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When Bam steps onto the 118th floor, the afternoon sun is on its way to setting. They’re in the middle of the forest, light rays peeking through the trunks. The hairs on his skin are still raised, poised to attack and defend. Despite the lack of any danger on site, his whole body thrums with adrenaline. His mind is in constant haywire because they have left Rak and Shibisu behind on the previous floor.
“We should go back right now. What if Rak and Isu get caught by—”
“Even if we go back now, there’s no guarantee we can hide from the sheer amount of Jahad’s forces, Bam,” Khun says, dismissing his lighthouse, “I already reached out to Ran’s party arriving on the previous floor. They can take in Rak and Isu for the time being.”
Khun looks at him this time. He too is winded from the chase of a High Ranker trying to get them. Sweat clinging to his hairline and scratches from avoiding attacks. Khun offers him a comforting smile and assures him, “Rak and Isu have reached this far in the Tower. Bam, they’ll be fine.”
The team was close to finishing the 117th Floor Test when the Test Administrator decided that it was better for him to let Jahad’s forces into the field. With all of their plans in disarray, Khun and Isu barely weaved together an escape plan. As with all strategies involving Khun, Bam was clueless and blindly followed every order from Khun. Somehow, the test concluded there. Now, Rak and Isu were left behind and probably failed the test.
Bam deflates. “Okay.”
Bam scans the team. Endorsi and Anaak are arguing over who reached the portal to the next floor faster, and Hatz polishes his sword. Bam is grateful none of them are severely injured and can only hope Rak and Isu are fine.
When his gaze lands on Khun, he is already looking at him, as if Khun is doing the same thing as Bam does. Before Bam can react, Khun turns away and addresses the team.
“Let’s find shelter since the sun is about to set.”
The height of the forest is high. Five metres at least. The team is small beside the trees’ trunks. The grass under his boots ends at his ankle. They manoeuvre through the foliage until a brightly-lit mansion comes into view. It’s a burst of colour from the greens they keep on seeing.
The sky is dark, and with no other building in sight, they don’t have a choice but to stay the night.
Bam has an instinct that something is about to happen. He wouldn’t be surprised anymore. They can’t even take a single day of break with Jahad’s forces in pursuit after reaching the hundredth floor. They chase after them as if they’re terrified of what their team can do at the top. The whole Tower is on edge to see the wave that Bam is creating—it’s his duty set by his Mother, they say. They have high hopes for him, they say. Bam can fulfil their dreams of dragging Jahad down, they say.
It’s your destiny, a lot of them say, eyes wide with hope.
A heavy touch on his shoulder snaps Bam out of his reverie. Khun spares him a worried glance and walks ahead to the ivy-covered gate. His hand stretches out to open it but it creaks open on its own. Everyone else observes warily.
“Well,” Khun comments, “it opened by itself.”
So it did. Bam exhales and enters the premises, anxiously unaware of the events that will transpire.
-
Tu Perie Tperie, the First Lightbearer of the Tower, once told him that everyone has a predetermined role when they are born. Just like how the First Climbers were meant to conquer the Tower, he told Bam that he too is meant to fulfil his role.
“I see you are tied to a lot of responsibilities,” Tperie told him, backlit by his mythical lighthouse. “So many strings are attached to you.”
Maybe it’s a lightbearer thing, Khun shrugged back then when he asked about what the family head mentioned. Something about the Eyes of God that was given to Tperie by the Tower.
Tperie is not wrong. Bam agrees with him because he is indeed tied to a lot of responsibilities, tied to the hope that he’ll make this hellish place a little less terrible for the masses. Bam is a witness of the cruelty of the Tower and has the means to change that.
Offhandedly, Tperie had added, “Be careful, son of V.”
-
The mansion is a burst of light in the dark forest due to a small banquet illuminating its interior. The two great oak doors open to the scene of people enjoying the festivities, but only a single person sits in the centre of the hall, a flute of champagne in his gloved hand. It’s unnerving to see that it is the only person who spares them the attention. The rest of the occupants chatter among themselves. They stay in Bam’s periphery as shadows, changing and altering among themselves like liquid.
The test administrator warmly greets them, “Welcome to the 118th Floor. It is an honour to finally meet the infamous slayer, Jyu Viole Grace.”
