Title: Hymne of Two Souls.

Author: isumi'kivic'

Beta: sinamour

Pairings: YuuriWolfram, mentions of Shinou/Murata in this chapter.

Warnings and Disclaimer: See previous chapter. =D

A/N: sjakdhsajhd I can't believe I only wrote two one-shots and an update for this semester's holiday—which was a month.

That aside, um. Here's an update, everyone. I'm working on the next chapter of Pride and Prejudice as well, but the next chapter is so damn difficult. –headdesks- I've started the chapter over for, like, five or six time, and it's still getting nowhere. I also had a huge one-shot in writing that I stopped working on two weeks ago because I felt like losing my grasp on Yuuri and Wolfram's characters, so I decided to extract some scenes out of it and weave them into a completely new one-shot. My PC broke down last week, and my laptop's in the same condition. I actually borrowed my Dad's to finish this chapter up.

And boy—let me warn you, this chapter is almost twice longer than the usual. I usually wrote about nine to ten pages a chapter, but this one exploded into almost twenty. While the pace of the previous chapters should seem fast, from now on it's getting slower. The real plot starts in this chapter. =D I don't intend to make this fic too long, but even though I already noted down the full plot and all, I still can't estimate how any chapters they'll be. Please bear with me till the end? This fic is such my baby, I'll be so glad if you'd stick to the end and see what it'll turn to in the end. –hearts-

Thank you for the wonderful reviewers—thank you for the con-crits, I really appreciate it! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy reading what you all thought about my baby, so please review this chapter too? 8D

Uh-huh, I'm shutting up. xDDD Enjoy!

A Kyou Kara Ma-Ou! Fanfiction

Hymne of Two Souls

Chapter Five: Wolf and Raven

"This'll be your first time going with the caravan—are you all set?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I wish you don't have to go—theYoung Mistress should already be fine with the guards coming along, but since you've been appointed as her personal guard…"

"It will be fine, Mother," a soft smile curved up his androgynous physiognomy, lighting up a pair of emerald eyes as their owner regarded the middle-aged woman standing before him. "Besides, you're coming too. I can still see you everyday, so there's no need to worry."

The middle-aged woman— looked up at him with a gentle smile. "A mother would never stop worrying, my dear. I do hope you'll have a wonderful time riding next to the Young Mistress, though."

Long, silky, honey-colored hair tied up high into a ponytail swung from side to side, as the owner of said hair shook his head and laughed—a faint shade of pink spreading fast on his cheeks. "Mother, you know it isn't like that." His expression turned serious then, but the small smile etched on his lips didn't vanish. "I do not have any interest in that kind of thing. The only thing I want would be for you—for us to live happily."

A bony hand rose up to rest on his cheek; his heart gave a small twinge at how it trembled as a pair of tired sapphire eyes gazed into his emerald ones. His eyes descended down to take his mother's appearance. She was only about five centimeters shorter than him, with wavy, shoulder-length honey-colored hair identical to his crowning a sharp, feminine face. For him, she was beautiful, even with a body much thinner and a tired-looking face.

A pat on his cheek, and he started. There was reassurance on that soft smile of his mother, telling him that just now he must have been wearing a sad expression. "I am already happy whenever I see you. It's enough for me, Seff."

His smile widened a little. "Thank you, Mother."

The healthy gray steed behind him nudged his shoulder gently, reminding him of the time. The Young Mistress was expecting him before they took off for the journey, and he wouldn't want to be late. Needless to say, his Mother would also be busy once he left, preparing for the six-month journey the caravan was about to embark on. Living only with his Mother as servants of the Young Mistress meant that they didn't have to spend time apart too much, and he was glad for that. At least he wouldn't have to worry about her, and likewise, she wouldn't need to worry about him either.

"I'm going then. See you at the castle later, Mother."

With a grace rarely seen for a mere small town guard, Seff mounted his steed, comfortably setting himself on the gray horse, and urged him to trot slowly. His Mother followed as he passed the gate, and he gave a last reassuring smile before letting the gray steed rush forward to the mansion.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

The autumn wind breezed past him, playing with his now shoulder-length jet-black hair. A pair of onyx eyes was now hidden under their lids, eyebrows slightly taut, the corners of his mouth drawn into a tight line—a longing expression etched onto a handsome face. A slightly sweet smell hung in the air; a bouquet of big yellow flowers rested before a tombstone as fingertips delicately touched flower petals, gently moving, following their contours. Eyelids fluttering open, Yuuri gazed at the tombstone solemnly, pain visibly shimmering in his eyes.

"Hi, Wolf."

For several minutes, Yuuri let the painful regrets and sadness crash into him, swirling with the ever-present longing and endless yearning, drowning him until his chest tightened with unspoken emotions. His eyes stung, and he chuckled dryly at the feeling.

How long had it been since he last cried?

He might not have enough tears left for the rest of his life.

Five meters away from the kneeling figure of the Maou, Conrad stood by Greta's side. The fourteen-year-old Princess was dressed in white from head to toe, her head hung down as her now-longer hair fell into a curtain, shielding her face from the world. One might think she was crying, but Conrad knew better. None of them had any tears left—they have simply exhausted themselves after crying so much in vain. Nothing would bring the dead back—not a prayer, not a wish, not anger, and definitely no amount of tears would.

