Archive of Our Own

i.

When Yuder was of age twenty, just into adulthood and eyes still filled with the desire to wander the whole world, he had joined an organisation which strived to give power and status to awakeners.  

He distanced himself from those who tried approaching him, malicious intent or not. He swung the wooden sword handed to him every night to make up for his inferiority. He fought back against every insult with a deadly fist, like a hotheaded brute. 

With the strength of a monster and the hostility of a beast, He climbed through the ranks and sat in the best position that life could offer to him, with a new name and a new identity, with new authority and a new responsibility. 

— And when Yudrein Ail found himself at the ripe age of twenty, back to being just an ambitious and simple-minded mountain boy, with eyes filled with emotions too mature for his age, He got married to the man he once killed. 

ii.

Kishiar la orr was, unlike what Yudrein remembered, a fool of a man. 

The once imperial heir, now Duke of Peletta, rekindled lost and forgotten memories in Yudrein’s mind. The man’s lustrous golden hair was tied in the same hairstyle he had always worn it in, with bright red eyes that could rival the colour of the gems Emperor Katchian loved so dearly-  and for a split second, Yudrein felt his heart skip a beat. 

Those red eyes glimmered at the sight of him, like he was a rare breed of animal no one had ever seen but even so, the gaze that scrutinised Yudrein up and down did not feel one bit disgusting. 

His heart continues to beat, something not-so-unpleasant blooms inside of his stomach. 

— but Kishiar la orr is a fool.

Kishiar la orr is a simple fool, nothing more, for asking someone he just met for the first time to become his companion for life. 

Yudrein thinks as he looks at the gloved hand that was extended towards him. He lifts his eyes past Kishiar’s figure to see the stupefied and baffled faces of the judges and then back at the fool who was still holding out his hand. 

As his black eyes meet perplexed red eyes, Yudrein wonders what exactly Kishiar was thinking- or if he was thinking at all. 

Yudrein looks at the rosy pink cheeks with disdain in his heart, his fingers twitching as he feels something hot dance along the tips of his left hand. Did the fool know? How easily Yudrein could take his life and not ever be caught? Would he take his hand away when he realised how much of a fool he was being? 

With a mere gesture of his hand, The Duke of Peletta and those behind him could be left nothing but charred figures, and with a single motion, they could float hundreds of feet above soil and then drop to their death. 

But Yudrein doesn't do that, he doesn't do any of that.  

Instead, he, like another fool, slips his much smaller and rougher hand into Kishiar’s. Eyes are still watching as Kishiar’s red eyes widen in surprise, lips falling apart like a sweet invitation, bewitching Yudrein to come closer. It is an invitation he is barely able to decline. The dark haired man feels something large enveloping his hand, the same one he offered to Kishiar la orr but he doesn't look down to see it, preferring to look for the unasked answers in the glimmering face of the man who he had so easily given his whole future too. 

Perhaps the real fool was not Kishiar la orr, maybe it was Yudrein Ail. 

— Did love at first sight truly exist? Yudrein did not think so. But for what other reason could the Duke of Peletta, the imperial fool who was rumoured to indulge in wine and women and trip on his own pants, hold out his hand to Yuder? Uttering a sentence composed of two words that shook the entire empire to its core? 

Did love at first sight really exist? Yudrein did not know, just like how he did not know why he accepted Kishiar la orr’s hand. 

Yudrein also did not know how Kishiar managed to convince the entire nobility as well as the Emperor himself to go along with his ridiculous antics. He could not understand just how Kishiar could stake his honour, or what was left of it, to be able to have Yudrein, a commoner, an awakener, a man officially become his spouse. 

But he did. 

He did just like he offered Yudrein his hand on that hot summer day, he did just like how he slipped a golden band on Yudrein’s ring finger, he did just like how he smiled like a sun-kissed sunflower and nudged Yudrein’s body closer to his own and placed his soft lips on Yudrein’s in front of the much-baffled pope. 

Kishiar la orr did all of that, and Yudrein la orr allowed him to, like the fool they both were. 

iii.

“Yuder.” he whispers, in a voice coated with honey as he takes the younger man’s left hand into his own, engulfing it in a soft heat. 

Yuder looks up, placing  the thin stack of paper down on the marble desk in his office. He watches in amusement as the blonde man brings Yuder’s calloused fingers to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the golden ring he never took off. 

The lips trail down to the back of his hand, and Kishiar presses down another kiss as his eyes open to smile at Yudrein. 