The reception doesn’t faze Bam. He knows the routine after climbing a hundred and more floors. One moment they’ll smile at him then try to kill him the next. This time, it’ll be no different.
At Bam’s practised disinterest for formalities, the test administrator rises from the velvet seat. “I shall not keep you waiting further. The 118th Floor Test is simple. Do you see that book near you?”
He tilts his glass to Bam’s right, where a thick book rests on a table. Bam picks it up and flips through it. He senses Khun shuffle closer to him and the others, sparing only a glance before looking back at the administrator again. At the end of the book, the last page is missing, violently torn apart from its binding.
“A mischievous thief has stolen the last page. That book is beloved to me, you see,” he adds, “the floor test merely requires that you find the torn page in five days, the date of the next banquet.”
The test administrator drinks his champagne dry. “Well then, I shall see you in five days.”
He disappears with a wave of shinsu. The entrance remains lit with ornate candles and luminous pillars. The silence that befalls them is one with anticipation. Bam senses for the tiniest shuffle in the air.
Nothing comes at them. The banquet goes on.
Then, Khun suggests, “Let’s retire for the night.” On cue, Bam feels the fatigue on his body and the dirt on his clothes. The ladies eagerly nod at the agenda.
In just a few minutes, Hatz has already mapped out the mansion. It is a two-floored mansion divided into three parts—the right and left wing as well as the centre building, where they have just been received by the test administrator. The bedrooms are on the second floor of the right wing.
After Bam furiously scrubs off the combination of dirt and dried blood from the previous floor, he finds Khun seated on the sofa, the book from earlier in his hands. Khun looks at him and gives him a smile. “Bam.”
“What is that about?” Bam asks, taking the spot next to Khun. He hasn’t been able to properly scan the contents of the book itself earlier. Now, Khun reads it. He flips to the next page.
“It’s a normal book. The plot is generic,” Khun answers, tone deadpan as if he’s disappointed. “I checked if there’s a clue about the page but there’s nothing. Only the epilogue itself is torn.”
Before Bam can question the contents, Khun snaps the book shut and focuses his attention on Bam. “How are you, Bam? Do you need any help on applying medicinal cream on your cuts?”
Bam is used to bearing Khun’s sudden concern for his safety, checking in on him from time to time, especially after a hard battle. He usually preens under the attention.
But now, it is a jumpscare. A feeling that somehow shocks Bam and shocks him even further because he shouldn’t be in the first place.
“I’m fine. I was able to heal them anyway. How about you? I think I saw one of your lighthouses die out earlier.”
Khun waves his hand, gesturing the triviality of the lighthouse to him. “That’s replaceable.”
Bam just smiles cheekily at Khun as he lectures about the amount of care, or the lack thereof, Bam should put on. He listens as much as he can to Khun until he unknowingly falls asleep under Khun’s meticulous pampering.
-
The next day, Khun concisely tells them the narrative of the book over breakfast, prepared beforehand on the long dining table. He glosses it over in the same tone of briefings they do before a floor test—an easy note with confidence and assurance.
A girl, lost in the woods, finds a mansion in the dead of the night to recuperate from the storm. She sleeps and never sees the sunlight again.
The irony and its underlying meaning are not lost to them.
Bam, despite not being as well-versed as Khun, can decipher and pick apart the subcontext of things thrown at him. The similarity of the situation is so eerily similar to them that he struggles to keep down the food in his stomach. If this is a foresight of what will happen to them upon failing the test, then Bam is going to do everything to prevent it.
He’s learned that the most basic tests are the ones that will leave them in pieces if they fail.
The utensils clink as they eat. The princesses’ banter fades out as he mulls over their current task. How are they going to find a single page in this big mansion?
His stare slides over to Khun, in perfect timing to see him raise his eyes from the plate to Bam. A smile from him working wonders in calming his nerves.
Later, Khun designates the rest of the team to search the mansion. Hatz on the left wing, Anaak and Endorsi on the right, and Khun and Bam for the centre building.
They trudge quietly on the second floor, working top to bottom. The mansion is not different nor unique to any of the architecture he encountered in the previous floors. The simplicity of it unnerves Bam. He’s aware he is overthinking it, but the possibility is always there.