"It's been two years, Conrad."

Over the years, Greta's high-pitched voice had started to smooth into a gentle soprano, making her sound older than she actually was. Sometimes Conrad had difficulties remembering that the girl standing next to him was only fourteen, what with how Greta brought herself to act since Wolfram's death. Gone was the girl who ran after Gwendal, excitedly asking about the dolls he was about to teach her to make. Gone was the girl who turned to Conrad and Anissina for every single problem little girls had, who beamed up childishly when she got to eat desserts even before dinner time arrived.

Instead, standing next to him was a young girl fully aware of her status as a Princess, maturing far beyond anyone's expectation.

It was the girl who had politely declined a ball invitation in preference of accompanying his Father in a visit to the remotest part of their Kingdom; who had started to regularly appear in the weekly meetings, staying by Yuuri's side and watching everything with thoughtful, learning eyes. The girl who had been spending more and more of her time in the library instead of the garden like she used to do, reading complicated books regarding state affairs and history and, sometimes, magic, instead of Anissina's fairytales that she once fancied. Sometimes, even at the Alliance meetings she'd also begun to attend, Yuuri had to keep her hand in his in order to reassure her that no, even though sometimes the tension was rising, everything was going to be just fine.

It was as if she was trying to act mature in order to fill the hole Wolfram had left—in order to be a semblance of pillar of strength that Yuuri needed so badly.

"You're still not going to tell me what exactly happened?"

She tries too hard, sometimes. Conrad had seen her breaking down once—quietly crying in the library as she clutched the storybook she used to ask Wolfram to read to her so many times before. No matter how mature she tried to act—no matter how hard she tried to put on the adult mask, she was still only a young teenager. It cracked too, occasionally,at the sight of Wolfram's favorite dishes, sometimes, even at something as simple as the blossoming Beautiful Wolframs in the garden.

"There isn't anything that—"

"I know it when you're lying."

It was a lie, Conrad knew. A convincing one, perhaps, if said to people who had just met her, but he'd been watching Greta for far too long. There was just enough childish hesitance in her tone, signaling that she wasn't at all sure about her own statement. Yuuri would point it out to her straightaway, being the simple-minded person that he was, but Conrad knew that there was no use. It wasn't like Greta would stop trying.

"Wolfram is far too proud to kill himself. Killing himself to protect Yuuri wasn't what he would have thought. If anything, Wolfram would wait for the sentence—he might even demand to be imprisoned all his life or—or death…" the girl's voice trailed off, the last syllables of her words came out shaky. "...and he'd face it bravely. That's the kind of person Wolfram is. He'd face it, rather than kill himself."

"He didn't," Conrad replied, tone impassive. "I killed him."

"Stop blaming yourself for something you didn't do, Conrad."

It surprised him sometimes, how much Greta took after Yuuri and Wolfram's traits. The firm tone she used just now sounded so much like the one Wolfram used whenever he was about to defend something most important to him, but the understanding words were ones of Yuuri's. It gave him the slightest taste of happiness at times—realizing that despite having no blood-ties at all, Greta really was Yuuri and Wolfram's daughter.

"Wolfram was happy," Greta said, as if telling herself a story she'd remembered after reciting it too many times. "He was happy; there's no way he'd have killed himself. He'd fight for our happiness—he told me that. That's why, you—no, everyone…Gwendal and Anissina and even Günter, too—you guys are lying."

Again, there was that slight fear and hesitant tone lacing her voice, telling Conrad that she was only guessing and knew nothing. He let out a dry, bitter laugh then, shaking his head somewhat tiredly. "But it is the truth. You're right, Wolfram didn't kill himself. I did."

A pair of warm, brown eyes regarded him sadly. "Conrad…"

"It's almost dinner time," Conrad said simply. "Let us go back."

For a second, Greta looked like she was about to counter him—perhaps snap at him—but then she returned her gaze towards her father figure. Her brown eyes softened, and then she moved across the distance separating them and the Maou, white dress flowing gracefully as the autumn breeze naughtily blew. Conrad watched as she put a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, noted how Yuuri's back stiffened after several moments, as if he'd just realized he wasn't alone—as if he hadn't been kneeling before a tombstone and had been somewhere else entirely (where Wolfram was—Conrad knew that it was Yuuri's wish, and it was always painful whenever he noted it).

It took almost ten minutes for Yuuri to completely return to reality, and it took him another five minutes before he finally turned around and caught Conrad's gaze. The older man's heart clenched as Yuuri offered him a small smile, looking up with gratitude as he walked towards him. "Thank you for today, Conrad. Greta, too."

"I wanted to come," Greta said, quickly. "I'd always want to come."

Conrad let a small smile of his own curve his lips. "There's no need to, Heika."

"It's Yuuri," the Maou countered absently as he threw his gaze towards the horizon—the sun seemed to be inches away from touching the line, spreading layers and layers of orange and red upon the blue canvas that was sky. "It's almost sundown. Let's go back."

The three of them walked down the path from the hill towards the castle—Greta's hand clasped in Yuuri's as Conrad followed them three steps behind. Her knee-length white dress waved innocently as she followed her adoptive Father's steps, and Conrad absently tried to remember when Greta stopped wearing anything that wasn't white.

