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It started with a handshake. Or perhaps it started earlier than that, with the slow glide of the stranger’s gaze tickling its way down Yuder’s spine.
“The Cavalry! That’s you guys, right?” the stranger called during a team night out, a bright grin on their face that did not quite reach their eyes. “It’s so cool, what you do! I’ve heard all the stories!” They stuck out their hand. Yuder ignored both the hand and the confused looks that the travelling group shared, instead parsing through what he could tell of the stranger. Apparently sensing that they would not get a response from him, the stranger turned to Gakane, who stood at Yuder’s shoulder. “Honoured to meet the illustrious heroes! I’m Huil, professional storyteller!”
Gakane accepted the handshake. At the lack of any adverse effects, his shoulders relaxed minutely, and he gave it a single firm pump before returning to holding his mead. “Gakane Bolunwald.”
Around the table they went, shaking hands with each member, until they returned to Yuder. “And you are-? Oh, wait! I bet I can guess this! Dark eyes the colour of inverted opals, hair like a raven ruffled by the wind-”
Yuder pursed his lips, catching the hand that reached for said hair, and cut their effusive description off with a curt, “Yuder Ail.”
“M-hm.” Huil grinned, rocking forward on the balls of their feet. Their other hand came up to shake Yuder’s in an all too enthusiastic greeting. “I was right! Yuder Ail, the man of many victories! The Cavalry of many victories! What do such heroes think about their feats? Their journey, their destination, their wishes, their desires?” Huil’s eyes lit up along their spiel, as if catching onto something glorious, and they flung their arms out to their sides in private revelry. “What do you think of yourself?”
“That’s personal.”
“Aw, enlighten a poor dreamer! I should accurately represent the souls I speak of, after all. It is the storyteller’s job to pluck out all the secrets even my characters know nothing of. Even if it isn't by my tales, you will be known!” Huil seemed to pick up on the table’s growing discomfort, as the others took their cue from Yuder’s stoic stare. “Ah, haha, it seems like I may be… intruding.” They heaved a sigh, and the extravagant energy about them left with it. “Should I arrange a meeting with your commander instead? Ah, how tiring…”
And that had been the end of it – or so the Cavalry had thought. Alas, they were wrong.
They did not notice anything had changed until late morning the next day, when Cavalry training was cut short by Kurga’s shocked question. “Ever, since when did you have a tattoo?”
Ever stumbled to a halt in her sword drills, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”
“You have words!” Hinn exclaimed.
“There, on your arm!” Finn followed up, pointing out the words that had now bloomed from beneath Ever’s shirt cuff to wrap around her elbow and down to her forearms. She twisted around, a confused stare on her face as she tried to check herself.
I can do better! I am getting better! the words read in neat, uniform script. Strong, growing.
Kanna walked over with Yuder and Gakane in tow. “Would you mind?”
“Sure.” Ever shrugged. Kanna brushed her fingers along the inked words on Ever’s skin – they had now spread down to her wrists and peered out over her collar too. The words sliding up her neck read, Friend, Strong, Protector, Selfish, Weak, Learning, I’m falling behind.
“It’s an Awakener ability, not from a mage,” Kanna reported. Her forehead was wrinkled in concentration. “The words are personal. A reflection of yourself?”
Another Cavalry member held up their hand, using their ability to make themselves reflective. Ever thanked them briefly and moved around to bend the words as the twins pointed them out. “That sounds right,” she concluded with a soft sigh. Her hands came up to clasp her throat self-consciously, where the phrase, I want to keep being a hero encircled.
“Guys…” Gakane interrupted, holding up his own hand. “Guys, it’s happening to me too…”
There was only the one word there thus far – friend – but Ever relaxed slightly at the sight, lowering her hands. As they watched, too loud scribbled itself into existence down Gakane’s wrist. He smacked a hand over it, an embarrassed flush dusting his cheeks. The other Cavalry members started checking themselves over too, as Kanna reached out toward both Ever and Gakane to try and find a commonality. “The stranger you met last night. Huil. Do you think they were the Awakener?”
