The next morning, Ivan prepared a pair of his own boots and gave them to Yao.

"Try them on."

With the laces folded in multiple 'x' shapes, he tied it tightly into a knot and tried walking around in the new shoes. Yao tilted his head up and smiled at Ivan, "It's a bit big."

"Better than having it a few sizes too small." Ivan walked over and patted his shoulder, obviously pleased.

Yao wore these shoes to the battlefield.

"You're coming with me?" Yao asked Ivan who was standing next to him. Ivan nodded back.

"But your home is in a weak state, are you sure it's a good idea not go back?" Yao asked in concern.

Ivan gripped the alcohol bottle and gulped down the remaining liquid. He tossed it aside and answered, forthright, "It's just about settled down. There's no need to go back for the time being."

Ivan saw that Yao was about to protest again—trying to convince him to check on his country's situation—he slug an arm around Yao and pulled him close. His embrace was firm, as if not allowing Yao to object.

"You should probably be careful from now on, we are already in the non-secure zone, товарищ Yao."

The Chinese man arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

Ivan smiled, "Comrade Yao."

Yao laughed out loud, "Don't use that strange honorific of yours."

"It's strange?"

"Very."

Ivan combed a hand through his hair and said, "I wasn't used to it either at first, but I was touched by the warmth my people had. I think it's quite nice—the honorific. I thought comrades were my only way out, Yao, it was like a mirror. I saw the twisted and the truth through the reflections. The way of the Bolsheviks have my future reflected clearer than anything."

Yao said no more, he kept his head down and kicked a pebble under his foot.

"China, will you come with me?" Ivan asked him. So suddenly, but so calm. He made it seem like it wasn't even important.

"…"

Yao didn't even have the chance to reply before Ivan's expression suddenly turned alarmed. He flipped over and pushed Yao onto the ground, a booming sound of explosion following right after. The skin exposed to the air felt the hot wave of the blast, the debris ceased to stop scratching on their skin. Yao subconsciously gripped onto the clothes on Ivan's chest, his finger unknowingly getting slit by a corner of the Bolsheviks' star badge. But he couldn't worry about such a trivial injury at a time like this.

The scent of alcohol on Ivan's scarf wafted into his nostrils, he almost couldn't breathe.

Right amidst of the chaos, the haste sound of footsteps sounded somewhere close by, followed by harsh yelling. Yao stiffened immediately. It was the language of Kiku Honda.

Ivan had obviously heard it too. In one swift motion, he pushed himself off the ground with one arm, the other already readying the rifle. He stood and aimed at the enemy soldiers. A group of soldiers from Kiku's home appeared from the morning fog, their silhouettes becoming clearer. Yao saw Ivan's brows furrow as he pulled the trigger.

Bang!

Blood flied into the air.

Bullet shells endlessly showered out of the rifle, there were angry howls and gunshots to be heard everywhere. The unfamiliar language he had once spoken with warmth sounded with fury from the enemy war commanders shouting orders. There were about 10 to 20 of Kiku's soldiers—probably vanguards sent to investigate the war surroundings. Their eyes were filled with red wrath as they charged towards them, bullets erupting from their guns and rifles like devils sent straight from hell.

Ivan was not a bit less monstrous than them. He never failed to return the bullets as he dodged theirs. Aiming viciously, mercilessly.

One of the soldiers fell victim to Ivan's bayonet, getting impaled in the eye. Ivan directly tore the eye out of its socket in a motion to aim the rifle at another's chest, shooting the enemy.

But no matter how hard Ivan tried, it was still unfeasible for him to take down 10 people at once by himself. Plus, the reinforcement soldiers could arrive at any moment.

"What are you doing just sitting there?! Shoot!" Ivan turned his head to yell at Yao in the middle of the suffocating smoke.

"I….I'll miss!"

What Yao was worried about wasn't really about his aim. It was that he still couldn't get used to fighting like this. It was too gruesome. Especially after watching Ivan fling the eyeball off his bayonet blade onto the ground, then seeing the eye being trampled on by multiple people until it was reduced to muddied pulp.

At the screams of agony, Yao jerked his head up to see some soldiers writhing in pain on their last breaths next to Ivan's feet. They clawed and groaned into the soil, staining it with warm blood.