Both Father and daughter had never stopped grieving.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

"Have you ever been to Shin Makoku, Seff?"

The Young Mistress was not pretty, and yet she managed to capture every man's eyes as she passed. Silky, midnight-blue tresses that fell on her shoulders gracefully; under the sun, her hair looked lighter in color, almost gleaming. Her slim body sat upright firmly atop her white steed, and gentle dark-grey eyes looked straight ahead with enthusiasm, slightly-tanned skin hiding under white riding clothes. There was just something about the gentle aura enveloping her that made people stop and turn to really look at her—something about the playful, happy smiles that often played on her face, about the confident tone in her voice, about the soft, thoughtful dark-gray eyes—something about all her gestures that plainly spelled out to people that she was not someone they would want to mess with.

Her name was Hilde.

"No, Young Mistress," he answered dutifully, even though a soft smile was playing on his lips. "Even if I had been, I probably just don't remember."

She made a soft noise. "Ah, true. How foolish of me. I'm sorry, Seff."

He urged his steed to slow down a little, as to not going before Hilde's horse. There were two older guards riding before them, and five others behind them before the rest of the caravan followed—his place was by the Hilde's side. His chanced a glance behind, peering at the long trail of carts and horses, and not for the first time marveled at how long their caravan was. Hilde had managed beyond well in this family business that she had only just inherited six months previouslygaining not only a fair amount of money, but also the trust and hearts of many people—including her guards, servants, and the merchants who had joined her caravan.

"If there's no trouble waiting for us ahead, we'll arrive at Shin Makoku in two days," Hilde continued, her smile widened enthusiastically. "I've only been there once, about four years ago. It was unfortunate that Father decided not to bring me to the Maou, but now I'll be replacing Father to meet the Maou. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Is he that great of a King?" Seff restrained the urge to scoff. "From what I've heard, he's quite weak-hearted. He never gives the death sentence to any criminals regardless of their wrong-doings, and some say he's not even a good swordsman. A magical sword wouldn't be of much help if you don't have what it takes to use it. It's a good thing that we're humans. At least he's not our King."

"He encourages peace, he hates war. It doesn't mean that he's a coward, Seff. I don't understand why men always see violence as something to measure bravery or strength with. It is ridiculous."

"I would question that reason, Young Mistress. Who knows, maybe he's simply a wimp." He paused, frowning as a sense of déjà vu suddenly rushed at him. Dismissing it with a shake of head, he wondered why the last word came out so easily.

"You're just saying that because you're a male," the girl let out a small, concealed scoff; and Seff choked in laughter. "That being said, it is not definite that the Maou would be willing to meet me. As kind-hearted as he is said to be, if he hasn't the time to meet me and discuss the price—well, I suppose I'll meet his subordinate instead."

Absently wondering how his Mother was doing in one of those carts filled with servants, Seff turned his attention back to the road, letting his eyes roam the woods on their sides before throwing his gaze to the darkening sky. The night would fall soon enough, and by the looks of it, they wouldn't manage to get to the closest village before nightfall. Tucking a stray brown strand of hair behind his ear, he turned to the other guards riding behind him, gesturing to their leader. "It seems we have no choice but to camp out tonight."

"It'd be fine. We need to find a clearing big enough for the whole caravan to stop, and also close enough to the water," the leader responded, looking thoughtful before instructing two men to ride on ahead and find a place for them to stop.

"Where is my brother?" Hilde inquired as soon as she heard the word 'stop', turning her head towards the caravan. "Is he doing alright?"

"The Young Master would be with my Mother, so have no worries," Seff replied easily. "I will take him to you once we find a place to rest for tonight."

By the time they reached the clearing, the sun was already half-hidden behind the horizon. Once the sounds of carts and hooves stopped, the place was immediately abuzz with a number of activities. The merchants made sure their horses and carts safe enough, the women started to prepare supper, the guards split into two groups—half of them taking care of the horses and the rest heading out to give the area a sweep, ensuring their safety. A bonfire was lit, small tents were built, warmth and laughter drifted in the air as everyone gathered, waiting for supper to be cooked.

"Seff, your Mother's looking for you," another guard tapped his shoulder, gesturing to the tent closest to the bonfire. "She's still cooking, so she asked me to call you."

"Ah, thank you. Did you see the Young Master?"

"He's trying to steal some dessert, I suppose. I'll see you later—the leader's looking for me."

His Mother was indeed at the very back of the tent, washing what looked like tons of vegetables. She looked up at him happily when he approached, a bony hand caressing his cheek for a moment before getting back to what she was doing. "How was today, Seff?"

"Young Mistress is an interesting person to talk to, as usual. It's not what you think, Mother," he added hastily as his Mother's smile turned into a knowing one. "I don't think of Young Mistress like that."

"She seems to be interested in you, my dear. After all, she asked specifically for you to be her personal guard."

"It's because we're good acquaintance, and she knows I'm one of the best guards," he tucked his bangs behind his ears again, not a bit of arrogance in his tone, only confidence. "If you'd heard her talking about the Maou, you'll know she's more interested in him."

"Don't be jealous of the King, Seff."