Ever rubbed her chin in thought. “It’s a good guess.” Raising her voice, she called, “Everyone who went out with Gakane and I last night and sat at our table, come over here!” It was a small group, only five others besides them – and the Cavalry Assistant who had just walked onto the field.
It had been an entirely uneventful meeting. Why Kishiar had asked him to attend, Yuder did not understand. He did not question it either; it was definitely a politick, and Yuder knew how to go along with these kinds of things. Not that this Kishiar paraded him with even a shadow of the unpleasantry that royals had in the previous round. They left the council room with the Cavalry’s budget in exactly the same state they had been in before meeting with the royal financiers; there were other things to be satisfied with, such as the subtle dominoes of internal strife they had set up during the debate.
Yuder rejoined Kishiar and Nathan just before they entered the training ground, having foregone his long-sleeved dress uniform in preparation for the sun beating down on the field. A smear of black caught his eye as he brushed his hair back from his eyes, the squiggle peeking out from under one of his gloves. He made a mental note to limit his use of his powers during this session.
Kishiar dropped his cloak into his adjutant’s waiting arms and clapped his hands, drawing the field’s attention. His discerning ruby gaze calmly dissected the words now springing up on the skin of a small cluster of Cavalry members, their unhindered yet perplexed body language, and Kanna, who now reached out to the other five affected in order to confirm her suspicions.
“We think the storyteller we met yesterday is the Awakener that caused this.” Ever cut to the chase. “Kanna says the handshakes were part of a condition needed for the Awakener to activate their power. Other than our appearance, it seems completely harmless.”
“It shows what you thi-” Kanna’s explanation stumbled to a stop as she looked up. What came out instead was a breathless, pained, “Yuder…”
“What does it show?” Kishiar prompted. Yuder came to a stop just behind him, focus sharpening on the phrases that now scattered the bodies of seven members.
“What you…” Kanna swallowed heavily and averted her eyes. “What you honestly think of yourself.”
Yuder felt his chest ache in sympathetic discomfort. He met the gazes of affected member. They all seemed to be discomfited or horrified by the unexpected situation. Even the commander was deeply disturbed, when Yuder finished taking them in and looked over at him questioningly.
Kishiar smiled. Something about it felt weaker than normal – like a key facet had been knocked loose. “If you don’t feel comfortable, you can skip today’s training.”
Four of the affected members excused themselves. Ever paused as she passed Yuder, refusing to look at him except directly in his eyes. “Yuder?” she prompted gently, though he did not understand why. “Will you be staying?”
Yuder frowned. The question confused him. Ever broke their stare after a few seconds of silence; in those seconds, Yuder decided that the Cavalry’s averted gazes felt nearly as uncomfortable as the weight of the empire’s vengeful attention on him. She glanced down at Yuder’s forearm before spinning around and hurrying to catch up with the others that had decided to leave.
When Yuder turned back to the training field, he felt his body grow cold. The atmosphere shifted to something awful in its familiarity, under the suddenly hostile demeanours of the Cavalry. Kishiar’s hand withdrew from where it had reached out to tap him on the shoulder. At Yuder’s unspoken question, the commander visibly shored himself up. “I can lead this training session with Nathan, if you would rather rest. My assistant’s training plans are as thorough as always; I’ll follow them to the word.”
Yuder opened his mouth. Closed it again. Felt the chill of realisation dawn on him in the form of shivering dread. He looked down at his hand, which had come up to rest naturally on his sword hilt.
Oh.
Like an accusation, or perhaps a confirmation, words bloomed up his arm. He glazed over most of them, turning his wrist to observe the smudge he had noticed before. It started with a ‘D’. Defective? Damaged? Yuder lowered his arm once more. There was little point in truly comprehending what was now written on his skin, so he ignored it. He was good at that.