The faces of the dying would always be the same, wouldn't they? No matter which nationality.

At this, Yao suddenly thought of his own people, they were dying just as painfully. Even those innocent citizens who weren't soldiers couldn't be spared.

Buried alive. Stabbed to death. Strafed.

He would hear each and every voice calling his name with their last breaths. Full of pride, yet full of despair.

These people before him were the culprits.

With that thought, he finally grabbed his gun. His hands still trembling.

"I'll miss!" this time, it was his true words.

"You can do it! You're China! The country that I recognise!" Ivan shouted back while shooting at a soldier's knee.

Yao clenched his teeth.

"Comrade Braginski, when this war is over, teach me that Bolshevism of yours!"

The gunshots rang from all directions. A huge gust of wind cut by like a blade.

Yao could not quite catch if Ivan replied or not.

That day, they fought side by side. They took down numberless enemies. They walked over skullcaps of corpses and sticky blood; under the empty sky, the vault of heaven, they've never been so resolute.

Nevertheless, when they returned to their campsite at the end of the day, Ivan was still mumbling darkly, "Those bastards still deserve more death…"

Yao wiped off the blood and soot on his face with a towel, then tossed another one to Ivan.

"Go wash your wounds and get them treated, I saw you get hurt today."

"…Yao."

"Hm?"

Ivan was running his fingers along his rifle. The blood from earlier on had stained the weapon, forming rusty solids.

"You felt like you couldn't kill them, didn't you? You went soft on them." the violet-eyed man asked.

"…Of course not. There's nothing to show mercy to." Yao sat beside him and loosened his shoelaces, answering, "They've already murdered so many of my people. I'm not a god, of course I'll come to hate them."

"But you looked like you had a hard time killing them today."

Yao leaned his sore back on the soft pillow and said, "I killed them, Ivan, I'm not as soft-hearted as you think I am. Although I haven't fought like this in a long time, the vicious side of me is still there somewhere."

Ivan leaned in, looking him in the eye and smiled, "I never would have known."

Yao just 'humph'-ed in distain.

He has lived for five thousand years. The more he's seen, naturally, the more he would be scared of.

He was betrayed; he learnt to be doubtful.

He'd fallen hard; he learnt to choose his steps carefully.

He is deeply aware that to survive means to destroy whatever threat there is, even the innocent sometimes could not be spared. Everyday, devouring the skeletons of the lives; having to live with the pain and remorse. He watched his many bosses kill even their own allies. One dynasty after another. One generation after another. Son murdering father, officials murdering emperors…brother going after brother. The ages to come were formed with blood and tears.

He has seen too much, he was already numb to all the pain and hurt. He has come to understand this absurdity as well. It was all just a fake mask put on the many insincere humans.

That was what even the powerful Ivan could not see through.

But Yao had underestimated his kindness. In the end, he was still filled with a rushing torrent of warm and jubilant red blood. That was his nature. Full of passion and life. But all the hatred and schemes going on in this era had covered his original personality up.

So Ivan was ultimately right about him.

"You really needed some kick-ass for you to realize that I'm the Hero!" Alfred said angrily while stomping a foot Kiku's head.

The Second World War came to an end.

The defeated suffered great injuries. Kiku allowed Alfred to continue stepping on his head, his dark hair draping lifelessly over the just barely open eyes. He felt a horrible sense of humiliation on himself. Yao gazed at the half-covered pupils as he suddenly flashed back to a long, long time ago. Back to the time at the little island covered with fluttering red maples dancing in the wind, where there was a little boy with ever so bright onyx eyes. He sat on the stone steps with his little hands wrapped around his legs, his voice so crisp and clear.

"Nii-san, would you come visit me more often?"

The rays of sunshine shooting through the maple leaves created patched patterns around the stones and ponds, it was like a painting of warm summer colors.

"Of course," he gently stroked Kiku's short, black hair, "Anything for my little Kiku."

Yao Wang closed his eyes. The ocean wind scraped at the corners of his eyes, clawing at him painfully.

"What's wrong?" Ivan asked with concern, "Is it your injuries? Are they starting to hurt again?"

Yao bit his lips, not talking and he shook his head.

It was unusual for Ivan to be so understanding as he didn't ask further. He just took Yao's hand in his own and gave it a squeeze.