"Mother!"

His Mother chuckled. "Please go get Young Master Engel before he steals too many sweets for dessert."

Sure enough, when he took a glance towards the baskets of cookies and sweets at the corner of the tent, there was a small figure squatting on the ground, one hand grabbing something from the basket, and the other holding an apple. Shaking his head, Seff bent down to place a gentle kiss on his Mother's cheek before standing up and striding straight over towards the child. He saw the small back stiffen before he got there, and opted to block the boy's escape rather than make a grab for the figure. The figure whirled around hastily, and ran forward without looking where he was going, slamming right into Seff's chest.

"What the hell—Seff?"

"The one and only," Seff said dryly. "If theYoung Mistress heard you saying that—"

"What, she's the one who taught me that." A pout and a huff, and for some reason, Seff was overcome with a sense of familiarity. He shook it off though, grabbing the twelve-year-old boy's hand, forcing him to put the cookies back into the basket. The action rewarded him a full scowl. "Seff, I'm not a child! I can eat dessert whenever I want, I'm a man!"

Seff could literally feel a vein in his forehead pop. He decided to just drag the younger male out of the tent, waving away several inquiring servants about whether they should bring the Young Mistress and Young Master's dinner to their tent or not. The boy struggled with all his might at first, but after some time, it was apparent that he wouldn't be able to escape. So he simply stopped, irritated. "Where's my sister?"

"Planning tomorrow's route. I'm taking you to her, so stop trying to strangle yourself."

"You're annoying."

"So are you," Seff sniped back, shaking his head when Engel's mouth fell open in disbelief. Ahead, he could see Hilde sitting on the grass with several higher-ranked guards, a map laid out before her. She looked up as he and Engel approached, a wide smile on her face. "Is everything alright?"

Engel settled down next to his sister, tossing his midnight-blue hair back. "Seff's being a jerk."

Seff twitched, willing himself not to strangle the boy. "You were stealing cookies."

"Yeah, well—you guys don't eat that many cookies anymore. It's for kids—which you always referred to me as."

"Says someone who was boasting off about being a man not a minute ago," Seff huffed as Engel spluttered, cheeks reddening. "Huh, you're still such a wimp, Young Master."

"I'm not! I'll show you—I'll kick your ass once I can have my own sword, just you see!"

Seff snickered, "Beat your own teacher? That'd be a hundred years too early."

"The he—"

"Alright, alright, let's stop there," Hilde clamped a hand on her younger brother's mouth, laughing in mirth. "We're in the middle of something important here, so Engel, stop bothering Seff. You, too, Seff, stop teasing him."

A chorus of "I was not!" rang, sending Hilde into another round of laughter.

Seff leaned back onto the cart, watching Engel grumpily pay attention to his sister. The young man pursed his lips then, wondering at the familiarity that would wash him lately whenever he bickered with either Hilde or Engel. It was as if something at the edge of his consciousness was tickling him, urging him to try and remember more about the past that he has no memory of. Moreover, there was the sense of déjà vu as they rode into the woods—a feeling that grew stronger the further they went. It was as if he'd passed this road so often before— like he'd once memorized the path, the trees, the river. It bothered him.

Closing his eyes, he reminded himself not to worry. He wasn't a stranger, his Mother had said. He was one of them, despite the fact that two years ago he was found unconscious in the mansion's stable, with no memories intact.

There was a reason he was here, Hilde said once. And for that, Seff would protect her from anything.

Absolutely anything.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

"You know, it's a bit scary for me."

The morning sun was warm in contrast to the cold grass under his feet and to the chilly winter morning wind breezing past them. It never snowed in Shin Makoku, but it didn't make it less cold. He shivered a bit, unconsciously pressing closer to the figure next to him in search of more warmth. A strong arm wound up around his shoulder, pulling him close—the edge of the pink nightgown tickled his knees through his own blue pajamas, and he thought he could hear the smirk curving his friend's lips. It didn't matter though, because now the cold wind couldn't touch him. Everything was warm—with the exception of the frozen grass under his bare feet.

"You're really a wimp, Yuuri." The words came all too readily—he'd half-expected it, to be honest. Thumping a fist gently on his friend's chest, Yuuri scowled. "Not a wimp. I'll have you know that my Dad was scared too back then, and it's utterly, perfectly normal!"

A humph. "Maybe it runs in the family." There was too much of a teasing tone for it to be truly an insult, but nonetheless, Yuuri elbowed him, a bit harder this time, enough to draw a surprised and somewhat pained gasp out of those pliant lips, before wriggling out of his friend's arms. He smirked. "Serves you right."

The cold attacked him again, a bit more vicious this time, and he shivered. Wrapping his arms around his own body in attempt to keep some warmth, he decided to move around. After all, that's the basic logic. Moving made you warm. Flinging his arms just like when he was on one of his morning jog session, he enjoyed the sounds of popping muscles. Out on the east, the sun was rising a bit higher, casting its golden rays upon the hills he was standing on, bathing him in warmth and light. He turned around, grinning widely to beckon the other boy to come forward, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Engulfed in the golden rays, Wolfram stood—emerald eyes now closed and the smirk morphed into a contented smile, golden hair and porcelain skin gleaming under the sunrays—and Yuuri was reminded of what he had thought of the first time he saw Wolfram. Truly, under the golden light, standing proud and tall, looking so ethereal—Yuuri half expected to see a pair of huge wings sprouting off the blond's back.

