City of the Wind
Kia Ixari
(Revised 2009 Feb)

V.

"With you alone I spoke what no one can guess.

On never-ending roads, you were my loneliness."

Gently, Ryoma flattened his palm against a bare chest. The pads of his fingers slid upon smooth skin. A smile made its way to his face when he felt steady breaths hitch ever so slightly. His cheek was resting against warm flesh, his head tucked snugly underneath Tezuka's chin.

This was where he was supposed to be.

A hand caught his and brought it upon soft lips. "Sleep, Ryoma."

"Mm." He felt Tezuka's other hand slip into his hair, fingers tangling, kneading. Little sounds of pleasure rose from his throat.

The hazy afterglow of pleasure remained hovering over the both of them. Dim moonlight slithered into the room from where some of the curtains were slightly parted, casting silvery blue beams upon bookshelves and couches. Magic blanketed the air, but there was none of the characteristic heaviness – only a heady sleep-inducing lull, one that would immediately put anyone to calm.

Underneath the blankets they were naked, but Ryoma did not feel cold, not one bit. Tezuka was more than enough to keep him warm; the blankets were more than enough to amply cover them. The hands that were tangled in his hair gently made its way down his neck, and he arched into it. Without pause, the hand slid down his naked back, and he sighed in pure bliss.

"'Mitsu?"

"Mm?"

"You will keep coming for me, won't you?" Ryoma whispered into the night.

Tezuka pulled the smaller body closer. "Of course. You know I will."

"No matter what happens?"

"No matter what happens," Tezuka assured. "Don't worry, Ryoma. Everything will be fine. I will always come back for you."

Ryoma was silent. He knew that Tezuka was aware of his anxiety, about the wards, and the King. No doubt Tezuka already knew of his connection with the King — or at least, the vital parts of it. The mage was obviously being careful about the matter. Ryoma was thankful of this, for unpleasant memories threatened to surface with his past. Some things were better left in the dark until they were both ready to discuss them.

"My mother said the same thing," Ryoma said. "She promised she would come back for me, and father would be with her. But years… I have been locked inside this room for years. It has to have been years. Waiting for them. They never came."

Carefully choosing his words, Tezuka replied, "Can you not go out and search for them? Perhaps something is preventing them from coming back to you." There was a certain tone within the mage's voice that suggested withheld knowledge, but Ryoma did not pry. For now, he did not feel up to asking — and he was not sure if he felt up to knowing either.

"If I could, I would," Ryoma murmured. He shifted slightly, his toes running up against Tezuka's bare ankle. "If I could have, I would have already done so. Long ago." The warmth and the magic were both lulling him to sleep. He simply wanted to forget. Tonight was perhaps the happiest of his life — he did not want to sully it with the sadness that accompanied far old memories tucked safely within the deeper recesses of his mind. Tezuka was here, and that was all that mattered.

"If you would only let me know how to help you…" the mage sighed.

But his plea fell on deaf ears, for Ryoma was already asleep.

-

Tezuka awoke to a soft melody washing through his consciousness. The notes were born and became calm waves. A certain gentleness was woven in between the phrases, and he could feel warmth drawn forth from within his chest. He could see in his mind's eye the shimmer of rippling water against a warm, gentle sunset. One ripple, and then another, and another — the cycle was never-ending. This song, he then knew, was a special song. What else could it be? The emotion it evoked from the listener was more than enough proof.

He gently rose from bed, brushing his hair back from his eyes and reaching for his glasses. His eyes came upon Ryoma. The boy, clad in a simple silk robe, was on the piano, his nimble fingers bringing forth music Tezuka knew he would have eternally engraved within his mind. Ryoma's golden eyes were closed, and his soft lips were curved into a gentle and somewhat wistful smile.

Tezuka wonderered what story this melody held.

