Author's note: I do not own KKM or the characters. This is just for fun and no profit. Also, this story is a bit of an experiment for me. So, that means you might not like the pairing or the ending. So, I'd suggest reading the final chapter first if you wish.

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A Crumbling Façade

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"I don't need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod;

my shadow does that much better."
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~ Plutarch
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"I'm sorry about everything," Wolfram confessed, not caring in the slightest who could hear him. Tentatively, he reached a bandaged hand out to Murata Ken only to receive a slight, almost imperceptible shake of the head "no." He immediately withdrew, respecting it.

"I'm not…" the sage returned, trying not to notice the long bandage still on Wolfram's jaw and the gaunt way about him "…not sorry, I mean." And he wasn't. But, now, at the eleventh hour, there was very little to say beyond that.

This was it, he knew. It was goodbye.

This room in Shinou's Temple was called "The White Room"—a place for healing in both body and spirit. It held a damp but pleasant coolness with ivory tapestries billowing away from the walls. A rectangular pool took up the far end of the room with goldfish swimming lazily. Occasionally, one would jump, making a splash. A large, round nephrite jade altar dominated the center, eight waist-high unwrought stone pillars supported the weight of what was originally a place of animal sacrifice. Shinou, while on his travels, had discovered it in a cave and insisted upon taking it with him on his travels, sensing the power emanating from within. Once in Shin Makoku, he presented it to the shrine maidens and ordered it cleansed.

It took three hundred years

Murata put a hand to his head. The headache was blinding and he wondered, not for the first time, if he could actually do this. He glanced to the right corner of the room and saw Shinou in shadow, quietly observing him with his cape tossed carelessly over one shoulder. There was a sense of support. And Murata met eyes with him, thanking him for giving him that much.

Recently, The Original King and Murata had come to an understanding of sorts. The spirit had watched and waited, moved beyond his boyish teasing and seemed to enjoy a new role which was, more or less, approved by Murata. Shinou was taking on a more "advisory" position within the temple—helping Ulrike with the sacred texts, guiding new shrine maidens who saw themselves as unworthy, and even passing along the occasional word of encouragement to the guards. It was amazing how they reacted to such small crumbs of praise.

Peace was welcomed. But all of those things had happened at the temple right before this…

Murata looked back to Wolfram, met eyes briefly, and then took his forearm, helping him recline on the altar. Easing him down.

It was time.

The sage took a staff, borrowed from Ulrike, and bowed to the small, holy woman with great effort. She, in turn, clasped her hands together—hoping to send him her good thoughts and strength.

He would need them.

Murata, exhausted and worn-down as he was, managed to draw a circle around the altar with a brunette shrine maiden, crouching low on hands and knees, following the line with a piece of chalk. Behind her was her sister with a mix of herbs in a basket—smelling of cloves, sage, and meadowsweet. The chalk was thoroughly sprinkled.

Standing near the open door was Gunther, Gwendal, Conrad, and Yozak. Ulrike took her place beside them while the faces of many shrine maidens peered through the doorway. Murata gestured to the side and invited Yuuri to come closer with the instruction. "Step over the line and do not leave until I tell you to do so."

"Oh…okay…" Yuuri, feeling nervous. He stepped in and glanced at the women finishing their work.

Murata looked deeply into green eyes one last time and then placed a glowing blue piece of lapis on Wolfram's temple. Immediately, the blond's body collapsed, head falling to the side, and Yuuri, with a horrified expression, came closer.

"Not yet," the sage instructed indifferently.

He took out a second jewel, held it between his palms briefly, and then knelt down with effort. This piece of lapis seemed to be a twin and easily clicked into an open space set on the surface of the altar—making a watery glow dance on the surface and cocoon Wolfram's body with brightening bands of thin, pale green light.

Murata put a hand to his head again. This was so hard and he felt so bad. He forced himself to stand a little straighter and he pushed back emotions that he wished, by the gods, he wasn't feeling.

Carry on. He had to.

Deal with this. Work a miracle. Move on.

No matter how much it wounded him.

The life of a sage was this.

From where she stood, Ulrike recited lines from an ancient text—speaking aloud words that only three people in the room comprehended, the language being long since dead and forgotten. Shinou tilted his head to one side, remembering nostalgically. Murata knew the words, too, but they were grim reminders of what he'd lost.