Bam personally concludes that maybe the last page has an air of shinsu, which means it’s much easier for him to detect. Khun laughs at him when he voices it out but doesn’t advise against it anyway.
“Who knows? You hold the record of something unprecedented happening,” he says over a lighthouse.
The sun dips in the horizon. The day ends. When the team reconvenes on the table for dinner—already laid out—they don’t have any significant progress.
The feeling of restlessness, of the need for any development, doesn’t settle in Bam as he bids Khun goodnight.
-
The second day is a repeat of the first. Another sweep of the manor, with different assignments on each area.
The result stays the same: nothing is found.
-
The third day sees them searching outside. To the foliage of the trees, on the well-trimmed and intricately decorated yard, Bam retraces the path they’d taken two days ago and still finds nothing. His frustration comes out in a huff, the sun sets again on the skyline. Even after querying Hatz, the scout remains empty of any leads on the page.
The great walls watch Bam trudge the halls in an aimless manner. He doesn’t walk for long when he sees a door ajar, light spilling into the dimmed halls. This mansion is only alive during banquets anyway.
He peeks to catch Khun reading, discovering that the room is a study and Khun is seated on the window seat, designed as a lounge for reading in mind. What’s left of the sunlight casts a warm tone on Khun’s cool colours. Bam wants to burn the sight in his brain permanently.
“Bam,” Khun greets. He gestures to the available spot next to him and Bam follows, the action feels universally right.
“Are you planning to read all of the books here for the page?” Bam asks because it’s the only thing that makes sense to him when they need to find something in such a short time frame for a big location.
Khun smiles like he wants to laugh yet he doesn’t and indulges Bam with an answer. “Maybe? There’s still a possibility for it to be hidden in one of these books.”
It’s not a proper answer. Bam rolls his eyes. His gaze lands on the hardcover in Khun’s grasp. “What is that about?”
Bam thinks that talking about trivial things is a waste of time. A mindset that gets him contemplating for hours into the night. He didn’t have this opinion before, floors below.
“An idea about fate.” Khun answers vaguely, then he questions Bam, “Bam, do you believe in predestined duties and roles?”
“Predestined duties and roles?”
“Before you were even born, your fate was already set in stone. What happens to you, what you will do for the society, and how and why you will die. By the time you open your eyes, you have a duty or a role to fulfil.” Khun elaborates, “That’s what this book says anyway. It goes around and around in the idea.”
“That’s a very familiar line of thinking.” An intimately familiar spiel every time they encounter high rankers who think they are superior, every time Bam meets a FUG elder, or even a random civilian who luckily gets spared from becoming collateral damage.
He realises his reply doesn’t answer Khun’s question. He says, “I don’t know.”
Khun hums. He flicks to another page, then he speaks again, “I don’t believe in those.”
“Why?”
The book snaps shut with a resounding thump. “Because I make my own rules.”
After knowing Khun for decades, if he detects the uncharacteristically fierce way he declares it, then Bam doesn’t comment on it.
-
The fourth day grates on Bam. Small nuisances that dig deeper into his skin—the heaviness of his body sleeping for too long, learning once again that they made no headway in searching for the damned page, the way Khun surveys him with a brow raised, obviously noticing Bam’s discomfort.
It’s a hot, simmering, and ugly thing brewing in his head.
It bursts when they’re at the dinner table. The screech of the two princesses over something as insignificant as food is enough to set Bam off.
The china rattles under the sheer force of Bam’s fist slamming on the table. It’s a miracle that the mahogany doesn’t split in half. The silence over the table is a shout from Bam. The quiet is deafening and unsettling before he realises his mistakes.
He swallows. “I’m done.”
The door shuts behind him. Bam treads the dimly lit halls, aimless and absolutely zero idea on where to go.
It doesn’t take long for him to settle on one of the many balconies of this mansion. The thought that this building is comparatively smaller than the vast arenas and complex landscapes where his team had once been tasked to search for something—it strikes him and Bam finds it ridiculous.
“Bam.”
Bam isn’t surprised. Only Khun is kind and foolish enough to approach him after an outburst like that. When the power thrums restlessly in his blood, people cower away—Khun doesn’t.