An angel.

"It's scary for me, too." Five steps, and the distance between them was closed—warm breath falling on his face, and his cheeks burnt. "We are still young. I mean, it does feel too soon to get married."

"Then you're a wimp, too." He managed to counter, drawing a soft chuckle from the other, and his own lips widened in a giddy grin.

"But we'll manage, right?" This time, the voice sounded a bit hesitant, "We won't screw up with this, right? We'll make a family—right, Yuuri?"

His cold hand reached out to clasp a much warmer hand, and he moved to close the gap between their lips.

"We will."

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

Someone was calling his name. Over and over. It sounded so far, like it was being carried by the wind from a thousand miles away. And then suddenly, it grew louder, firm and very real, piercing his ears.

"You're crying."

His eyes flew open, a shadow hovering on his right side, and for a second, he expected Wofram's sleepy face to greet him. But something was running down his cheeks, down to the corner of his lips, and it tasted salty. Tears—again. And his hands were still clutching a familiar silk fabric close to his heart. A pink nightgown.

Which meant he was back to reality, and Wolfram was very much dead.

Greta's face came into view after he blinked several times, letting some more tears rolled down his cheeks. His daughter—dressed in a white nightgown and looking very much like she had just woken up—reached out to wipe them with a finger that wasn't quite as small as it used to be, a tiny frown marring her beautiful face.

"I am." Yuuri rustled, sitting up slowly. He offered a smile at her worried face. "I'm fine, Greta. What time is it?"

"It's still early. Anissina woke me up, telling me to go and wake you up because Günter caught a cold." Greta looked up, sleepily rubbing her eyes and yawning a little. "Good morning, Yuuri."

"Good morning, Greta," he replied, a hand mussing up his daughter's already messy brown curls, enjoying its solid feel under his fingers. It reminded him of Wolfram's curls in the morning, when they would wake up well before dawn and sleepily stared at each other, absently playing with whatever parts of the body they had their hands on. He paused then, and the smile gradually faded off into a blank expression, gaze turning empty as he stared at nothing in particular until Greta took his hand in hers.

"Yuuri."

Like a lifeline, Yuri grasped the hand. "I dreamt," he said slowly, softly. "He was with me. Before we got married, when we sneaked out of the castle before dawn to watch the sunrise on the hill behind the castle. I—he was—" he choked on nothing, and felt Greta's arms wound around his middle, her head crashing onto his chest. He hugged her back, as tight as he could, squeezing his eyes shut to quell the pain and longing that welled up in his chest and threatened to drown him in its current. He heard a dry sob and wondered whether it was his own or Greta's.

"Was he happy?" Greta murmured in a small, pained voice, "In your dream?"

He made an affirmative sound, and felt Greta nodded.

"Please don't cry, Yuuri."

"I miss him," h e choked out hoarsely, feeling like his voice was failing him. Maybe it was. "I really, really miss him."

"I do, too, Yuuri."

He buried his face into his daughter's brown curls, wanting to pretend that they were Wolfram's, but knew that he couldn't. His eyes stung and it hurt, but the pounding in his chest felt way more painful. His lips moved, forming the name of his late Consort, breathing it out, as if calling someone's name in a prayer. Wolfram, Wolfram, Wolfram. Beloved Wolfram.

They stayed that way for what felt like forever, until there were sounds of someone knocking on the door. Reluctantly, Yuuri let go of his daughter, feeling the comfort slip away off his hands and clutched Wolfram's nightgown tighter in attempt to get it back. Greta moved down the bed and got up, half-running towards the door and pulling it open to reveal Conrad's figure standing before her.

"Good morning, Hime-sama." A smile—Conrad's trademark one. The one that never meant anything. The empty one.

"Good morning," she hesitated, turning towards Yuuri. "Are you going jogging this morning, Yuuri?"

Silence, but Yuuri's murmur seemed to echo in the chamber then. "I'll skip today."

"Then I suppose I'll see you both at breakfast," the smile never faltered, and for once, Yuuri wanted to punch Conrad—ask him to stop smiling and act like he was over it; to scream and cry off the pain reflected in his eyes whenever he saw him. Too much. The castle was full of Wolfram's memories—everything was about Wolfram: the chamber, the dining room, the bath, the library, the yards, the garden, the stables, the gates, the kitchen, everything—and Yuuri wasn't blind. He wasn't stupid. None of them had ever stopped grieving.

They just pretended to.

"Oh, and Heika, Günter had me relay a message to you. An owner of a caravan requested for an audience with you two days from now, and, if possible, to stay within the castle grounds. They wanted to discuss the decreasing prices for their goods." A pause, and then Conrad added, "They're from the human village on the borders."

Yuuri nodded. "It's fine. I'll see them. And they're welcomed to stay in the castle for as long as they want to."

"Understood. I will tell Gwendal, then. If you'd excuse me."