From within the circle, he turned his back to Yuuri and said, "Take his hand in yours."

"What?" Yuuri visibly blushed and glanced uncomfortably at Wolfram's older brothers.

"You heard me."

"I-I know…but…" the double black stammered. This was not what he'd banked on, obviously. "Was it really okay? It was just so sudden" his expression seemed to say. "Is this something…? I mean… I…?"

"Do it!" Murata barked and everyone in the room blanched.

Yuuri quickly snatched Wolfram's hand as though he were a drowning man and then glanced at Murata to see if that pleased him somehow.

"Thank you," the sage said, uttering the words out of habit—not out of a sense of gratitude straight from his heart.

Yuuri was being infuriating right now. This was serious business. This was not nursery school.

"Ummm… Is this part of the ceremony?" the double black asked hesitantly, trying to keep his friend talking. Yuuri really didn't want Murata mad at him and he knew that he was feeling unwell, too. So, losing his temper was understandable right now.

"No," Murata quipped, "it is called comforting someone who is dying…someone we may not be able to save." He ran his fingers through his own dark hair harshly, eyes shut tightly for a moment. "And, if I'm not entirely mistaken, I'll follow him." He shook his head at that and whispered to himself "gladly follow…gladly fade away."

"Pardon?" Yuuri asked, concern evident.

"I said we might fail."

Yes, he was blunt here—very blunt. And Yuuri's face showed it. And, maybe, this was not a kind thing to say in front of Wolfram's brothers and the shrine maidens, but he was having enough of this. And his heart was aching. And some part of himself felt that this was profoundly unfair. What had he done in a previous life to deserve it? He didn't know. And just trying to remember anything made him so tired. A moth-eaten mind.

That was all he had left.

Murata wanted to cry. When had that happened? Tears never solved anything or brought anyone back to you.

Always alone.

Always.

"So sad…" he sighed.

Yuuri's eyes flew open at that. "What? Is he getting worse? And what about you?"

The questions snapped him out of the fuzzy thinking that he'd allowed himself to fall into. Last night, for good reason, he couldn't fall asleep. Everything had to be prepared in exact detail. Now, he was starting to pay the price for all that silent fretting and second guessing. The sage shook his head "Did I just say that out loud?"

"You did," the double black worried.

"Sorry…"

Tiredly, Murata approached the edge of the circle and pulled out a small knife with a curved blade.

"Murata," Yuuri breathed, seeing this. His expression said, "No, he couldn't be thinking of…"

The sage whispered some words under his breath, soft like the wind, the tone meeting their ears but nothing more. Nothing else. Then he slit his thumb and forced droplets of red blood to fall.

Red tears.

The second they landed on the circle, the chalk sparked into life like the wick on a stick of dynamite. Waves of light burning. Whirling, sizzling. Then, brilliant bright lights with symbols, long forgotten, appeared on the walls and ceiling. Shining, moving, turning—adjusting with the alignment of the stars. Murata's face was lit with white light and his hair billowed up, irises illuminated with a bright but eerie blue eye shine.

He hoped it would work.

It had to work.

For both their sakes…

A strong bolt of flaring energy struck Murata's core and he could barely withstand it. A gasp and a hand to the aching spot. He struggled to remain on his feet as the wind picked up. Like a prism, his body gave forth light in all directions, it seemed, and pillars of light began to rise all around the circle. The beams quickly faded away and, in place of them, black outlines began to grow and form—some were tall and lean, some were short and squat. A raggedy figure here and a bent figure there.

Color and dimension filled in—much to the amazement of everyone in the room—and there was a disturbed murmuring as the figures moved, shifting from right foot to left foot, stretching, and the odd tuck of the hair back to straighten things.

People. These were people.

"Is this all I have left?" Murata muttered to himself. His voice was weak. He thought he sounded so pathetic.

The double black king's eyes widened when he recognized the person standing closest to him. He'd seen his face a thousand times within the castle—both in paintings and in books. The man's eyes were dark and his hair fell back like a thick, black curtain. He was tall, like Conrad, but with a different demeanor—calmer, wiser, and yet pensive.

