Hiral moved with slow, deliberate care, guiding his body through familiar stretches as if tracing an old prayer.
Each motion coaxed stiffness from his limbs, loosened joints that still remembered the violence done to them.
Muscle by muscle, he rebuilt the bridge between body and mind—grounding himself, steadying his breath, preparing not just to stand, but to endure.
He had just settled into a low, balanced stance when something shifted.
A presence.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
Hiral stilled at once, every sense sharpening.
Footsteps—light, cautious—passed beyond the door.
He waited.
The door opened a fraction.
A young male servant peered in, eyes widening when he saw Hiral upright and very much awake.
The servant froze for half a heartbeat, then straightened and bowed deeply.
"Sir," he murmured, voice tinged with relief.
Hiral inclined his head in return, calm and composed.
The servant did not linger.
He backed out, bowing once more before closing the door softly, his footsteps retreating in hurried gratitude.
Hiral exhaled through his nose, already knowing what would follow.
It came swiftly.
Beyond the room, the household stirred with quiet urgency. The head butler was summoned, his response immediate and precise.
Orders were given in hushed tones. A messenger was dispatched at once, horse readied, seal pressed into wax—
Your honored guest, General Hiral has awakened.
Hiral did not see any of this.
He had moved to the chair by the window, easing himself down as moonlight spilled across the floor and washed over him in silver.
Outside, the sky was clear, the moon nearly full—round and luminous, suspended like a watching eye.
He stared at it, unblinking.
So close to whole, he thought absently. And yet not quite.
The door opened again.
"Honored guest."
The head butler's voice was composed, respectful, bearing the weight of long service. Hiral did not turn immediately.
Only when the greeting fully settled in the air did he rise, unhurried despite the faint protest of his body.
He faced the man and bowed.
"You have my thanks," Hiral said evenly. "For your care. And your patience."
The butler returned the bow, hands folded neatly before him. "You honor us, sir, but it was our master's will. And more than that—he himself ensured you were tended to. He visited when his duties allowed. Gave instructions personally."
For the briefest instant, Hiral's composure fractured.
His brows twitched—just once.
Surprise flared, followed swiftly by something sharper, deeper. A quiet ache that settled behind his sternum, heavy and unwelcome.
Alexis had been here. Had been at his bedside.
Waiting…
The butler, intent on propriety, noticed nothing.
Hiral mastered himself in a breath.
"I see," he replied, voice smooth, betraying none of the storm beneath. Then, with a slight sway that he carefully exaggerated, he lifted a hand to his temple. "I fear… I may have risen too quickly. My head still swims."
The butler's concern was immediate. "Then you must rest, sir. I shall inform His Grace when he comes that you need more rest."
Hiral offered a faint, apologetic smile. "Please do. Tell him I am grateful—but that I have returned to sleep due to exhaustion. I would not wish to trouble him further this night."
The butler bowed. "I shall convey your message."
When the door closed behind him, the room fell silent once more.
Hiral sank back into the chair, shoulders loosening as the tension he had held drained away in a slow, shuddering breath.
It would not truly stop Alexis from coming—not if Alexis wished to see him.
But it might delay him. Hopefully.
Just a few stolen moments to gather what courage he could.
Hiral looked out the window to see the moon.
He sighed.
Funny how contradicting I am, he thought ruefully. Brave enough to gamble my life… and yet afraid to face the man I wanted to live for.
A weary smile curved his lips, soft and self-mocking.
Just moments ago, he had believed himself ready—resolved, unflinching.
Now, with the confrontation suddenly real, drawing closer with every passing second, he found himself retreating inward, heart thudding with a fear he could not name.
Still, he straightened.
Because whether tonight or tomorrow, Alexis would come.
And when he did, Hiral would rise to meet him—ready or not.
****
The Prime Minister's dining room glowed with a restrained warmth—light caught in polished wood, silverware laid with quiet precision, the scent of slow-roasted meat and herbs lingering in the air.
It was an intimate space, chosen not for splendor but for comfort, for conversations meant to be held rather than displayed.
Alexis sat across from him, resplendent in blue and gold.
The colors suited him too well—royal sapphire threaded with sunlight, the cut immaculate, the insignia of victory resting on his shoulders like a second skin.
And yet, beneath the regalia, something was unmistakably wrong.
The Prime Minister had known Alexis since he was barely tall enough to peer over a desk; he knew the difference between composure and endurance.
Oh how time flies… From a carefree cherub to a burdened monarch, poor dear Alexis…
The Prime Minister lamented in his mind.
They began with small talk.
The weather had finally softened. The roads were safer now. A joke—light, carefully placed—about nobles tripping over themselves in preparation for a coronation not yet announced.
Alexis responded when expected, a curve of the lips, a breath of a chuckle, perfectly timed.
Too perfectly.
The Prime Minister watched him over the rim of his cup.
"You are humoring me very little tonight," the old man said at last, voice mild, almost teasing. "Which is how I know you are unwell."
Alexis stilled.
Only for a heartbeat—but it was enough.
He lifted his gaze, offered a faint smile that did not reach his eyes. "Am I that transparent?"
"To others, No. But to me? You always have been," the Prime Minister replied gently.
Then, without softening the truth, "You sit before me hollowed out. Grief hangs on you like armor you cannot remove. Sorrow, misery… and something worse."
