the unoccupied throne at the end of the Armoury hall. Akaashi sat down upon it, and Bokuto quickly stepped into place at his right-hand side. Tsukishima floundered for a second before he took up the left-hand side, at Akaashi's approval.
At the same time, Yachi rang a bell, loud and clear throughout the hall, spurring all the soldiers to rise from their slumbers. They looked around, bleary and confused until every pair of eyes settled on Akaashi and the throne. His eyes glinted with determination, and he kept his face in trained neutrality, somehow more impassive than normal. It was a look Tsukishima hadn't seen on him in almost five years, a look that he had only worn in Fukoni.
Akaashi cleared his throat, and the hushed mumbles that had begun to spread died down, "My people, I have grave and important news. I have received information from my trusted advisor," Tsukishima kept his eyes stern and forward as he was mentioned, "that the good king Akaashi Akihiko, is dead."
The immediate ruckus that followed the revelation drowned out Akaashi's words. Men scrambled fearfully, and without purpose, they cried out in grief and clung to each other as if they would be the next target. In a matter of seconds, the loyalists had been thrown into panic and disarray. Hinata, Kageyama, and Yachi looked utterly lost; Tsukishima had forgotten that not everyone had known Akaashi's past. Kuroo and Kenma, who must have connected the dots long ago, watched the chaos with a sage wisdom unusual for them.
Akaashi sent a meaningful look to Yachi, and she rang the bell once more as the man rose from the throne. All fell silent once again. "Keep your heads on you, my people; you are not without hope. You all know me, though you have tried to hide it to please me. I have come back to Fukoni for a reason, and in these trying times, I must fulfil it. My father's mantle falls upon my shoulders, and I intend to bear it."
Tsukishima stepped forward from his place at Akaashi's left side; if he was to be the prince-king's pseudo advisor, then he would damn well do his job right, "Hail, men of Fukoni! Look upon your new king and see that salvation has come for you!"
Tsukishima hoped desperately that his face hadn't reddened from the pomp and ridiculousness of his words, but he kneeled in front of Akaashi nonetheless. Bokuto soon joined Tsukishima in the show of respect, and a quick glance showed that all the loyalists had followed suit, "Hail, king Akaashi Keiji, may you lead us well!" was the resounding response to Tsukishima's words.
As Tsukishima and the others rose from their positions and Akaashi gave his first orders as king, orders to find and unite with the revolution-turned underground resistance, he thought about his own future. Tsukishima would never be king, not unless both his parents and Akiteru died, nor did he want the title. Still, he couldn't help but let his mind wander as he looked at Akaashi, Bokuto at his side. What would it be like to rule with Yamaguchi at his right hand? Yamaguchi was kind and clever; he would make a good leader if there ever was a time for it. Certainly, he would be better at it than Tsukishima. Would Yamaguchi like it, the life of luxury brought on by loving a royal? In the end, it didn't matter, Tsukishima would, after all, never take the throne, but if Yamaguchi sat upon it with him, he didn't find it such an arguable position.
Unfortunately, there was no time to daydream about his hypothetical future with Yamaguchi; the resistance against the snakes had risen with a new fervour, like a Hydra striking with two heads where there had once been one. The former revolutionaries, who had apparently formed a vast literal underground resistance, were, luckily, happy to join forces with the loyalist resistance. As a sign of good faith, and also as an effort to pad their collective forces, Akaashi freed any and all revolution prisoners that the loyalists had captured. Most joined back in the fight, some didn't, but any help was appreciated.
The tides of war cannot be turned overnight, however, and even with the combined intelligence and strength of both resistance efforts, they were losing the fight. Anyone who could fight, anyone who could be useful, was worked to the bone and then some. Kenma's fingers bore constant blisters as they ceaselessly worked to repair and build weapons. Kuroo flited between the protected civilian areas and the training grounds, ever set on gathering new recruits and then whipping them into fighting shape. Hinata and Kageyama trained during the day and flew out together at night; a two-man patrol dead set on destroying any snake soldier they saw. Yachi seemed to have disappeared as she slunk about, delivered information between the two resistances and gathered more along the way. Tsukishima, even on the days when his premonitions refused to grace him, helped Akaashi with the plans, and when he was not needed there, he fought alongside Bokuto.
A month and a half into the new union between Akaashi's loyalists and the underground revolution, some three months after the snakes first invaded, they received an invitation to meet the revolution in person. Yachi had, until then, been the only one to see the underground headquarters, and even then, she had never met the leader. Akaashi insisted that he go there in person, and refused to send a delegate in his stead. Bokuto had wanted to come along to guard Akaashi, but someone needed to stay back with the loyalists and lead them, so Tsukishima went instead. In the darkness of a starless night, Yachi led them to the underground headquarters.
While somewhat crude, the massive, carved-out, cavern held an air of magnificence to it, a sense of communal awe. There was little time to dwell on it, though, as Yachi hurried them to Yamiji's office quarters. The stern man informed them that he had sent out one of his men to try and seek reinforcements, Suga, he said, would not disappoint.
Suga. They knew that name. Tsukishima nearly sprung out of his seat when he heard it; if Suga had been here, then Yamaguchi couldn't be far away. Akaashi, however, beat him to the question, "Yamiji-san, you say a man called Suga worked for you, did he have a companion with him?"
The older man nodded, "Why yes, Akaashi, he did. Nervous fellow, Yamaguchi was his name, clever as a whip, that boy; he was one of our most promising."
Tsukishima clutched the arm of the chair in a death grip; he did not like how Yamiji referred to Yamaguchi in the past tense, "Please, Yamiji-san, Tadashi was a dear companion of ours. We had started our long endeavour in the hopes of finding him after he was so cruelly isolated from us." Tsukishima gritted his teeth at the guilty look that had crossed over Yamiji's face, "What. Happened. To. Him."
Yamiji's lips pressed in a tight line, "I'm sorry, son, he's no longer with us."
Akaashi covered his mouth to stifle his gasp, Tsukishima stood from his chair so fast he knocked it over, and Yachi's wail of despair pierced throughout the room, "What do you mean gone? He can't be dead; he simply can't be!"
Yamiji winced, "Truthfully, little lady, I can't say for sure. He led one of our best reconnaissance troops, for a time. They were ambushed by snakes one night, some two weeks ago, and all returned but him. His men say that he drew off the snakes on his own and bought the others time to escape, but he never returned. Whether he is alive or dead, I cannot say, only that he is gone."
Tsukishima seethed and paced restlessly as the others looked at him with pity before he stopped without warning. His blood ran cold, and as much as he hated the notion, he knew it in his heart to be true. Tsukishima swallowed the bile that had risen halfway up his throat and turned to his friends.
"The colosseum. Oh, Goddess, he's at the colosseum."
Yachi burst into tears, Akaashi's face paled so much he looked to be made of bone, and the room was utterly silent.