“Welcome back.” Yuder greets him with a monotonous voice as he turns away from the older man. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Kishiar take a seat beside him, still fondling Yuder’s fingers. 

“How are you?” 

“Not bad. There are a few letters addressed to you, I have left them at your office.” Yuder states, as he picks up the stack of fallen papers with his unoccupied hand. He pays no mind to Kishiar as he continues to play with Yuder’s hand, even intentionally ignoring the way Kishiar was touching his ring finger a little too often for it to be a sweet coincidence. 

“I see.” A soft smile cracks on his lips, the origin of which  remains a mystery to Yuder. 

___

Yudrein looks at the golden band on his finger, the light from the burning candle glinting off it. Yudrein touches the cold hard surface of his wedding band, digging his fingernail around it for a bitter second as he feels the familiar weight and texture of the ring. He glances at the mirror hung on the wall and stops at the sight of his reflection. 

His face is pale, drained of life's glow. Colourless lips with dark circles haunts his eyes like shadows at dusk. Wrapped in clothes as gloomy as a rainy day, he stands—a living embodiment of death.

With a rough tug, Yudrein la orr pulls off the ring that Kishiar la orr had slipped on all those years ago.

Even though he only removed a weight from his body, it feels like something was removed from his soul as well. 

iv.

Kishiar la orr did not drink much. 

Oftentimes, only a glass or two, just enough for his nose and lips to turn a shade of dusty pink, just enough that Yudrein would let him doze off on his shoulder. 

It was rare that he got drunk enough to let his mind run amok. It was even rarer for him to get drunk enough to question the choices Yuder made. 

“Why did you take my hand?”  The man laying beside him does not elaborate anymore and Yuder does not move his eyes from the paperwork that seems to never end to look at his husband, not a hint of amusement visible in his dark eyes. 

 What an uncanny thing to ask on the exact day they promised to share this life with one another, just one year ago. 

Just today, Yuder thinks, he will amuse the man he calls his lover. 

“Is it not too late to dwell on that?” Yuder would prefer to have Kishiar slumbering right now. 

“I have been meaning to ask for a long time.” 

Then why today?

Yuder does not voice his question. 

“Yuder.” in a soft, whiny voice, like a child, he calls out. Yuder sighs as he drops the paper on the bedside table and turns his body towards Kishiar. The blonde’s face is flushed  a pretty pink, one that reminds Yuder of the flowers that adorned his bouquet on the day they were wedded under the sun god’s blessing. 

Flowers that he knows Kishiar has pressed dry and hidden in his study. 

“Yuder.” He breathes out, wrapping his arms around Yuder’s body, pulling him closer and burying his head in the thin cotton of Yudrein’s shirt. 

As if to indulge his drunken and dazed partner, Yuder gently combs his fingers through the tangled golden locks. 

“Do you love me, Yuder?”

-and then Yuder stops, taken aback by the question Kishiar muttered drunkenly. 

“Mm” 

As if displeased, the blonde nuzzles his head closer to Yuder’s hovering palm, parting his lips to send turmoil through the dark haired man’s stomach again. 

“Did you love me, Yudrein?” 

_

Yudrein was not really fond of his bedroom. 

A room too spacious, the bed stretched out like a barren plain, too wide for a single man to sleep in and  ceilings that seem to twist and expand beyond his reach. On nights like this, when the thick quilts fail to keep him warm and sleep does not greet his eyes, Yudrein thinks he really does not like his bedroom. 

And Yudrein is not fond of drinking either. 

He leans on the headboard, holding onto the glass of Quelochet a little too tightly. He doesnt get to drink often, Nathan does not let him, perhaps too afraid that the only remaining lord of Peletta will drink himself to death with the poisonous wine Yudrein always seems to be getting gifted. No amount of convincing will have Nathan acknowledge that Yudrein is immune to poisons and anything alike so he stopped trying a long time ago. 

He does not drink much anyways. 

Just on the nights the memory of a man long gone haunts him too much. 

Yudrein should really throw away the bundle of pink roses that his late husband pretended not to have. 

  v.

“Though this piece of land is now mostly barren, it is one of the only pieces of land in Peletta that can properly grow something, though only when the weather is in the right condition.”  Kishiar squeezed Yuder’s hand softly as he gently pulled the shorter man closer to him. Despite wearing a few layers of coats and sweaters, it felt like Kishiar was still feeling cold with how close he was sticking to Yuder. 

A cold breath escapes Yuder’s mouth as he takes in the whole scenery in front of him. 

