Edited by Iseul

Julian was trapped. This was a conundrum, really. 

The more he squirmed, the tighter Leonel held, one arm around his waist. Why was he strong even in this half-conscious state!? Or was Julian truly just that weak…!

Mysteriously, Leonel used his other hand to grab hold of Julian’s wrist. The injured arm was pulled forward and Julian fell gracelessly atop Leonel’s chest. He could feel Leonel’s breath. Low, calm. Breath in, breath out.

The hand that trapped his wrist slowly eased before gliding down, trailing over injured flesh that hid beneath bloodied bandages. Julian hissed in pain, flinching from the touch. Still, he failed to free himself.

The inquisitor was ever mysterious in his dazed state and wordlessly brought the injured arm to his lips and kissed it. The blood had seeped through the bandages and when Leonel came away, his lips were stained a little rouge.

What. In the seven realms.

The poor doctor found his heart racing. Without a second thought, he hit the inquisitor on the head as hard as he could. 

There was a loud knock. If Leonel was awake, Julian would make a witty remark about how it sounded empty.

Just like that, Leonel’s head lulled and fell against the cot; out completely cold. Julian let out a long sigh of relief. But honestly, what was that about? He smiled wryly. “Awake or asleep, this brat brings me nothing but trouble.”

Why did Julian ever even attempt to show this stranger kindness? He was nothing more than a headache inducer.

Alas, Julian was a person who did not differentiate kindness from cruelty. Sometimes they were beneficial, sometimes they were not. Neither was more important nor valuable than the other.

With an annoyed grunt, Julian was ready to peel himself off the inquisitor— except he couldn’t. 

He was stuck.

His arm was still caught. The grasp around his waist didn’t loosen a single bit. 

Julian sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Perhaps you think this all to be a funny joke. It will do you well to remember an old man's needs. I, unlike you, cannot hold my bladder with as much skill," he said shamelessly.

The fingers remained as tight as iron cuffs.

Leonel’s breathing was slow and languid, his chest rising high before deflating, and his long lashes were decidedly shut. Was he truly asleep!?

Frustrated, Julian used his free hand to claw at the fingers trapping his arm, but Leonel’s grip was as stiff as stone. What even— Julian screamed in dismay, but not even that could win a reaction from the sleeping inquisitor.

A long time ago, Julian learned of a foreign principle called karma. He had laughed it off as idealistic folly, but if someone were to recite the meaning to him now, he might just believe them!

Was this karma for all his misdeeds? This brand of torture was absolutely infuriating!

“If you don’t let go, I’m going to draw a mustache on your face,” he threatened. That was impossible, of course. His pen and ink were out of reach.

“I’ll braid your hair into a woman’s style.” That too might be a bit difficult especially when Julian could only use one arm.

“I’ll have my way with your body…!” Julian roared.

“…” But Leonel only lied there peacefully, defenseless and wholly unconcerned.

“…” Julian turned silent, realizing that his threats and complaints weren’t going to be heard. He sighed, exhausted, and succumbed to his fate. If there was no point in escaping, might as well make himself comfortable.

Carefully, Julian maneuvered himself around Leonel’s stomach, making sure not to pressure or even touch that area. In the end, he found that the most comfortable position was curling around Leonel’s side, using the man’s shoulder as a pillow. This way, Julian could rest his captured arm across the inquisitor’s chest while avoiding his abdomen.

With a dejected sigh, Julian wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable and get some rest. But it seemed that the small, jostling movement invoked some sort of reaction.

Leonel’s brows furrowed, a small grumble escaped from slightly parted lips. That hand on Julian’s waist suddenly trailed upward, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Y-you!” Julian shuddered and hissed. But again, there was no response, at least not a coherent one. Leonel turned his head and suddenly kissed the top of Julian’s head, making the doctor freeze.

Wasn’t this going too far?

A strange mumble left Leonel’s lips, a soft breath tickled Julian’s forehead.

Julian strained his ears, but his hearing was too poor to make it out. A name perhaps? Alas! Julian would kill to know who or what the inquisitor was thinking about in a situation as such. But there was nothing for him to make out. No blackmail material to be gained. 