The door was closed again, leaving Greta to listen to Conrad's steps growing further and further. She turned at the rustling sound from the bed, staring at Yuuri who rose to his feet, still clutching Wolfram's nightgown, and moved towards the window. There was a vase of Beautiful Wolram on the table next to the window, and Greta watched as nimble fingers traced it petals softly.

She averted her eyes, and decided to say nothing.

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

"It's time."

Murata let his eyes moved sideways, towards the blond, half-transparent figure that sat down on one of the ancient boxes. Said figure had his head tilted upwards, looking thoughtfully at the high ceilings as if it held the answer to all of life's mysteries. He waited, knowing that the Original King would soon elaborate on his statement, but it was Ulrike who raised her voice in a curious tone. "What is it, Shinou-Heika?"

Silence reigned in the chamber for several moments, almost deafening in its loudness, but Murata chose to keep his mouth shut. Shinou was obviously stalling, and Murata had no desire to fall into the ridiculously childish game of 'I-won't-tell-if-my-Sage-don't-ask-me' that Shinou seemed to like lately. He'd always been a tease, that particular blond King, and while Murata hated to give in—only to Shinou, mind you—he was not in a particularly good mood to deal with Shinou's antics. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a choice. And so he relented, sighing in annoyance before asking in a bored voice, "Is it him?"

A slow, lazy smirk formed its way onto Shinou's face. "It seems Fate has pulled him back sooner than predicted."

Murata sighed in exasperation. "You could have interfered," he deadpanned. "This is three years sooner than what it's supposed to be. It's not good, isn't it?"

"Who am I to defy Fate's will?" Shinou chuckled, and Murata wanted to throw something at him. Of all the existence out there, Shinou had no right to be talking about fate. "Besides, my Daikenja, don't you think maybe this is a sign?"

Murata blinked. "A sign… huh…" he murmured thoughtfully. "Well, he's proven how stubborn he is. Maybe he'd be the first one to tame it and still be himself," he paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe he'd be the first to remember."

Shinou's gentle, amused laughter rang inside the chamber, echoing along the corners of the ceiling. "My descendant," he said, confidence lacing his voice, "is the strongest Mazoku I've ever seen. In many ways."

"You don't get to say that," Murata said dryly, before shrugging and smiling down at the High Priestess. "Now, I'd better do my part. My place is by Shibuya's side, after all."

He could feel Shinou's sharp, calculating gaze burning his back, and hid an amused smile as he slipped out of the chamber. The huge door closed with a gentle thud behind him. Taking a breath, he shook his head, half from amusement and half from exasperation.

"Ah, well. I wonder how Shibuya's doing today?"

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

The sound of the door to Yuuri's office slamming shut and hurried footsteps weren't enough to draw his attention away from the paperwork before him; it was probably Günter bringing more paperwork anyway, he thought wearily as his hand went through the automatic motion of signing the documents. Beneath his windows, he could hear excitement escalating—sounds of soldiers running and firm shouts of orders which he recognized as Gisela's voice, overlapping the high-pitched wonderings of the maids. Then, another stack of paper was put on the other side of his desk, joining those that he hadn't finished yet. Muttering a small "thanks, Günter," to his advisor absently, he peered up, and noted with a small smile that the purple-haired man seemed considerably healthy enough to be up and about. With Günter's enthusiasm, he could barely believe that two days ago, the very same man had collapsed under a severe cold.

"The caravan seemed to have arrived, Heika," Günter informed, gesturing towards the window. "They'll be setting their stalls and begin holding the festival this afternoon. It seems that everyone is excited."

"It's nice," Yuuri commented, straightening his back. His mind flew off towards his daughter—who was, doubtlessly, cooping herself in the library, reading—and wondered if he would have the time to bring Greta out to see the festival.

From his experience several years ago, when the last time the very same caravan had come to Shin Makoku, the merchants usually set up their stalls at the city square and use their own street performance to attract people. They all traveled together under the leadership of a rich merchant that went by the name Sieg—"It is safer for the merchants to travel together, form their own structure and defenses against the bandits," Gwendal had once explained—and because of their huge number, it was no wonder that whenever they came to Shin Makoku, the city square turned into a festival ground all of a sudden.

Yuuri remembered his meeting with Sieg—a tall, bulky man with a fatherly smile and kind stormy gray eyes—to discuss the standard prices for their products and exchange the specialties of Shin Makoku with their own. He had an aura that reminded Yuuri of his own father. The news of Sieg's passing just five months ago had been a surprise; if it weren't for his own grief that he hadn't yet been able to deal with, Yuuri was sure he would have come to attend the man's funeral. As it was, he only sent a representative instead of forming his own party—even though it meant he could have run away from his duty as the Maou for several days. Later, he'd heard that Sieg's daughter had taken over his position as the caravan leader.

"You're not going down to see the festival, Shibuya?"

Yuuri started, too caught up in remembering the things about the caravan to notice that his best friend had slipped into his office. Again. "You've been coming here a lot since two days ago, Murata."

"As a Daikenja, it's my duty to offer my advice when the Maou is in need," Murata said lightly, clapping his hands behind his back. He grinned. "That aside, look at all the excitement in town. Aren't you going out to see? I'll even go with you!"