He hopes it stays that way.
The air beside him moves, where Khun sits beside Bam. “Tell me what’s wrong?” These days, he doesn’t talk with preamble anymore. Khun speaks to him directly, like he too feels the chase of time clawing at his heels.
Bam sighs. “I’m sorry… about earlier. I was impatient.”
Khun hums. “Why do you think so?”
“It’s frustrating. We’re taking so long to find this one page in this mansion when we could spot an ant in a forest in the previous tests,” Bam complains, “We need to finish, fast, so we can check on the others, especially Rak and Isu. Then, there’s FUG. They would want updates from us.”
“You forgot what I said before, didn’t you?” Khun says, his tone scolding but his intention is different. “You’re just a human, Bam, not a God.”
That time on the Name Hunt Station, Khun reminded him and Bam agreed.
50 floors and more later, Bam thinks otherwise.
“I don’t think everyone will agree with what you say, Khun.”
Khun’s lips quirk at his reply, as if what he just said is a good joke to him. That’s Khun, Bam suddenly thinks, his mind reminiscing over the moments they were together as they climbed the Tower, he’ll find some of my worries funny.
The fact that Khun will smile at that tugs at Bam’s heartstrings. He’ll smile at Bam’s worries like they’re nothing, that it’s merely a thought that can be dissipated away. The thing is, it will. If Khun smiles like that to him, then it will be alright.
“Why are you climbing the Tower, Bam? Forget everything, why are you here?”
Bam hesitates, “I… I want to see the sky.”
It feels far away now. On the second floor, the first time he asked if what he saw back then was the sky, Khun was flabbergasted and Rak was cackling. Now, with people watching him and placing their dreams on him, his own goal has left him completely.
This time, his words flow freely. “I want to see the sky, both during the day and night. I also want to see the stars and the constellations, the way they twinkle. I want to see these with all of you.”
Khun’s face softens and he nods. “We’ll do that then.”
They don’t talk for a while after that. This one moment of lull is precious and rare. With Jahad’s forces on their heels, Bam always finds himself running with the team. A single day wasted means an even higher probability of getting caught by the King. Bam cannot risk the life of his friends, not after decades long of getting them back. So they move, they run. They can’t quite take a pause.
But now, it feels like a crime—to experience this quietness with Khun, even if they’re in the middle of the floor test.
“Khun,” Bam calls. He hears him hum in reply. “Please make sure you will see the real night sky with me.”
When Bam inclines his head, he catches Khun already looking at him. A soft smile—one that’s reserved for him only. Bam fixates on the curve of his lips.
Khun assures him, “Of course, Bam. I promise.”
To convince Bam more, Khun shifts his hand closer to him. Their skin brushes ever slightly. Khun’s hands are always cold. Bam knows this yet the point of contact is so hot that he barely catches himself from flinching away. He's so focused on Khun’s battle-worn hand that he doesn’t realise the proximity of their faces.
No. Bam may have already noticed and only stares down at their hands as an escape.
Bravely, he looks up and Khun is there. “Khun, I—”
Then, Khun is gone.
He stands—away from Bam—and stretches. Khun doesn’t look at him when he speaks. “I’ll let you rest. Don’t worry about the page. We will find it before the banquet starts tomorrow.”
Khun doesn’t look back when he retreats.
-
The hour of the banquet arrives.
It has been strange to face Khun earlier. The moment he lays his eyes on Bam, he frets and fusses. He mumbles fond exasperations of how Bam can never master fixing his own tie without being crooked. It is with great reluctance that Bam is provided with a brand new suit—slim and fitted black—despite his abysmal record with his clothing’s lifespan.
Now, they stand at the entrance of the hall, where they first received their test without any preamble. It’s still strange because the test administrator hosts it alone with only a handful of them along with illusions of people.
It is strange because they are about to celebrate and they haven’t found the last page.
As if sensing his distress, or maybe it’s just so palpable, Endorsi squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find the page before the banquet ends. Until then—” her hand slips down to tug at his arm, “—should we review your dancing lessons?”