Everyone else, it seemed, was less so. “Is this uncomfortable?” Yuder asked. The question fell flat in the dust under the weight of the tension. He nodded briskly and turned on his heel. “I will go change shirts.”
Yuder ducked his head in surprise as a stiff blazer dropped over his shoulders.
“You can stay.” Kishiar’s voice held unspeakable depth. Yuder recognised the same tone Kishiar had used, on realising that his dream of the past round had been Yuder’s reality. “Nathan,” he said, and Yuder listened to the sound of the adjutant’s retreating footsteps. It was far too hot to wear two layers while training, but Yuder found himself unwilling to take the jacket off. He kept his head down, surreptitiously breathing in the faint traces of Kishiar’s scent that lingered on the cloth.
In all honesty, Yuder did not pay attention to the next few minutes, where Kishiar moved the Cavalry onto their next drills. He felt the habitual urge to head to the corner of the training field, far from the rest, and do his own practice there. Just as he started walking, the commander talked to him once more. “Yuder. Kanna wanted to ask if Huil touched you.”
“They touched my hair, hand and wrist,” Yuder recited mechanically, straightening up and putting aside his emotions with pragmatic ease. “I did not feel anything in particular. As the others have said, this Awakener’s power is not harmful.”
“Not physically.”
Yuder started to nod his head, but found that once he looked down, it felt nearly impossible to bring himself to look up once more. He shut his eyes instead. “We should focus on the training session now, Commander.”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
“Is that an order?” Yuder asked. Kishiar’s breath hitched, and a spike of self-admonishment struck Yuder’s chest. Perhaps it would be better to miss this training session after all.
“No. It’s not an order.”
“We can talk about this later,” he conceded. “Please excuse me for now, Commander.”
Nathan walked into the training area just as Yuder was leaving. Yuder took off Kishiar’s jacket and exchanged it for the long sleeved, high collared shirt that the adjutant had fetched for him. As he pulled it on, he caught sight of something that looked like Cavalry on the underside of his upper arm and wondered with a dismissive huff if he should be grateful for its presence amongst the rest.
Yuder took in the full extent of his condition in the privacy of his own room. It was dim despite midday height of the sun. He had drawn the curtains tight against such prying eyes. His borrowed shirt pooled on the floor by his feet.
The full extent of his condition was what he had been planning, at least, but he found himself lingering on his ungloved hands and forearms. It was with clinical consideration that he mouthed the words to himself, tasting the foul memory of each one on his tongue. Yuder turned his hands over slowly, observing the letters outlined by visually inflamed yet physically unaffected skin. He rubbed his hands over them absentmindedly, tracing the words up his arms and over his shoulders and back, then round the front once more.
As it turned out, the one that started with Cavalry ended with one of the more common insults he had heard over the years, and Yuder shrugged off that disappointment like he had shucked off the shirt. Such situations were better off lived through in detachment. Where Gakane and Ever’s words had carried the hopes of improvement across their necks, Yuder read his failures back at himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink.
Not worth the effort nor the risk nor the time of day. Not even worth the attention, except when they were imagining him in bed or bloodlust. These words, according to Kanna, spelled out what he thought about himself. Were they only that? Yuder absentmindedly scratched the words that sat just below his ribs and reconsidered his own apathy in the light of his reaction back on the training grounds.
They had not affected him in any emotional capacity back then; it seemed a waste of energy to heed such sentiment, particularly when the basest elements of their vitriol were irrefutably true. But Yuder’s reaction earlier stood as evidence to the contrary – perhaps he had lost his immunity to it. He stood there a while longer, reading the truth of his dirty, unworthy soul back to himself until he felt the exhaustion that had once been ever-present reclaim its place inside him.