Cold.

"The Original Sage," Yuuri breathed and immediately caught the tall man's attention—studying him momentarily with a slight raise of an eyebrow. Then, slowly, well aware that he was there, the sage's eyes turned and met Shinou's. The Original King was still standing in the corner but his face had grown serious. There was still something there, something deep, between the two of them and it was unmistakable, intimate. A noble nod out of respect and the Original Sage returned his attention back to Yuuri holding Wolfram's hand. Yes, holding hands. That seemed to amuse him slightly—for good or ill, it was impossible to say.

He swallowed hard and began, "I…apologize for this….for calling you…" Murata spoke the words wearily and pushed his glasses up on his nose a little with a shaky finger.

"Oh, not to worry…not to worry," a motherly, apple-shaped woman interrupted, wiping her pudgy hands on her lace-edged cotton apron. "We already know why we're here. You don't need to go into any details, love. We are you after all."

An impatient sigh. "Oh, let the boy-sage speak, Sassy. You were always such a talker," complained a sallow, lean librarian type with a tight, brunette bun on top of her head. "If you keep going on like this, we'll run out of time and we won't be able to be of any use." She cut her eyes to the side. "Blondie over there will die," she thumbed at Wolfram, "and so will our present incarnation." She smoothed out her own sweater for emphasis, letting them know she was finished with her speech while ignoring Murata's murmuring of "I'm not a boy. I'm of age."

That got a prune-like frown from Sassy and hands firmly resting on ample hips. "And just, pray tell, who is standing on the circle right now…prattling on…acting like a know-it-all? Hmmm, Danielle?"

"Well, I should have every right." The stern woman folded her arms against her chest.

"But it's not the right thing to say in front of family and friends. You were always so cold-hearted when it came to death," a slender, middle school aged boy jumped in. He made a slight gesture to those waiting in the back of the room.

"Child, you don't know anything!" She spoke like a teacher dealing with an incredibly stupid pupil who never studied.

A booted foot stomped in response, sending up a cloud of chalk and an electric charge. "Yes, I do! I was born with your memories," he complained, starting to lose his temper, "unlike the rest of us who got them when they grew up!"

"Then, you should stop being a brat."

He stuck out his tongue and followed it with "Bun-head!"

Danielle narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, see how open minded you are about death when your village is invaded, a hulking man breaks through your door, places a knife against your throat…and you scream over and over for Shinou to save you." She tightened her fists as though ready to strangle someone and gritted out the words "He never came."

"I'm bored with this conversation, mates," a pirate drawled, playing with the gold hoop in his left ear. It was a habit he'd developed and Murata realized just how much he'd forgotten—how much he'd lost—about that time in his life.

"Back to business," a slinky sexpot purred—her frayed blue jean short shorts riding up her heart-shaped derriere with every not so subtle swivel of the hips. Yuuri started to sweat at that.

"I agree," The Original Sage said which got murmurs of approval from everyone else standing on the circle.

Murata nodded shakily. "The…uh…story so far…"

"As I said before," Sassy told him. "We know, Dear. So, ask us what you want of us…"

He put a hand to his head, knowing she was right and he tried to pull his thoughts together again. "Right… Those of you with medical training, please stay behind. I need to talk to you about healing…Wol-…I mean…Lord von Bielefeld…and, possibly, myself…" If that wasn't simple enough, Murata wasn't sure whether or not he could phrase it more clearly.

Small pops of light went around the circle as individuals left—including an elderly farmer in overalls, a baker covered in flour, the middle school boy, and the slinky sex pot. Though, she did blow Wolfram a kiss before disappearing. Yuuri didn't like that one at all and, without thinking, held Wolfram's hand a little tighter.

Murata noticed and turned on his heel—forcing himself, now, to deal with those who were left.

With some astonishment, he met the gaze of a haggard, hooded figure who, with an unsympathetic expression, melted away. "Oh, yes… I forgot about Janus standing over there," Danielle could be heard whispering. "Well, I didn't expect him to come…knowing what he's like and all." She gave a slightly annoyed "humph." "Never liked him anyway."

Now, there were ten figures left including: a middle aged balding man with a doctor's bag, Sassy, Danielle, The Original Sage, and, oddly, the pirate.