Rising, he robed himself and padded towards Ryoma, wrapping his arms around the boy and placing his chin over a smaller shoulder. The fingers did not cease, only continuing to weave the gentle melody. "A beautiful song. What is it called?"

Ryoma gently leaned his head against Tezuka's. "It never quite had a name — to me, at least. I never did get to ask my mother for the title. When I realized I forgot, she was already gone for the war." As the song closed with a gentle flick of elegant fingers, Ryoma looked up at him. "'Mitsu?"

"Mm?"

"Would you tell me what year we are in?"

A curious question. "The forty-fifth year of Selene, three-hundred and forty-five years after the final unification of the Kingdom. Why do you ask?"

Ryoma did not answer. Instead, the boy sank into deep thought. His eyes were looking inwards, as if searching for something, as if trying to see past the borderline of darkness shrouding his past. Tezuka paused to admire the boy's features, the young slopes of the still maturing beauty his Ryoma possessed. Whenever Ryoma was pondering about things, a glaze came upon his golden eyes, giving it a somehow vacant, still quality. Tezuka was quite sure he would have scrambled to preserve the image had he been an artist.

"Nearly ten years." Tezuka barely caught the silent breath of words. "Nearly ten years, I was trapped within this dark room. And yet no one came for me. Why?"

Ryoma's words threw the mage into a sudden inner battle with himself. His conversation with the King lent light to several mysteries, but he was far from knowing the whole picture. He knew enough, though. And he wanted to tell Ryoma, but at the same time he hesitated. He wanted to be honest, but it was the very last of his intentions to hurt the boy.

Before he could settle the inner struggle, however, Ryoma spoke, "Did you ever hear of the Echizen clan, 'Mitsu?"

Tezuka closed his eyes. Should he speak? Or should he not speak? Should he lie? No — that was unthinkable. Should he avoid? That was quite impossible. Ryoma would know; by now, Ryoma knew him inside and out. There was no lying between the two of them anymore.

He uttered a small defeated sigh. "Of course. The lost clan possessing endless strength and magic, celebrated by the entire kingdom as direct descendants of the gods — if I am not mistaken, they are also a close branch of the first royal family."

A heart-wrenching pause settled upon the boy.

"…lost?" Ryoma echoed. "What do you mean 'lost'?"

Tezuka's expression tightened. "…the last of the Echizens were… reportedly killed during battle."

First it was a widening of golden eyes, and then there was a momentary pause. The pause was followed by a brief quiver of the boy's lips, as if trying to utter a word, but could not quite bring it forth from the tip of his tongue. And then one drop.

A tear.

Perhaps he should have waited, he would think later. Perhaps he should not have revealed the truth, and instead skirted around the issue. Or perhaps he should have created a roundabout way of relaying the news, if only to cushion the boy against the shock. For no matter how much he tried to convince himself that Ryoma was but a year away from adulthood, he could not succeed. At that moment in time, he saw Ryoma as a fragile child — and his eyes were not deceiving him. There was only a brief pause after he had said those words when he felt something break within the boy. The separation, the sheer agony of it, echoed loudly within his very soul.

He drew the boy up from the piano and onto the divan. He cradled Ryoma to his chest, enveloping him with warmth, trying his best to chase away the shadows clouding those precious golden eyes. The wetness he felt through his robe burned hotter than the hottest fire. There were probably no words to describe the pain racking through Ryoma's entire being — similarly, there were no words to describe the pain echoing through their bond.

Outside, rain fell.

-

The day was dawning, and with it the castle came to life. It was but another ordinary day for the rest of the kingdom, but for the King, the very fate of the kingdom weighed upon this very day. There were important things to be done, and there was no one else trustworthy enough to set things in motion but the King himself. Some things that were better done personally instead of relying on missives and servants – this was one of those.

"I shall trust you to take care of matters while I am away, Yuushi," Keigo said, stepping into his sturdy traveling boots. "The trip will not take long."