Kishiar first checked in on the others affected by the unknown Awakener’s power before making his final stop at Yuder’s quarters. For better or worse, their collective feelings boiled down to discomfort with the words, but not enough that it would hinder them or their activities – this assessment boosted rather guiltily by the Cavalry Assistant’s comparative condition. Kishiar assured them that he had arranged a separate training space for them in the Cavalry’s indoor arena, which they normally used for training groups with similar powers or points of improvement.
Yuder answered his door promptly, greeting Kishiar as if doing his best to drag the normalcy around himself in place of his traitorous skin. There was a stiff cadence to his voice, and the light in his eyes that Kishiar had grown familiar with seeing was not there.
“How did the training go?”
Kishiar stepped inside, taking his time to answer Yuder’s question. “It went well. I have arranged for those affected by the Awakener’s power to train in the indoor arena instead, so the heat is not uncomfortable. Would you oversee their training for me?”
Yuder nodded shortly. “I can do that.”
Kishiar pulled out the travel set of Imuran Yute Mesis that he had prepared, gesturing to Yuder’s bed. “Would my assistant play a game with me?”
“If you want.”
Yuder’s bed was not nearly as lush as his own, but was firm enough to balance the game board as long as they did not shift too fast atop the mattress. Kishiar made a mental note to keep him in the commander’s quarters as much as possible; Yuder did as much for the Cavalry as he did, the least his assistant deserved was an equally comfortable rest. They sat opposite each other, letting the sound of pieces hitting ivory fill the space as Kishiar set up the board.
Surprisingly, Yuder was the first to make a move this time – a perversion of the rules, as Kishiar had absent-mindedly laid out the black and white pieces as such shades corresponded to them. Yuder picked up a black piece the moment Kishiar sat back to think of his own opening move. His was an aggressive opening, striking out with a knight. Before Kishiar’s fingers could brush his own knight piece, Yuder said, “Play like you want to win.”
“Alright, Yuder.”
It seemed that Yuder did not plan to follow his own instruction. Every move was a sacrifice, a trade, and Kishiar felt his smile droop more with each clack of polished black pieces on the board. Where Yuder’s strategy was a dead sprint to the end, Kishiar reeled them back. Something corrosive lurked in the push-and-pull battle of this new game; the decisions rasped yet-indecipherable secrets of patterns in Kishiar’s mind.
The match drew longer, despite the early felling of many of Yuder’s common pieces – and then they reached a turning point, Yuder retreating one Imum into a cluster of lower-ranked pieces and blocking himself in. His still-gloved fingers twitched, and he exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for years.
The corrosive atmosphere that Kishiar had registered earlier now found its form, and Kishiar found it detestable. Yuder’s charging strategy, Kishiar reining their pace back by blocking off his advances and pushing his pieces in circles. It was control. And when had Kishiar ever wanted such a thing?
Kishiar locked his gaze on Yuder as his hand moved across the board, plucking up his red Makas – but sat back instead, fingers folding around the general. Yuder blinked as if coming out of a stupor, lips parting in protest at the halt in their haunted flow.
“Yuder,” Kishiar started. A conflicted, uncomprehending gaze rose to meet his. “Let’s enjoy the sunlight before it goes. It’s growing dark in here.” He drew open the curtains with his Awakener power, letting the late afternoon light find its way in. Yuder turned slightly toward the warmth as if he couldn’t help himself – it was something Kishiar had noticed in the past too. Though he preferred staying in the shadow, Yuder looked most at peace in the brilliance of the sun.
“Have you understood it yet?” Yuder asked. Kishiar had not missed the renewed distance of his demeanour, discarded between them back in the Cavalry’s earliest days.
“Would you let me understand it more?”
Yuder hesitated. “Ask me questions.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Kishiar pushed the game board aside with his power and shuffled closer, capturing Yuder’s wrist in a gentle hold. “What do you think of yourself? Don’t show me it; please, tell me with your own mouth.” Yuder’s free hand jerked to a stop where he had reached for his sleeve cuffs. His brow was furrowed deep, exhaustion etched in his gaze despite it barely being late afternoon on a day that Yuder would normally deride as a needless break for himself.