Endorsi drags him to the dance floor, taking the centre spot where other partners have started to encircle them in a dancing position. He steps into muscle memory, remembering the hours of lessons under the scrutiny of Khun and Endorsi—both who are well-versed in the cruel eyes of high society.
Under the swell of music—generated by what, played by whom, Bam does not know—they waltz. He rarely steps on Endorsi’s foot nowadays, getting the hang of the pattern and rhythm.
He almost steps on her stiletto for the third time that night when the dance transitions, a cue to change partners. The tempo rises as Endorsi pirouettes away, the jewelled hem of her dress sparkling under the golden light. She disappears into the moving masses.
A hand clasps his outstretched one and smoothly turns them around. The motion is so sudden it makes Bam almost dizzy. He’s about to react negatively when his eyes lock with blue. Khun smiles at him, all dashing and princely that Bam almost trips when he realises that he’s not leading the dance anymore.
The thing with Khun leading the dance, lifted from his extended sessions with the man, is that Khun leads with absolute confidence and untouchable grace. It has been easy to follow, when Bam first landed his hand on his shoulder and the other clasped the lightbearer's hand. Khun flows through the song easily like he is one with it. No. He conducts the score itself.
Bam loses himself for a bit.
Bam is no stranger to attraction. He is no longer the oblivious boy from the second floor, nor a kid with a pretty face. In regards to Khun, it is a fact he is handsome and magnetising. He’s been aware of his feelings, simmering deep and repressed from the ongoing chase and war. Despite this, Bam has been confident on where he stands, on where they stand with each other. He has years of toying with death alongside Khun to know.
Well, he’s never been so certain until last night.
Bam declares, “I need a drink.”
Khun merely raises an eyebrow and silently manoeuvres them to the beverages. A cocktail tower stands proudly tall and beautifully erected. The orange liquid in them glitters in the hall’s lights. Bam resists the urge to pull the corner glass, instead whisking the lined flute champagnes beside it. He drains the drink in one go and does the same to the next one.
Khun regards him with a questioning brow, yet his glossed lips remain curled. “Celebrating already?”
How am I celebrating when we’re so close to our doom and we’re not doing anything about it? Bam wants to say, out of downright pettiness to have that vindictive glee from Khun’s reaction.
“Not really,” he laughs. If this is going to be their last night together, then Bam really doesn’t have anything to lose than the divine-or-holy prophecy from Arlene. “I just want to be drunk right now. I hope there’s no problem with it.”
“No, there isn’t. Don’t let me stop you.”
The permission is right there. Normally, Bam would question the leniency, because Khun hates intoxicated members during a floor test. Shibisu was drunk once and he was almost left behind.
Well, Bam is not Shibisu and Shibisu is not here right now, so… so.
He knocks one glass to another. He can hold his liquor pretty well with the help of his shinsu-enhanced body, burning the alcohol exponentially faster than an average regular. Thus, it’s natural that he’s not going to be drunk soon with only champagne, so he moves to mixed refreshments. The colours range from pink to green, each possessing its own unique taste.
He sights Endorsi and Hatz in his periphery, both enjoying their own little bubble. Anaak is on the other side, helping herself with the choices of entrees. And Khun, well, he can hardly care about Khun because he is always lingering around Bam like an addicted moth to a dying flame.
He chuckles. The metaphor is funny.
Bam raises another glass—he thinks it’s whiskey now—when someone unhelpfully grapples his wrist.
“Bam.” It’s Khun. “Let’s go back to the rooms.”
“I don’t know,” Bam replies. “I don’t want to.”
Banquet isn’t over yet. He wants to say but he gets distracted when Khun’s lips curl. Bam dazedly realises it is the same smile that Khun gives him last night, moments before Khun shutters off his feelings. He yearns for that expression on Khun more often, privately maybe, but Bam wants others to see it too—the intricate shift of his visage when his attention turns to Bam. Like I’m special.
The door to his room creaks open. Distantly, the clock bells. It must have been an hour passing. His brows slant at his vague recollection. When did he get here? Still, the significant thing is he’s in his room stumbling to his bed and Khun is with him. Their designer tuxedos are gone and discarded somewhere. That’s exponentially better than being left alone on the balcony, clueless and overthinking.
“Here, water.” Bam wordlessly takes it.