"I understand," Yuushi nodded. The royal mage handed Keigo his sword. "Be quick. I have a feeling we must hurry."

Eyes flickering towards Yuushi, Keigo pursed his lips. "A prophesy?"

A shadow passed upon Yuushi's face. "It does not bode well. You must hurry back."

"I will," Keigo resolutely nodded. "It will not be a long trip. If I am not mistaken, they are currently staying at Rondnoir — a mere few hours' travel from here."

"Should you use magic, it will take less," Yuushi reminded him. "If ever there is a dire emergency, I shall use a Summon."

"Yes, that would be acceptable." Keigo pulled on a dark cape, relatively inconspicuous, unlike his favored royal colors. There were only a few occasions he would shed the colors that stated his status, but covertness was a must today. "I want you to keep your eyes on the Monasteries. I fear they might have come upon something pertaining to the wards — Tezuka was quite adept at concealing his involvement, but those mages are quite sharp as well, especially that Yukimura."

Yuushi nodded in response as they strode through the doors. If everything went according to plan, no one would get hurt. If everything went according to plan, the entire issue would be resolved without further complications. Both of them knew that Yuushi's prophesies were not ones to fail; nonetheless, they were willing to place a bet. If anything, Ryoma was a strong charm against bad omens.

Wait for me, Ryoma, Keigo silently pledged. I will bring home your mother and father, and we will come for you.

-

Tezuka was heavily reluctant to leave Ryoma alone that morning, but he had no choice. He could not afford suspicion upon himself – that would only prohibit him from visiting his Ryoma. Thus, he had to return to the Monasteries and religiously perform his duties as a mage, while Ryoma was left behind to wallow in his grief. It was not an arrangement he liked, but there was no other way.

"I will be fine," the boy had insisted. His tired and swollen eyes were downcast. "Go, 'Mitsu."

And Tezuka believed not a single word the boy said.

"I will be back as soon as I can, Ryoma," he bid in parting, taking the boy into his arms and pressing a soft, comforting kiss upon quivering lips. "Sleep. You need it."

The boy gave a scant nod, sending him off with a small, shaky smile.

-

Delaying his departure as much as he could, Tezuka left the West quarter as the sun was rising. It was a slightly overcast day, with a handful of grey clouds peeking in at the corners of the endless blue sky. It was a brisk morning, and Tezuka had to gather his slightly rumpled robes tighter around his frame to keep the chill at bay. He could have used magic, but he avoided, especially during mornings when he was returning from the quarter. Using magic would inevitably mean releasing the hold he had on his signature, and that would mean releasing a telltale pulse that would attract unnecessary attention.

The last thing he wanted was for his 'nightly escapades' to be exposed.

He hurried towards a side entrance into the Monasteries, by now a frequented passageway he trudged through every late evening and early morning. He struggled to keep within the shadows cast by the high walls of the Monastery, trying to outrun the reach of the sun's rays.

As far as his eyes could see and as far as his magic could scope, there was not a soul within the vicinity. And yet, there was an irksome prickling feeling at the back of his neck, as if eagle eyes were watching his every move. A burst of speed propelled his steps, his feet unconsciously hurrying towards the safety of his personal quarters. His instincts were prone to untimely warnings, but he was nonetheless thankful.

Sudden as a gust of winter wind, a lash of hostile magic darted out from his left. His quick feet saved his arm by a sidestep; his shields instinctively shot up to protect him. Barking out the incantation for fire, he lit the entire length of the still and dark hallway. Shadows were chased from their nooks and corners, and for a moment, the prickling sensation vanished.

"Bind."

Faint as a whisper, the silent voice carried to Tezuka's ears. He cried out as the ward magic constricted around him — he felt a rib give with a sickening crack. His magic lashed out in desperation, but all was in vain. His airway constricted, it was a matter of minutes before his consciousness faded into nothingness.

The last thing he saw was a shadow lurking at the corner of his steadily darkening vision.

Ryoma…