His eyes sharpened. "Hope. Fragile, stubborn hope."
Alexis let out a quiet, breathless laugh—more exhale than sound. "You truly are perceptive, old man" he said, the words carrying a tired amusement. "I suppose that is why you survived this court for so long."
The Prime Minister did not smile. "And why I invited you to dinner instead of letting you drown alone in paperwork."
He leaned forward slightly. "You do not have to carry this by yourself, Alexis."
For a long moment, Alexis said nothing.
He picked up his cup, hands steady despite the tension threading through his shoulders, and took a slow sip.
The wine was warm, grounding. Familiar.
He set it down and sighed.
"I did say," he murmured, eyes lowered, "that I would tell you what troubles me soon."
He looked up again. "It seems 'soon' has arrived."
The Prime Minister inclined his head, granting permission without pressing.
"I cannot give you details," Alexis said quietly. "Some truths are not mine alone to expose." His fingers curled lightly against the table. "But… there was an encounter. In the wasteland. One that set everything into motion."
His gaze drifted, unfocused, as memory pulled him under.
"An opposing general," he continued. "Brilliant. Unyielding. Infuriatingly kind in ways that should not have. And oh so sly."
A faint smile touched his lips, fleeting and painful. "He caught my attention first. Then my mind. And before I realized it… my heart and my soul followed."
The Prime Minister listened in absolute silence.
"Fate," Alexis went on, voice tightening, "decided to make a tragedy of us. It was my fault that it escalated so much. I let him down. So I went into that final battle prepared—no—hoping to die by the blade of the one I cherished. I thought that would be fitting. Deserved."
His breath hitched, just once.
"But instead," he said hoarsely, "I was the one who drove my sword through him."
The words fell heavy between them, shattering the warmth of the room.
Alexis bowed his head, a broken laugh escaping him. "Isn't that absurd? To survive victory only to be undone by it."
Before the Prime Minister could speak, the door burst open.
A servant—breathless, a bit pale—bowed so deeply. "Your Grace," he blurted, urgency bleeding into his tone, "forgive the intrusion, but—"
Alexis was already standing.
"The guest," the servant paused to catch his breath and compose himself, continued with a voice trembling with relief. "The honored guest—he has awakened."
The world narrowed.
Alexis did not hear the rest. His chair scraped harshly against the floor as he turned, already striding toward the door.
"I'm sorry," he called back, the words flung over his shoulder, raw and unpolished. "Forgive me."
And then he was gone—blue and gold vanishing into the night, leaving behind a stunned silence, a cooling dinner, and an old Prime Minister who closed his eyes and exhaled.
"So," the man murmured softly to the empty room, "it wasn't a hopeless cause after all."
The ride back to his estate passed in a blur of pounding hooves and wind tearing at Alexis's cloak.
All he could think of was Hiral.
To see him.
To hear his voice.
To feel him breathe.
The gates opened at his shouted command. Servants bowed, voices calling greetings and relief and urgency all at once, but their words barely reached him.
"Your Grace—"
"The honored guest has—"
"He was awake, but—"
Alexis barely slowed.
"Your honored guest is resting again," his butler said quickly as Alexis passed, trying to keep pace. "The physician thought it best not to—"
Alexis was already gone.
The corridors stretched endlessly, pale stone and dim lanterns blurring together. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, each step echoing with a thousand tangled emotions—relief sharp enough to ache, anger that burned beneath it, hope so fierce it frightened him.
He stopped in front of the door.
His hand rose.
Then froze.
His fingers curled, pulling back as if the wood might burn him.
Why am I hesitating?
His mind spun, thoughts crashing into one another without mercy.
Anger—at Hiral for gambling his life so cruelly, for using Alexis's blade, his heart, his trust as part of some grand design.
Hurt—for the endless waiting, the nights spent staring at a motionless body, bargaining with silence.
Pain—for the hope he had kept alive even when it felt like torture to do so.
His jaw tightened. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
What if I see him and everything breaks?
Then—
A subtle shift.
The faintest sound from within the room. Not imagined. Real.
Alexis didn't think again.
The door flew open.
His vision tunneled, the world narrowing until there was only Hiral—sitting upright on the bed, hair loose, face pale but undeniably awake.
Alive.
Alexis staggered forward, breath leaving him in a sharp, broken exhale.
Two unsteady steps—then he was there, arms wrapping around Hiral with desperate force, pulling him close as if letting go would mean losing him forever.
"Hiral—" His voice broke completely.
Arms hesitated for a heartbeat, then Hiral's hand lifted, weak but certain, resting against Alexis's back.
"Alexis…" Hiral murmured, voice rough, worn by disuse—but unmistakably his.
That was all it took.
Alexis tightened his hold, fingers curling into fabric, into warmth, into proof.
He leaned in, burying his face against Hiral's shoulder, breath shuddering as the tension he had carried for months finally found release.
"Don't," he whispered hoarsely, not even sure what he was begging for.
"I thought—" he choked, the words collapsing before they could form. "I thought I—"
He could not say killed you.
He could not say lost you.
His words dissolved, replaced by a quiet, broken sound as he clung to Hiral, as if anchoring himself to the one thing that kept his heart from splintering entirely.
Clinging harder, burying his face deeper against Hiral as if the warmth and the weight and the undeniable reality of him could drive away every nightmare carved into his bones.
This time Alexis came to the room with his prayers answered.