"Alright, I'll leave you to sort out the mess yourselves." Alfred gave Kiku a final kick and left to return to Arthur's side, chewing on his hamburger.

Yao's heart lurched as he saw Kiku shakily standing up, wiping at the bloodied corner of his mouth. Stamping the floor with a blood mark with each step he made towards Yao.

"If he apologizes to you," Ivan whispered softly into Yao's ear, "Yao, would you forgive him?"

"No." Yao replied just as softly.

Perhaps this was a lie. There was a jumble of mixed feelings whirling around in his chest, he couldn't even decipher the thoughts himself.

Kiku Honda forced his weak body full of wounds to keep standing and slowly made his way before Yao Wang. Such a short distance felt like thousands of seasons had passed. This short path was filled with bitterness, the hatred tethering at his feet, making each step so very difficult. All the beauty and horror mixing into a bigger mess with each step.

The distance has grown too far between the two brothers. So far, that it cannot be filled again even with a whole life time. Everything reduced to nothing. Barren. Emptiness.

The two Asian nations stared stoically at each other. But Yao felt a pang of melancholy in his chest, he pursed his lips as in-noticeably as possible, trying to conceal all the overcharged emotions on the brink of exploding inside him.

Suddenly, an outrageous thought came to Yao's mind.

Had Kiku felt like this way right since the beginning?

All the squished emotions concealed under a calm facade.

Yao suddenly felt that it was all his fault for not realizing Kiku's troubles earlier.

Ivan squeezed his hand again, as if trying to prove something to him.

Kiku Honda stared blankly at him for a long time because suddenly murmuring in a soft voice, "Nii-san…I'm sorry…"

Yao closed his eyes, brows furrowing. There was a strange sensation inside of him, a bit of a throb in the heart, but mostly devastation. Upon millions of his people had been sacrificed in the tragic of the war, how was a simple "sorry" going to make up for all the lives lost? But, even so, what more could he ask of Kiku? Kiku Honda himself was also a victim of this brutal war.

Yao Wang reopened his eyes and looked at the torn and battered uniform of Kiku…what could he possibly give him now?

He couldn't afford anything.

The scar on his back hurt the most when it was healing. Painful and itchy at the same time, he couldn't touch it either. Or else it would start bleeding again.

Kiku suddenly started swaying in an unsuccessful attempt to balance himself on both feet. He wobbled a few times before falling like a rag doll face first into Yao's arms. Kiku's lips were a perturbing white from excessive blood-loss. Tears streamed, unstopping, down his cheeks. It unclear if those tears from from shame or remorse. The handsome face was covered with blood stains and also streaked with tears, it was a sorrowful sight.

The nations nearby were all stunned and frozen in place, even Alfred had stopped chewing on his burger.

Ivan had had enough of seeing this, he took out his pipe, wanting to shove Kiku away. But Kiku clung tightly to Yao's clothes while mumbling shakily between pauses, "…Nii-san….the shoes finally…fit…."

After sputtering out this sentence, he couldn't manage to put together another sentence anymore before covering his mouth in quiet and heartbreaking sobs.

Yao's hands were originally going to push Kiku away but they froze after the heart wrenching scene. A breeze lifted his hair and they fluttered against the wind, still a bit long. They covered his face and shielded it, making it hard to see what expression Yao had.

Nii-san, the shoes fit.

Those jade screens and sweet scents; the faded and yellowed-out dreams.

"Kiku, I don't need your apologizes. You may go now." he finally replied after a long moment. "Tell your people to not ever do these kinds of things again."

Yao heard Ivan scoff somewhere nearby.

Yao wanted to slap himself as well. All the oceans of blood spilled, yet Yao had just simply replied with forgiveness. He knew his people wanted the island nation to pay, to pay so that he couldn't lift his head in his next centuries….his…..his own little brother.

But still, some ridiculous part of Yao buried deep within still believed, and knew that it wasn't Kiku's fault. It was all the officials, all the leaders, all the simply ludicrous human ambitiousness that led the world to where it was now. And that the pure, adorable, smiling young boy was still his little brother.

Yao pushed Kiku away and left, pulling Ivan along. Leaving Kiku weakly sitting there with an empty and desperate gaze.

The shoes fit, yet I couldn't give you anything.

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TO BE CONTINUED
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