A/N: So this part was probably my favorite to write, but I'm just warning you, it's a bit weird. Think of it as dream sequence.

Other worlds exist…

Countless realities are at play…

So maybe one, just one, somewhere, exists and…

There's a man standing alone in a darkened field. He has dark skin and darker hair and something in his stance gives an air of power; something in his gaze makes him seem at peace. His hand rests lightly on the katana at his waist, but something about him lets you know you should only fear approaching if you intend to do him harm him.

He is calm.

He is waiting.

Maybe father didn't die…

Bells ring out at the palace gates and the sound of men running fills the complex. By some miracle, in front of them all, a raven haired little boy crashes headlong into a smiling, though battle weary warrior, trying to hide tears in the folds of his father's war torn robes.

Maybe mother wasn't killed…

The warrior's sword cuts down the blade pointed at his wife, pulling the priestess safely into his arms. She raises a protective barrier around the room as their son cries out, but it's over now. There is confusion and chaos as the guards arrive, but they boy is pressed between his parents and everyone is breathing. There is life here. There is peace here.

Maybe we found you and saved you…

His father steps back into their world with quite a bit more than he'd left with. Blond and bloody and beautiful and broken, two little twin boys stand on shaking legs and in tattered clothes, pressed their faces into his father's sides. His mother kneels reaching her hand towards them and one immediately runs to her embrace, hiding from the gazes of the guards within her arms. The other, the smaller of the two, just shrinks away with panicky eyes. The world broke him once, not again, not…

Maybe I saved you…

The little boy with the raven hair steps forward, past his mother and the other twin, into terrified blue eyes, with an outstretched hand. He exudes innocent interest and ingrained protectiveness as he stands only a head above the boy still clinging to his father. His eyes are red, but not frightening, and his stance is confident but not threatening as he leaves his hand open in the air between them. No one present is really sure why the boy stepped forward at all, himself included, but the blond stares at him with a suspicious allure in his face, while his brother watches curiously from the kind woman's bosom.

Maybe you let me…

A pale, dirty hand stretches out, tentatively landing on a darker one. Crimson locked on cerulean, and they remained frozen in a private, spiritual conversation that they recognized was happening but were far too young to understand the gravity of. Suddenly their grip was no longer hesitant, but clinging and desperate. Wide eyes suddenly filled with tears; it's over now and he has no clue what that means. But the boy with the crimson eyes lets him travel into his arms and cry into his shoulder. In spite how it made him feel slightly awkward, he felt it was just… right. It meant something important and he let it happen because it needed to. Right then and there, they'd look back and say, they were made.

Maybe you wanted me…

He hadn't learned his name of either of the blond boys before they was taken away, the feeling of a rough little hand in his still lingering, but he knew that the raw little voice that had just cried out at the end of the hall couldn't belong to anyone else. He turned and saw them, bandages on their arms and legs, in robes a few sizes too big. Their hair had been cropped to just beneath their shoulders as opposed to stretching down their backs, and was clean like the rest of them, but they were still recognizable. Those eyes of the same stunning blue were frightened and locked on him, as the smaller boy shouted words in a language he couldn't speak… but somehow still understood. He blushed, but held out his arm, allowing the boy to come and hold onto him once again, his brother amiably allowing himself to be pulled along.

Maybe we grew…

While two learned to speak, the other learned to be patient. The boys grew older, and were now big enough to stand tall and hold their own swords, bend their own bows, and cast their own spells. The younger blond is a bit bouncy, where his brother is simply cordial, and the raven is slightly brooding, but there was nothing if not fondness between them. It was the younger brother and the raven boy, however, that truly formed a bond. When a hand is needed, it's never snatched away and when a back is against the wall, the other one is on the way. They now bowed respectfully before their mother as she kissed their heads, wishing them fair passage into adulthood. The older twin – choosing not to follow the steps of the warrior – embraced them warmly, standing back with their mother and the woman who's heart he'd won. Their father just mussed their hair, nodding proudly as they left the palace to find themselves. They'd normally be instructed to go at it alone, as was custom, but – once again blue met red in silent harmony – they'd always been spiritually one. This was alone.

Maybe we fought…

They both held stunning swiftness, but where the mage moved with grace, the swordsman moved with brutality. As he cut down attacks with enough speed to rival his father's, he kept a vigilant eye out for the blond archer, whipping through the battle field on horseback, felling enemy after enemy. He could never look for long, but we was good enough to look momentarily, feel the relief that came with that glance and return to fighting. They were winning. It'd be over soon. Another soldier fell at his feet and he turned… just in time to see bright blond hair fall under the shadow of an enraged assassin. He could never be sure of what he screamed in that moment, the words meaning nothing; he hardly even registered he'd moved before he launched himself towards the two men.

Screaming. Moving. Praying.

Maybe we survived…

Their princess rushed to them, welcoming them home from a battle on her behalf. Red eyes were slightly crazed while blue eyes try to smile at her past an edge of fear. She invites them in to be cleansed, sitting them, bloodied and sore on a straw mat in her quarters. "Kurogane," she whispers afterwards, over the darker one, "Yuui," over the fair, before murmuring their true names, "You have served me faithfully. May you forever find rest and favor in my palace." She lays hands on them, "Please find your peace here." And they do, as soon as the step from her chambers, the raven haired man grabs the hand of the one he almost lost. The smaller man squeezes back: I'm still here.

Maybe we lo…

There is a man standing in a field, but it is not quite as dark and he is no longer alone. There is another man – blond hair, blue eyes, a bright smile – walking towards him, bringing with him rays of sunshine. The raven haired man turns to him as he approaches; not quite smiling, but his eyes betray him. He's happy. He reaches a hand out towards the wiry man, pulling him closer when their hands meet.

Maybe we…

They appear to study each other, standing close enough that their robes blow against one another's' in the faint breeze. With one hand clasped tightly in the swordsman's, the mage reached up to brush his fingers across a tanned face. Red eyes slip closed as feathery fingertips brush across them, soft and comforting. Secret names are whispered into the air, floating softly as yet another form of: I'm here and I always will be. There was warmth in the air and it had nothing to do with the weather.

Maybe…

They reached into each other now, souls grappling for security outside themselves, as they often have before. Searching – the taller leaned down and the shorter reached up – for the consent in their eyes – eyes slipped closed – that said it would be ok to be more than just this – I can feel his breath on my lips –…

Maybe… I should wake up now…

There is feeling behind the bright light that is suddenly there, distorting the scene to the point of colorless oblivion to all who beheld it.

There is a man standing in a field. His lips are burning.

His lips are gratifyingly set ablaze.

But he is horrifyingly alone.

You can't live in a dream.

He hears the voice of someone he doesn't recognize.

Is it the sound of a heart breaking?

His eyes close.

Wake up, Kurogane.

The light is blinding.

The dream is over.

A/N: I felt a bit bad for Kuro-sama afterwards, but I promise it get's happy after this!