A barren land covered with show and ice, behind it is the frozen sea of Peletta. On the still water that is like crystal, the moon light reflects off. Although a little gloomy, Yuder finds it breathtaking, 

“It's not in the best condition, I wanted to show you something a little more beautiful, however winter in Peletta is harsh-”

“...It’s beautiful.” Yuder breathes out with much difficulty, it's not easy to speak with his lips almost frozen and throat slightly sore but it's not even the worst feeling Yuder had endured so it doesn’t quite matter. 

Yuder cranes his head towards Kishiar, staring into the older’s widened eyes as he parts his lips again, speaking a little louder. 

“Truly…it’s breathtaking.” 

Was the barren and gloomy land what took Yuder’s breath away? Or was it the foolstruck in front of him that did? He would never really realise the truth. 

A bright smile blooms on Kishiar’s face, brighter than the sun could ever hope to be as the blonde man suddenly shifts a little, placing his other arm around Yuder’s waist. 

“I couldn’t be more delighted.” 

__

Winters in Peletta are harsh, long, and dreadful. It is a time where, instead of crops, people see more corpses. It’s hard to find wood to burn, but not as hard as the lack of land to bury the dead. 

Yudrein looks at the field with a blank face. Unlike the first time he came here, clad in thick layers of clothing and only a man holding his hand, looking over a field overtaken by white, this time, he is wearing only a thin shirt along with rolled up pants, with a line of knights and villagers behind him. 

“My lord.” 

Nathan, with a face as still as the frozen sea of Peletta calls out to him. Yudrein does not turn around, he walks forward, ignoring the murmur of those behind him.

Kishiar's words echoed in Yudrein's memory: this was one of the few fields fertile enough for crops. Yet now, long past the time of harvest, the expected transformation remained incomplete. Where farmers had anticipated a sea of golden grain, only green stems swayed stubbornly. 

Yudrein enters the field barefoot, feeling the leaves touch his lightly covered skin, sending faint tickling sensations throughout his entire body. The twenty three year old takes a glance at his palm, obsidian like eyes instinctively travelling to the two gold-silver bands that were wrapped around his ring finger. 

The man lets out a breath and closes his eyes, feeling the cold leaf in between his fingers as he concentrates his energy into the ground. 

He cannot fail. 

— A mother holds her child close to her body, her trembling hand covering his small mouth that stayed agape in wonder. As the sun drowns by the horizon, its flame-like light falls on the figure of the man who stands at the heart of the golden field, his eyes closed in pure concentration, black hair fluttering against the warm wind Peletta had never felt before. 

Her hand slips from her boy’s mouth. Her son turns his head towards her in wonder, eyes sparkling with vigour as he parts his lips excitedly. 

“Mom! The crops grew!!”

Indeed, the harvest that she thought would never come, came. 

Her eyes stay fixed on the man standing in the centre of the golden sea, as if fearing the vision might vanish should she look away.

He stood there like a prophet descended from the heavens, bringing the sun god’s blessing to them. In that moment, he embodied Orhe himself—the prophet who arrived bearing the divine sword. 

“...Mom? Why are you crying?”

Why indeed. 

Perhaps because God hadn't abandoned them.

Perhaps the late Duke had left behind something more precious than just his efforts. 

Yuder wonders where it all went wrong this time. 

But it's way too late when he realises that something is wrong. 

“...Should I leave?” Yuder asks, hesitance clear in his voice. The arm wrapped around his waist tightens momentarily before relaxing once again. 

“Tired?” Kishiar questions as he continues to scribble away replies to the letters addressed to him, and while Yuder did not know much about the duties of the mistress of a household, he was sure they weren't supposed to sit on their husband’s lap for the better half of a weekday morning and read letters strictly addressed to the lord. 

But here he was, doing all of that. 

“Is it really appropriate for me to read these?”

“Of course, why wouldn't it be?” 

Yuder doesn't voice why he thinks this is ridiculous, it should be obvious enough. In the end, he can only sigh for the nth time and try to wiggle out of Kishiar’s lap. 

"I'll get off," Yuder announces, waiting for a response. But Kishiar's grip on his waist remains firm. Instead of releasing him, Kishiar sets down his pen and nuzzles Yuder's exposed neck.

“Stay.”

He has become awfully clingy recently, Yuder does not know why. 

“Kishiar.” he calls out, more stern this time than the once before. 

“Stay.” The blonde pleads softly, and Yuder is as surprised as he is disappointed at how easily he caves in. 