“I am strong,” he started, and it was exactly what Kishiar expected. As Yuder continued, Kishiar laced their fingers together and brought their hands up to absentmindedly press kisses across Yuder’s knuckles. “I can defeat most monsters singlehandedly. I know their weaknesses. I have trained longer and harder than most. Above all, I am loyal to the Cavalry,” he rattled off in a rote-learned drone.
“You are,” Kishiar affirmed when Yuder looked to him as if waiting for condemnation. “You have proven yourself to be one of the strongest, most loyal people I know.”
Yuder’s gaze dipped down to his thigh for a moment. Kishiar wondered why Yuder’s self-respect had to be hidden from public view. Yuder opened his mouth to continue but shut it after a few seconds. Kishiar squeezed his hand in silent support. “I have too much pride,” muttered Yuder. It sounded like a bitter correction. Though that had been Kishiar’s initial impression, Yuder had since proven himself capable enough to carry such pride. “I work better alone.”
“I think we work together best.” Kishiar joked with a wink.
With a flat stare, Yuder replied, “Not in battle.”
“Who else can keep up with our lovely Cavalry assistant?”
“Hm.” A breeze picked up, swaying the curtains. Yuder had used his power to crack the window open. “I am opportunistic and greedy. I ruin everything because of my ego.”
What ego, Kishiar wanted to ask, along with other questions like what happened in that past life? But he did not wish to interrupt. Yuder’s breathing had grown artificially deeper, as he reclaimed that silent spell about himself that had clogged the room when Kishiar first entered. One breath, two breaths, three.
On the seventh, Yuder’s voice spilled forth in uncaring monotony. “I am stained, dirty, monstrous, destructive, entertaining, traitorous, greedy, egotistical. They needed to fix me. I was beyond fixing. I was asking for it, being so stubborn and prideful. I am too cowardly. I did not die for my comrades, but I could have, if I truly wanted to save them. No one surviving would have been better than me returning.”
Kishiar belatedly noticed his grip tightening on Yuder’s hand at the protesting squeak of his leather gloves. He released it immediately; Yuder did not react. Using his freed hand to count, Yuder started to tick off more points on his fingers. “I am a dog that was fed too much power. I should be put in my place. I ruin everything I touch. I am incapable of humanity. I may as well be a monster spy. I’m desperate enough to be fun to train. My body is plain, but my Awakener traits must make me fun. I am a bad leader. I am a worse subordinate. I am unworthy of the human quality they call trust.”
Yuder looked up, having put down all ten fingers in his strange count. “But I’m still useful,” he wrapped up, as if satisfied with the horrific string of lies about himself and the conclusion he had drawn from it all, “and strong, and loyal.”
In the heart-stopping silence that fell between them, Kishiar shut his eyes. It was horrifically hard to swallow back his outrage, but he managed well enough for his voice not to crack. “And you believe everything you just said?”
Yuder shrugged one shoulder. “According to the Awakener’s power…”
“Then, can you tell me why each of those claims is so wrong?” Kishiar watched dark lashes fluttered in abject incomprehension and reasserted, “They are wrong. The blindest soul can see that every one of those beliefs is rooted in inferiority complexes so dark they do not deserve your light. Indulge me?”
Yuder made a non-committal noise.
“Why are those first words untrue? Stained, dirty. I doubt I could ever see either of those in you.”
“I…” There was a visible struggle to put together thoughts that opposed the self-hatred ingrained in Yuder’s mental patterns. “I can tell you why they are true.”
“In that case, I’ll deconstruct them for you.”
The tension drained from Yuder’s body. “I’m a dirty commoner who slept with the Cavalry Commander in order to get his job. I have killed many, both on the emperor’s orders and of my own judgment. My hands are forever stained.”