Yuuri shrugged, looking warily at the stacks he hadn't finished, and compared them to the ones that he had. It was only slightly shorter than the stacks he'd finished. "I don't know—I think Gwendal wants me to finish up today just in case…"

"Nonsense!" Günter exclaimed dramatically, "Yuuri-Heika has been in the office all morning—surely a brief rest wouldn't hurt anybody! Gwendal and I can handle the rest of this, Heika, please be rest assured. I am certain that Hime-sama would love to go down there with you and have a look."

"Can we, Yuuri?" a tentative, feminine voice came from the door, and Yuuri turned to see his daughter standing there, a pleading look on her eyes. "I really want to go with Yuuri, so can we? Conrad said he'll accompany us. We can buy rare flowers and bring them this evening to Wolfram's—" she stumbled at the word, and Yuuri's heart gave a tug as he noticed her trying to keep her smile intact. "I think he would like that. Can we?"

Worrying his lower lip for a second, Yuuri took a breath. He didn't want to, to be honest, if he could help it. The last time he went to the caravan's festival, he'd spent the whole day having fun with Wolfram and Greta. Going down there would mean reliving those memories, ripping open the wounds of being left that he was trying to patch up little by little. But he couldn't deny Greta a wish—not when everyone was trying to cheer him up so hard, not when Greta had been trying so hard to be a semblance of pillar Yuuri could lean on, even if only for a while.

"Alright," he agreed, letting the corner of his lips curl up into a tiny smile. "Let's go, then."

-o0oYuuRamo0o-

To Yuuri's amazement and amusement, the city square was already buzzing with excitement, full of expectant crowd, even though the festival hadn't even started yet. The stalls were currently being set up; countless humans clothed in foreign style hurried back and forth from one stall to another. As requested by the caravan leader's mail several days ago, Yuuri had granted all of them permission to stay in the castle ground after they closed up the festival. Some of the street performers—jugglers, magicians, stuntmen, swordmen—were practicing on one side, drawing their own big crowds as they showed off their simple tricks before the real show started.

As Greta enthusiastically pulled both he and Murata towards one of the magicians, Yuuri carefully adjusted the brown wig on top of his head to make sure it wouldn't fall off as his gaze roamed around the city square. He hadn't come down here to enjoy himself for years, and it felt weird to walk on the same ground he used to walk together with Greta and Wolfram. The city square hadn't changed—he disapproved a request from the townfolks to change its style months ago, for his own selfish reason: he wanted to let everything remain unchanged—for everything to be a memento of an existence he loved.

The fountain stayed the same, still the same gleaming marble-stone under the gentle sunray. There were two or three new stores around the huge square, and a tree had been cut down after it was struck by the lightning and fell onto a small shop next to it, blocking the way. Other than that, it stayed perfectly the same. As his onyx orbs trailed around, he could actually catch bits and pieces of old memories assaulting him—

"It's called parenthood," Wolfram had huffed indignantly as Yuuri grinned sheepishly at Conrad who seemed to be gladly amused at their decision to buy a mini-Bear Bee for their daughter. The fountain laughed behind them, its silvery water tinkling with fondness as the family-wannabe sat down on its edge.

It hurts, a little. No, that was a lie—it still hurts a lot. To walk here without the presence of someone who used to be by his side constantly, whose presence he'd come to cherish more than anybody's. If he concentrated enough, he could hear the wind breeze past, bringing along a gentle laughter he remembered so well, like he was still here, as if he were just behind him, listening to him as he talked about trivial things and retorting back sometimes—

"We're having a festival too today—before I came back here, I mean," Yuuri said lightly as they strolled around the square."It's called the Tanabata Festival; you make wishes and hang them on the bamboo stems. Originally, it's to celebrate the only time of the year when Princess Orihime could meet her lover. Oh, that—"he pointed out on a group of tall, slender stems sprouting out just in the corner of someone's front yard. "Those actually look like bamboos! Though they're supposedly not purple in color…"

"They're grass," Wolfram said, a curious tone tinting his voice. "It's a cross-bred from Franchia, I think. And honestly, I don't understand why you all have to use a different kind of tree for different holidays. Isn't that a waste? Why are they different from, uhhh… chreeshmass?"

His lips stretched into a grin, and he took Wolfram's wrist. "Come on! Let's ask for papers and a quill—let's make a wish!"

Wolfram's face went a little red, but there was a happy undertone in his voice when he humph-ed and replied, "You do it every year, why are you getting so excited over it? And it's not even our tree—oi! You wimp, do you ever listen to me?"

In every single step, he felt like the memory was getting real. The faint scent of sunflowers he'd long associated with his Consort greeted his nostrils. Perhaps they have sunflowers this year, Yuuri thought numbly, and he could almost hear a familiar voice shouting orders to the swordsmen. Somehow, his senses were high and on alert of everything that reminded him of his late husband, but numb to anything other than them. He could barely feel Greta's impatient tug on his fingers, could barely hear Murata and Conrad's idle conversation behind him, and—

"Where's she?" Wolfram's face was pale, horrified. "She was just here—I swear she was! She was holding my hand, and the next second she's just—gone! Greta!"