__

Yudrein la orr did not have any attachment to the Peletta palace. 

Unlike what people would expect of him, having lived in the ages old mansion with more servants than owner, too much space that was left to collect dust all around the year, Yudrein hardly believed he would miss this place even if it were to be burned to the ground under his majesty’s whimsical orders.

Ah, that doesn’t mean he will let it burn or break though. 

Yudrein holds the leather of Kishiar’s gloves in between his own gloved fingers. He had not noticed it before, but seeing the white gloves after so long, he had a abrupt realisation that the gloves Kishiar wore during this game, as well as at the end of his life in this game, were identical to the one the blonde had gifted to him, from the fabric down to the golden lining of it.

Near identical. Had it not been years since Yuder had taken up all the work in Peletta, including examining mana stones, he would have missed the small, delicate patterns carved onto his gloves that were absent in Kishiar’s.  It was easy to miss at first, the first time he donned these gloves was long after its counterpart had been tucked away in the corner of their, now only Yudrein’s, office.

“...Duke?” 

Reality crashes back in as Yudrein's reverie shatters. He blinks, suddenly aware of the young servant standing behind him, head bowed low. The boy's hands tremble slightly, steadying a small tray filled with letters. Yudrein realises, with a startle, that he had been oblivious to the servant's approach, lost in his own thoughts.

. 

“His majesty has sent an envoy.” 

Yudrein nods. Sparing one last glance at the intact gloves, he folds the fabric and lets it fall into one of the unused drawers, left to be undisturbed until the next time Yudrein feels an abrupt longing for the dead. 

“Let’s go.” 

vii. 

“I’m sorry, Yuder.”  On a terribly cold night, Kishiar confesses to him, his head hung low as he fidgets with his gloved finger. The man’s voice, as sweet as acacia honey, pierces through Yuder’s chest like a spear. 

The young man bites his lips, nails digging into the rough skin of his palm. Yuder doesn't know what to say, rage and confusion filling up his heart like rain water filling up a pothole, yet he cannot scream, not even question, with no word making its way out of his mind.

“I’m sorry.” Kishiar says yet does not look up to see Yuder’s face. Something hot bubbles up in his stomach. Kishiar’s apology doesn’t do anything to make him feel better, if anything, it only makes him want to empty out his stomach. 

“What's wrong with you?” Yuder asks, barely able to stop his voice from cracking. He feels a dull pain on his palm, his nails tearing through his flesh and drawing out blood but it doesn't hurt as much as the wound in his heart does. It doesn't hurt as much as the death in his first life did. 

“I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t hurt as much as Kishiar’s heartfelt apology does. 

__

The portrait room was one of the many extravagances the Orr nobles enjoyed indulging in. A room that takes too much space and management only for pictures of predecessors to be hung on the walls. While keeping it well maintained isn't difficult, Yudrein would prefer to have his already limited number of workers do something more productive instead of cleaning a place no one visits. 

But once in a while, in the dead of the night when no one is awake to report his concerning behaviour to Nathan, Yudrein often finds himself wandering towards the very space he claims to be utterly useless. 

He assures himself that he is simply restless, in need of an environmental change and a few minutes away from the head-splitting contents of his majesty’s letters as he steps inside the dusty room. 

He slowly walks deeper inside, using the wind to gently close the door behind him. Yudrein passes by multiple portraits of blondes, some of the cold plains of Peletta, some of a boy too pale to be called human and some of a little girl too young to know the weight of her status, he passes by the picture of a man with long blonde hair and piercing red eyes, a ruby brooch pinned to his chest.

Yudrein pauses before a single portrait, its frame gleaming as if newly made. The image captures a man in his late twenties, golden blonde hair slicked back, revealing striking red eyes. A wide grin that highlights the smile lines beneath his eyes. He wears a suit as pristine as snow, adorned with golden threads weaving elegant patterns. This portrait stands out—a moment of perfection frozen in time, untouched by the years that have passed since its creation.

He stares at it blankly, demure eyes staring into the red of the portrait’s, his lips pressed into a thin line, in contrast to the blonde’s. 

“I still wonder,”

A soft whisper leaves his lips as Yudrein reaches out his fingers to touch the cold frame. Longing, a feeling he is barely aware of, paints his eyes like a canvas. 

Kishiar La Orr, a man he had been unable to understand in their first time, was also the man who Yudrein understood the most in their second. 

He understood, better than before, worse than ever. 

“What did you feel sorry for?”

For loving him? Or for leaving him? 

- fins