He looks up at Khun. “I’m not drunk.”
“Of course, you’re not.” There’s another look there. As if Khun is humouring a demanding child.
Bam drinks the glass anyway, not because he is above rivalling Khun’s stubbornness but because he’s a little afraid of Khun becoming annoyed and leaving him all alone again. So, he drinks.
Khun mutters about the cold of the room and sets out to find Bam’s flannel. Shakily, he places the cup of water on the bedside table and is about to crash headfirst on the bed, when his gaze latches onto something on the inner chest pocket of Khun’s blazer. A letter addressed to him in an elegant script.
Khun is not in the room, perhaps he’s in the walk-in closet. Bam picks up the letter, finds it already opened and the paper within it crumpled. It falls into his hand. On one side, the paper is torn.
He reads its content and the font is familiar, so much so that he recognizes it. It is the same font as the books in the library, in the study room Khun nestled himself in the other day.
The same font as the book the test administrator showed.
The pleasant buzz of alcohol leaves him completely.
A fabric is suddenly draped over him. Heart bursting out of his chest, he turns to Khun smiling. He barely slips into his favourite blue polo. Bam looks up at Khun, the stretch of his smile threatening to break his own face. “Khun! You found it!”
Khun plucks the letter from Bam’s grasp.
“Khun?”
The lightbearer reads through the letter. It can’t not be the page that they’re looking for. The torn side is enough evidence that it’s ripped from its book’s spine.
"That's the last page," Bam points out. "We should give it to the test administrator."
"No."
His blood runs cold. "What?"
Khun looks back to him, repeating as if Bam didn’t hear. "I said no."
"But we need to pass this floor test, Khun. The army will catch up to us." With growing horror, Bam realises it. "No. You—Khun, you lied again."
“Of course, I did.” Bam has memorised each and every detail of Khun’s expression, of the way his visage lights up at the sight of him. How the slightest tilt of his lips tells a different scheme. This one that Khun wears now screams at Bam. He doesn't regret it at all. “I never told you we’d pass this floor test, Bam.”
"Why?"
"Because," Khun's voice shakes from repressed anger. Bam is clueless why Khun is like this. He should be the one who's angry. "I see you destroy yourself over things that are beyond your control."
The conversation shifts and Bam is rapidly failing to keep up, but he knows what the reply is: "I am in control."
"You’re not.”
“I am!”
“Then, why are you rushing to finish the floor test? Why are you so obsessed with Jahad’s Army catching up to us?”
“Because, I—” All arguments die at the moment Khun closes the distance between them and presses their lips together. Time freezes and the air sizzles.
The room erupts into flames. Bam sees it then. Red threads wind around them like cobwebs, stretched taunt. The kindle burning the letter—the last page that has their fates—latches on red threads that weren't there before. For a feverish millisecond, he thinks it’s choking him. The fire spiders around them and Bam can’t look away from Khun's face reflected by the firefish’s flames burning everything to ashes.
Bam inhales sharply, gasps like it's the first time he breathes air. He wants to recoil because he is too familiar with the look on Khun’s face. He’s seen it on people who are seconds away from their deaths. Distantly, the bell of the clock tolls midnight.
“Bam, slow down,” Khun almost begs. “Not all of us can keep up with you.”
As if the Tower senses his helpless resignation and well-hidden fear, the Test Administrator’s voice resounds into the night.
“Team Jyu Viole Grace fails the 118th floor test.”
-
The vessel rumbles into the night. With the others resting for the oncoming test, Hwaryun levels Khun with a studying gaze. The other man returns the same gesture. He says, “I don’t see anything tied to you.”
Hwaryun’s mouth twitches at the observation. “Of course you don’t. You won’t see anything on us guides because we’re merely leading others to their fate.”
She sees the exact moment Khun becomes disagreeable at her words. They never find themselves aligned on the topic of one FUG Slayer Candidate. Hwaryun is only a guide, what happens after is beyond her.
“Then, you know what becomes of Bam,” Khun says, “Are you aware that your god may not even reach the top with all the responsibilities strangling him?”
“It’s his choice. I am only honouring it.”
“Did you even give him one? Of course, you didn’t.”