"Wolf, calm down. We've split up with Conrad and Günter, I'm sure we'll find her in no time, alright?" His own heart was beating so hard in fear and nervousness— all he could think of was little Greta with her glass-Bear Bee-doll-Yuuram who might be scared in the middle of the crowd, calling out to her parents in vain. What if a bad guy showed up and threatened her for money? What if someone recognized that she was the Princess and—and she was kidnapped? "I—we should stay here next to the fountain—maybe she'll find us if she wandered near the fountain. It's the easiest thing to see in this square after all—"

"We can't stay," Wolfram hissed, the small blaze of anger apparent in his green eyes,and Yuuri wasn't sure whom the anger was directed to. "You stay here—Yozak's around keeping an eye on you, call him out if something happened and—I'll go look for her—" trailing off, the blond turned around and ran forth. The only thing Yuuri could do as he watched Wolfram's back disappear into the milling crowd was to hesitantly call out.

"Wolf-!"

"—fram! It's mine, I'm not giving it back!"

Jolted from his reverie, Yuuri only had time to look up before a blur of brown and white shadow slammed into him, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawled indignantly on the square brick ground. He spluttered in shock even as his ears caught Greta's surprised yelp—someone else had bumped into her but fortunately, Murata was there to steady her back on her feet—and then he registered Conrad's careful grip on his shoulder.

"Ugh, dammit!" Brown hair, tied up into a high ponytail that swung from side to side as the owner of the head shook his head and swore in a tenor, somewhat rough voice—a voice that sounded familiar. "That little rascal—I'm really sorry. You're not hurt, aren't you?"

Yuuri's brain worked too slowly these days, and all he could think was the last syllable of an unknown name: '—fram?'

"Wolf…?" he looked up, subconsciously forming a dear name with his lips shakily, but it died almost instantly.

Long, brown, straight hair, skin slightly tanner than Wolfram's. That, and the fact that his husband was dead. Yuuri even still had the strand of blond hair that remained, safely tucked in a tiny pouch inside his pocket. No, not Wolfram. Wolfram wasn't coming back. He still couldn't move on—but at least he'd accepted that.

Then the stranger looked up—and their eyes locked.

Onyx eyes widened at the endless emerald color of the bright orbs staring back at him, slightly taken aback at how intense and familiar and loved are they. His breath was caught instantly, stuck in his throat as if his own lungs were trying to suffocate him—and he was lost. Lost in the borderless sea of deep green that reminded him of the deepest color of lake, lost in the fiery emotions blazing through those shining orbs, lost in the sensation of longing and relief and love—

"Looks like you're not. Sorry." The stranger shrugged, breaking the eye contact, and Yuuri heard his own sound of breath rushing out. "If you'll excuse me, I still have to catch a thief."

The stranger rose up—Yuuri automatically did, too, and was glad that Conrad's grip kept him steady on his feet. He was still staring mutely at the stranger when a high-pitched voice of an adolescent boy rang in the air, "I swear I'll throw this into the fountain if you don't give me back my bag, Seffram!"

Visibly, the stranger bristled. He pushed through Yuuri and Conrad, and stalked towards the general direction of a boy who had previously bumped into Greta and ran off. "No, Young Master, you give me back my sword, or I won't teach you for months!"

Seffram, Yuuri thought in disappointment. Not Wolfram.

Their voices faded as their figures disappear among the milling crowd. Greta seemed to be bewildered by the bizarre incident, while Murata held a wide, amused smile on his face. Yuuri blinked, as if he'd just woken up from a dream, when Conrad tapped his shoulder worriedly.

"Heika?"

"It's Yuuri," he countered absent-mindedly, "And I'm okay—I guess." But his heart was still beating rapidly—confusion, longing, hope, and disappointment all mixed up and welling up uncontrollably in his chest. "Conrad, don't you think that guy looks a lot like—"

"They have similar eyes," Conrad answered—there was an edge in his voice that Yuuri thought might be caused by the same emotions he currently felt. He nodded then, still staring blankly in the direction where the stranger had disappeared. His heart felt strangely empty after looking into the pair of eyes with emotions so fierce he was even caught in them. Just like how it used to be when he stared into Wolfram's—

-he should stop. Not now. Not when Greta was already peering at him, half curious and half worried, and tugging his hand again. He needed to calm down. And so, he tore his gaze off the crowds, and fixed them on Greta. "Shall we buy some ice cream while waiting for the performance?" he offered, forcing a small smile.

Greta nodded hesitantly. "Can I have vanilla?"

"Of course. Let's go."

The two of them started to walk—Conrad faithfully trailing behind—and Murata stared after them, glasses glinting as a faint line of smile curved up his face.

"It is quite fast, indeed," he murmured thoughtfully. "I wonder if this time this'll work…"

-o0ochapter 5 endo0o-

A/N: I told you it was long. –sighs- Ah, but at last it's out of my head, ahahahaha! I'm so satisfied. :3 I know some of you probably have a guess about who Seff is—I'm pretty sure I made it obvious. Purposefully. It'll take some time, though. :3 Anyway, a bowl of mac 'n cheese for each of you who can guess it right! xD

Thank you for reading this far, and please leave a review to let me know that you read it? =D Enthusiastic reviews are loved, constructive criticisms are much more so, and flames are Wolfram's department—I'd rather not see them. xDDD

Much thanks,

-isumi'kivic' and Ilde-