Kyou Kara Maou: Grace
Warnings: Alternate universe. Mellow angst. Kay's fetish for giving people who are in love vials of poison with which to kill one another.
( They would find no traces of the man, who did not exist. )
( They would find no traces of the man, who did not exist. )
He feels awake, more totally alive than he ever has before. The world in all its layers and myriad intricacies spreads out before him as he lifts his eyes to stare at the wonders all around. His power, free and unfettered pours out, engulfing the wounds of the earth and binding them closed without more than a passing thought of his to direct the awesome forces.
The warriors are scattered, running from the battlefield and leaving their weapons strewn across the broken ground. He pays them scant heed, his focus already shifting inwards as he raises a hand, surprised and disquiet to see the inky purple poisoning the aura.
Reaching forth to banish it, he tastes the bitter acid of his own long-nurtured hatred. Pushing forward, the feeling of hate clinging to him like noxious tar, he tears away at the scabrous apathy and ancient pain gushes forth.
Why did he do it?
What did I do wrong?
Why was he afraid of me?
Why did he not trust me to understand his doubts?
The pain drains away as understanding spreads like the dawn of new and glorious day. The hate evaporates as a fresh surge of golden light banishes the last of the toxic aura to wrap him in radiant light.
The Maou's spirit stirs and he begins to loosen his grip on this world. He surrenders his place without regret, finally free of the shackles of hurt and hatred. Only one obligation remains to keep him from the perfection beyond. Radiant with hope and understanding, he lifts his hand towards the broken, beloved figure of his Sage and his lips move in a soundless promise.
I will wait, beloved. As long as it takes...
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He turns back. The Sage is a crumpled figure in black cloth and hair against the earth, unconscious but unharmed. A moment's alarm spears through him but in the same moment he knows somehow that there is nothing to be concerned about -- that the same power that stops his heart and saves his life has come in part from this small sacrifice.
Instead of worrying, he moves closer and seats himself quietly on the sloping ground. The heat of battle slowly ebbs from his blood, making him feel more like himself. For a moment he thought he had reached some certainty... He can't remember it now.
The Sage stirs by his side as if from a dream, smiling vaguely, and slowly shifts to his back. His unfathomable eyes focus on the Maou and he looks at him this time, really at him; there is nothing but curiosity in this glance, no longing or hope.
"Thank you," the Maou says. What he really wants to say is, someday I will be the man you have been looking for. He doesn't know if he'll still be himself, but it's enough for him if they are together.
"You will be a great king," breathes the Sage, and closes his eyes once more.
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His body is dust and ashes but his spirit develops new and brilliant facets as he learns to see without eyes. The minds and hearts of what he still thinks of as his subjects slowly reveal themselves to his gentle probing.
He learns to moderate his links to the other-not-him and the girl. The other-not-him never accepts the truth of things; refusing to believe that his powers come with a mind and soul already attached.
The girl hears him whisper and does not age, his powers holding back the ravages of time. She knows his anger is gone, but holds her own misplaced hatred close to her heart despite all he says or does to show her the truth.
The Maou is weaker now, his frail body paying the price of invoking the Original King's might. His strides are shorter and slower and he drifts closer to the radiant spirit, seeking the release of his pains and obligation.
He does not pay special heed to the Sage who broods in his study for hours and spends hours reading and rereading Earhart's notes. He spends days at a time looking for herbs. He watches and wonders if this is some form of repentance; seeking to stave off death with the tools the Sage once used to slay him.
He could reach forth. The Sage is of the kingdom and as such his subject. But this is one limit he does not test. He will not interfere.
If the Sage turns to him again, it will be of his free will.
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The border wars end, but the disease comes quietly and sweeps across the kingdom in a matter of weeks.
Surprisingly, blessedly, the Maou proves immune to its curse, even though it seemed too possible that he would succumb. It would have been a cruel fate to fall before the disease in his state, victim of the weakened constitution brought upon him from the stress he has taken, reaching for something greater than he himself.
The Sage is not so lucky, but it doesn't bother him. Death has never been something he feared for himself. He lies in his chambers while others do his worrying for him, for once, and he wonders in feverish dreams about where his next life will take him, and if he will meet another who has been touched by Shinou's soul -- another opportunity to mend the scars on them both.
Towards the end, the girl-child comes to him, distaste and distress equal in her features. She says, "I will wait for you, if you need my help. You know where I will be." They call her a priestess now.
"I won't need help," says the Sage. They cannot escape one another.
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His death comes as no true surprise. Already weakened by the war and the inexorable pressure of containing the First King's power, he is incapable of bearing the twin burdens of grief. Death comes with the darkness.
He is the only one awake, the only one to hear the breath rattle in the man's throat. The only one there to soothe away the flare of animalistic terror as life drains away. The Maou stares up with wide eyes and for the first time, he looks straight at the fiery spirit who has guarded and empowered him throughout his long reign.
They share a moment of complete understanding, the elder holding out insubstantial hands. The Maou hesitates one last time, thinking of the kingdom. He is answered immediately; they will be safe in the Original King's hands and the promise is there, threaded through his own thoughts with the skill of long practice.
Sighing, he looks up and lets go, the empty shell he leaves behind shuddering as the last breath leaves it totally hollow.
The Maou is dead.
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But he is tired.. so very, very tired.
Fragments and shadows of all the Maous, all the Maidens who have led his people and known his voice clutter up his spirit, tangling with his own thoughts. The Sage, his debts to the kingdom and duty repaid, escapes the memory of this world.
And he is all alone in the darkness.
The Maou no longer needs him, the Maidens have long since become cloistered and are forging their own path to enlightenment. No longer needed, he lingers for a handful of years until the flare of a powerful spirit's rebirth draws him towards that other world.
The soul that was once his lover, friend and soulmate, calls out to him and this time, there is nothing to hold him back from answering.
He takes one last look at the past, carved faces of descendants themselves long dead. He remembers the bitter with the sweet and his tears fall in glittering trails of light.
Then he lets go and allows the siren call of his soulmate draw him away.
Free at last.
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