"Wake from death and return to life"

Things were not always . . . “right,” in Eisukuro’s head. He managed to conceal his deficit well—extremely well, if truth be told, such that none had ever caught nor commented on the oddness that sometimes derailed his thoughts or tore his memories to ribbons. It was like having an unruly pup set free in his skull. Annoying. Irritating. Unpredictable. But other more urgent, terrifying things ruled the world of the kalaks, and so these mishaps in his own mind were almost benign in comparison. An inconvenience he silently suffered and swept under the rug as soon as it surfaced, chiding the failings of his brain and quickly moving on. If one were to ask him about his past, Kuro had no words for them. He remembered very little, and what he did recall only floated by in hazy detail. People were snippets of voices, of shredded emotions, of aversive touch. The midnight warrior did not think there was a name for what was wrong with him. He had never heard anyone brave enough to speak of their faults openly, and so he had no way of discovering others who struggled like himself. What did it mean, when others sometimes scoffed that they never forgot a face? Why did others carry the history of their trauma so intimately close?

Once upon a time . . . he was a boy. And he had siblings. They were raised in a nursery with other pups not blood-related to them, and the minutia of the Maned Wolf caste system was beaten into their hides so indelibly it was almost as visible as the silver tattoos that adorned their faces. Sisters. Brothers. Cousins. Darkness and warmth. Playing. Fighting. These were listed as “facts” within Eisukuro’s neurons . . . events he could pull up dispassionately. Feelings that no longer affected him. But . . . if you wanted to know how he and his siblings got along? If you asked what the nursery looked like? He had nothing. That wasn’t normal. He wasn’t normal. And still he’d battled, tooth and claw, to rise above his allotted rank. Not a slave, but a soldier. And then no longer a mere soldier, but a bodyguard.

Bodyguard to Her Royal Highness, The Dark Empress, Ainae Jozuko . . . and her twin sister. Yayoi Miyako. However their lives had begun, their current story wove them all together as an inseparable trio. Pitted against one another in savage competition—and bound as one loyal entity. Kuro might not have a flawless account of everything he’d survived, yet the moment he pledged himself to the stunning sisters may as well have been branded upon his heart. Perhaps because it was one of the few moments that actually mattered in his worthless life. Only a single other memory glinted like a jewel amidst a broken landscape of rubble and mud: the second, the heartbeat in which caring for both ladies had shifted, and his soul’s romance bloomed for Yayoi alone. Only Yayoi possessed a clandestine gentleness unseen by virtually all kalak kind. Her mysteriousness, her impossibly duality, fascinated and seduced him. Though Eisukuro chanted praises to Ainae for securing their hook in Blossom via her takeover of Mona Toforan, he ached to be with Yayoi alone again.

The forbidden lovers grasped an opportunity in the guise of “exploring the land,” hunting for the lost heir Tiresias. Kuro could hardly believe their luck when Ainae enthusiastically approved the plan; he had to rely on his brilliantly honed acting skills for hiding his happiness. Finally . . . Yayoi all to myself. They would make their covert rendezvous a heavenly one—for there was no way to ascertain when their next taste of desire would take place. Eisukuro had allowed the sisters their night of sanctified sin . . . had gone patrolling like a good warrior, cementing the kalak claim on Mona . . . and then, hours after Yayoi had set out, the shadowy gladiator followed in her pawsteps. Her scent beckoned him restlessly onward, a teasing caress against his muzzle. I am coming, my love. Please wait for me.

He did not sleep deeply during his travels. Training had ensured he did not need to, and his thirst for Yayoi spurred him faster. The silver-marked hessian arrived at the caverns just as sunlight began to spill across the canopy. His mate’s perfume saturated the air. Excitement welled within him, and his strides lengthened to carry him across the terra and into the clearing where Yayoi rested—

Pallid mint-green irises took in the white stranger and his proximity to Yayoi in milliseconds. Rather than trotting calmly up to his paramour, Eisukuro instantly charged in and sliced between the princess and the mutant. No snarl marred his features, nor did his hackles raise—yet Kuro’s stance spelled out a clear message. Come no closer. “You resemble us, vaguely, yet you are not ‘us.’ The princess asked you a question. It would be polite to answer quickly.”

起死回生

Zaba Warrior | Guard of Mona Toforan | Longing for Yayoi | xathira