Kishiar hummed. “Do you think I would hand over the fates of our members on the back of a good lay? Or that your fellow Cavalry members are dirty for their ancestry? Would you think them greedy if they were given a noble title as a reward for their efforts? Do you think the Imperial army think themselves spotless after a war?” He waited for Yuder’s slight nod of acknowledgement. “To feel stained by blood is something any fighter will experience eventually, if they understand the true effects of their actions. Monstrous and destructive were the next ones, right?”
Yuder’s lips twitched up barely. “Yes.” His mood seemed lighter already. Even if he didn’t believe what Kishiar said, it was enough to break the cyclical trap of self-hatred for now. Kishiar planned to keep working on a long-term change. “They speak to my abilities and battle choices. They were achievements for me.” It was true. The Cavalry praised each other’s strengths with such words; it was a strange manner of acceptance to be called a monster by fellow Awakeners, though there was a fine line between awe- and fear-inspiring that Yuder talked about crossing in the last round.
“And beyond your strength?” Kishiar prompted. “Would you consider yourself, not your power, monstrous? A monster?”
Yuder frowned. With a resigned kind of honesty, he said, “No. I don’t consider myself a monster. I was just tired. Nothing worked out how I wanted it to.” They both thought a moment, trying to recall the other things Yuder had listed off. “Entertaining… the emperor found me entertaining. I remember that.” It was one of the few things Yuder could recall in such detail, though those details boiled down to the mean of every ball and formal event he was dragged to. They were all the same. “That was what made me so tired. And traitorous. You know why.”
“To stay loyal to one thing, sometimes it is necessary to betray something else.” Kishiar moved further up the bed. Yuder shuffled over so they could lean against the headboard side by side. “You know that you made the right choice.”
“If you make me make that choice again-”
Kishiar shook his head, bumping their shoulders together lightly. “I have no reason to. You’ve given my life more value now; I would feel like I am missing out on too much, to throw everything away like that version of me did.”
After a moment, Yuder sighed. “I’m glad that you think that.” He meant it sincerely, but Kishiar got the sense he had said something wrong. To atone, he held out his hand to Yuder, who laced their fingers together and drew their hands into his lap. “Killing you damaged me,” Yuder confessed. “When I started remembering more a while ago, that was one of the things I realised.” He sucked in a short breath. “If you plan to die again, I hope you won’t include me in the plan.”
“I-”
Yuder turned bodily toward Kishiar, gaze intense. “Don’t think of me when you make those kinds of plans. I refuse to kill you a second time.”
“You’re right. You don’t deserve my disregard.” Kishiar bowed his head with a sheepish quirk of his brow. “I’m too used to expecting death; it didn’t dawn on me that anyone might feel the effects of my death on a personal level.”
“Remember that.” Yuder untangled their hands to pull off his gloves. The afternoon sun hit the printed letters in a swathe of warm light. Kishiar swallowed down a surge of self-disgust as they examined the words together. “Talking about them has no effect,” observed Yuder.
“They look irritated.”
“They’re less red than they were before. It’s probably a matter of time.” Neither of them looked remotely happy about that.
“Can the Red Stone’s power do anything?”
“The only energy I could see was my own.” Yuder undid his cuff links and set to work unbuttoning his shirt.
“You don’t have to show-”
With a deadpan glance up from the fastenings of his high collar, Yuder interrupted, “I want to. These are the details about that round that you wouldn’t ask about. Convince me that they’re wrong, Commander.” And it was in theory better for Yuder himself to work through the trauma inked into his skin, but his shadowed eyes cast down to their abandoned board game as he confessed, “I’m tired of thinking about it. I never wanted to think about it again.”
So Kishiar did. His fingers glided over each thought that encircled Yuder’s neck, arms, chest, paying special attention to the scattered whispers of self-validation that filtered between the scathing names. Yuder held his wrist loosely, just following its movement. His gaze stayed fixed on Kishiar’s face.
“Of everyone I have ever met,” Kishiar concluded as dusk smeared its yellow-red haze through the room, “you are undeniably the most human to me.”