With a sigh, Julian settled down and laid as still as he could. He did not expect to sleep and yet Julian did just that. 

For once, he did not dream of lightning and rain, and instead, there was a hot sun amid a cloudless sky. Horses thundered across a grassy plain. 

There was a man at the fore, his steed ivory and his hair a bright shade of ginger.

Oh. He hadn’t dreamed of the Prince of the Plains in a long, long time. 

“…show me,” this ginger prince mouthed, “show me what you can do.” 

And so he did. He raised his hand to the skies and willed the heavens to bow. The summer heat turned into winter chill. It had snowed that day.

To think that two decades ago, he had had the strength to command the heavens. But now, only embers of that power remained.

Still, it was a good dream.

…

Little Freddie was out in the woods again, this time all on his lonesome. He whacked the shrubs in front of him with a stick, watching dewy beads of water whip off the leaves. He imagined himself as a knight of sorts, gallantly slaying monsters across an epic battlefield. He might have even supplied a few sound effects to add to his immersion.

Earlier, the other kids had teased him, claiming that he was too chicken to go into the forest alone. That he always needed Lina at his side to do anything.

Well, Freddie showed them that he was a boy and not a girl, and boys weren’t chickens. That’s what his daddy told him. Boys don’t get scared. 

So Freddie took it upon himself to prove the point, bravely facing off against tall trees and defenseless shrubs all by himself. The shrouded forest floor and uneven trails were of no challenge! Freddie could best them all on his own.

See? He was brave. And totally not a chicken. Or a girl, for that matter.

Dead leaves and branches crunched under his feet. The distant call of a cow echoed past the canopy. A whole flock of birds startled, taking flight. The sound caused Freddie to flinch. His little heart raced in his chest. Surely, he was just imagining the dark shadows that crept about the wide tree trunks and the dense shrubs…. Right?

Just his imagination. Yup.

Little Freddie repeated the thought in his mind desperately. 

But his imagination was wild, as it was the imagination of young children. Creeping shadows transformed into horrible beasts, the rustling of branches and whispering wind became the doings of ghosts. His breathing sped up. 

The sound of crinkling leaves was enough to send Freddie bolting. Bird wings flapped against the wind and Freddie imagined a murder of crows saturating the skies like black clouds of disease.

Little Freddie ran desperately, his short legs took him off the path in a panic. An exposed root snatched up his ankle and he fell, then tumbled. The child rolled and rolled down the side of the hill, catching dead leaves in his clothes and hair. 

Finally, his small body thudded against a resting log.

Disoriented, the boy slowly rose to his feet, using the log as leverage.

Only, it wasn’t a log at all.

Fabric moved beneath his touch. The corpse wasn’t yet stiff. It was still soft, fresh. Freddie yelped, jumping back with fright. His hand came away red, with blood. The dead man was looking up at him, expression locked in his hour of death; eyes and mouth gaping wide. 

The young boy fell, shuffling backward out of fright and shock. Adrenaline still soared in Freddie’s mind, vivid and sharp, it robbed him of any sound reasoning.

With trembling whimpers, the child stumbled to his feet then broke into a run. There was no consideration about which direction he went, but he fled as fast as he could. 

When Freddie dared to look over his shoulder, he smacked right into something else and fell right on his bum. 

Oof! 

“Ow…” he rubbed his throbbing head, still disoriented, still scared. 

“Are you stupid!?” a young female voice shrilled. It was a girl, older than Freddie but not old enough to be considered an adult. “Run! The other way!”

Freddie blinked and scrambled to his feet once more. The girl was about a head taller than him, with wild blond hair and eyes that beheld little flickers of golden sparks. 

“Hurry up!” she yelled at him and took his small wrist into her hand. “Or else we’ll end up like Jordan!”

Freddie’s jumbled mind recalled the gruesome corpse he came upon earlier. His little face instantly turned pale. Without thinking or questioning, he ran with the mysterious girl, not knowing if he was going toward or away from Gotsven. But there was the cawing sound of crows, barking and howling that seemed to echo in the distance. 

They ran and they ran.