Ah, Hwaryun thinks unbidden, Tu Perie Tperie shouldn’t have lent him the Eyes of God. What can even the Family Head hope to achieve by giving away one of his precious gifts from the Tower to someone like Khun Aguero Agnis? Perhaps for another romanticised story he’ll flaunt in the near future. Hwaryun finds it amusing because it is not too far out of character.
Instead of refuting, Hwaryun warns Khun. “Be careful, Khun. You may have that ability, albeit temporarily, but it is not a reason for you to get cocky.”
“You may revere him as a god, but I respect him as a lover,” Khun points out., “Bam is just another person, not an irregular with a prophecy. If I am committing blasphemy to everyone who worships him, then I’ll just have to bring him down back to the ground.”
“Then, do as you please.” That’s what your role is right from the start.
-
“You’re overthinking this.”
“I am not.” Bam stares at Khun. He doesn’t particularly care if his expression is one of witnessing Khun growing another head. It’s unnerving and eerie—to finally know that Khun has the Eyes of God that the Tperie Family Head brags as a gift from the Tower. Khun doesn’t look any different.
“You knew about it, didn't you?” Bam asks. His voice is quiet but heavy in the manor’s study room. He’s still upset. “When the Tperie Family Head told me about being tied to responsibilities, you understood him. You saw it.”
The lightbearer only looks up at him in lieu of a reply. The dim glow of the device paints him azure. Then, Khun scrolls through his lighthouse, mindlessly. Bam is sure because Khun doesn’t scroll so often if he’s absorbing any of the information in there.
“I hate you,” Bam whispers., “I hate this, I hate what you did, and I hate myself even more.” That I can’t bring to actually leave you despite knowing you’ll do this again, he doesn’t say.
“Bam, let me ask you. Is Jahad’s army here right now?” Khun asks.
“No.” Bam hates it. He despises the fact that Khun is correct, that the world is not ending at one failed floor test, that they’re here in one piece, and that everything feels lighter. It’s been a week since then and there’s no sign of the cursed royalty anywhere attempting their lives again.
He’s afraid of slowing down because tripping means they’ll lose their lives or Bam has to live with the despairing possibility that he’ll see the stars without Khun.
“I’m worried about you, Bam.”
“When are you not?”
Khun smiles at the bicker. “Never once, maybe never will. You give me heart attacks, darling.”
The lighthouse dissipates and Bam takes comfort in the darkness of the room. He hopes that whatever eyes Khun have, this man will not see the effect he has on Bam.
Khun’s fingers brush over his cheekbone, tracing the gauntness of it. Bam waits.
That’s all Khun does. He retracts his hand from Bam’s face as if teasing Bam. It doesn’t absolve him of what happened on the floor test.
Yet, Bam can never begrudge him for relieving the oppressive air pressing on him, the looming urge to run, to climb the Tower so fast, he’ll fall to the edge. Khun works miracles for always pulling Bam away from the tipping edge of self-destruction.
Sometimes, Bam understands Rachel’s jealousy of him. She likes to say that Bam should be thankful he’s powerful and he’s the chosen one, the beloved of the Tower. The Irregular with a prophesied fate. He wants to tell her, look at me now, do you still want this? If she does, then he’ll gladly give it to her if he can. Bitterly, he thinks she can rot in this kind of hell only if he gets to stay as the 25th Bam from the cave with his friends and not the messiah Jyu Viole Grace of FUG.
Bam can’t do that now. Khun has philosophies that oppose others and the thing is, it makes sense. Khun doesn't believe in fate because if something happens then it’s his own or others’ doing. It is not a predestined event set in stone. Things unfold before him because it is the consequences of his doing.
Yes, Bam thinks, as he looks into the twinkle of Khun’s eyes from the lights outside. I think I can believe in that.
Shibisu slams the door open, spilling the corridor light into the dark room. “Well, there you are, lovebirds, I’ve been looking everywhere!”
Rak trails after him, “Turtles, you bastards!”
Bam jolts from his stupor. Khun smirks at Shibisu, sassy quip firing back at the scout. It’s only been two weeks at most since he last saw the two but it feels like ages. Bam feels even more grounded and assured after being reunited with them.
He closes his eyes and breathes. For now, he’ll slow down.