"You….?" Yuuri blurted out before he could stop himself. He just couldn't believe it.

A tug of the earring and a naughty smile with slightly crooked, yellowing teeth. "Since comin' of age, I've been a ship's surgeon…operatin' in a small space below the gun deck. I do everything from cuttin' hair ta cuttin' off limbs…ta buyin' medicine."

"You mean booze," Murata said curtly.

A slight shrug of the shoulders. "For medicinal purposes, ya understand…"

"We understand," Sassy observed sourly and then noted that a starry-eyed shrine maiden was standing not far from where she was. "So, young one, why not get a piece of parchment and something to write with. I'm an herbalist as well as an alchemist in my village and the sages around me can vouch for my suggestions in terms of a remedy for this situation that Lord von Bielefeld and our present 'self' have found themselves in."

"Taking over as usual," Danielle pouted.

"Not again," Murata groaned, putting the heel of a hand to his head. This bickering was really getting to him.

Sassy looked from Danielle to Murata—taking pity on him more than anything. Apparently, someone had to steer the conversation in a more fruitful direction. She could do that. "Well, how about this…? I'll start with my list of ingredients, like I said before, and the good healers on the circle will back me up and you can 'check my work,' Danielle, to make sure that I didn't forget a single thing." She used the motherly voice, this time, that usually worked with her obstinate, youngest son.

Danielle gave a slight frown but it was clear that she approved of the plan. "Well, fine. Begin there. But I'm not sure how fast that silly girl can write."

"She's not silly," Murata defended, knowing all too well that such a description would hurt the girl's feelings deeply and word would spread that a part of the Great Sage didn't approve of her.

"Of course, she is," Danielle shot back. "Had she been totally prepared, we would not have needed to ask her to get parchment to write upon and…she would have worn much warmer, and shall I say…'more appropriate clothes,' in this room." Danielle looked away, narrowing her eyes with disapproval while doing so. "It's cold in here and I can see her nipples."

At that point, the shrine maiden's sister took over and the younger one skipped out of the room with her arms covering her chest. Her face was blushing bright pink. Ulrike reddened, too.

"You know, I'm going to have to apologize to her later," Murata sighed, trying not to sound as put out as he really was. This was like dealing with Shinou in one of his rare, as of late, mischievous moods.

"Well, it wasn't like I didn't notice," Sassy chimed in, "but I was too much of a lady to make a comment." She straightened her shoulders, ready to switch topics, and said to the brunette shrine maiden, "So, this is what you'll need followed by ways to prepare the herbs. I would say that the prep time, should you have all of the herbs ready, should be quick as a wink. The trick, of course, is actually having everything you need…including a liquid made from the distillation of potatoes or corn."

"What?" Yuuri scratched his head.

"It's clear, has a potent smell, and quite intoxicating," she added, "but you'll need it. There's no substitution."

"Vodka," Murata chuckled under his breath. "She means vodka…" He gave his first true smile of the day. "I have a small bottle…tucked away…for 'medicinal purposes.' So, I think we can really do this." He chuckled to himself a bit louder. "It is…possible…after all."

But they would have to start now and do everything right the first time.

Now.

Begin.

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A sweet voice recited: "The Great Sage of Shin Makoku had once written: 'And, as with all 'beginnings,' they start with so much 'ordinary,' so much 'nothing' that they go largely unnoticed….except by the poets and dreamers in this world."

Hands clapped.

"Such wonderful memorization."

A prideful voice. "Of course, she is, after all, my daughter."

She tapped a few steps and skipped as she walked. "Oh, I loved that story so much!" Greta told them, holding the red, leather bound book against her for a big hug. "It was just so amazing." She turned to Murata who was walking on her left side and asked, "So, did you really go on this adventure?"

An amused glance in her direction. "I'm sorry to say that it is a work of fiction written eight hundred years ago," Murata returned with a grin. "If I had gone on such a superb journey, I would have remembered it."

"But it is so famous! Gunther calls it a 'classic' and everything." There was a small, girlish pout there.

On her other side, Wolfram smirked at that. "He calls everything a classic."

"But, it is worth reading!" Greta countered cutely, probably a direct quote from Gunther, too, and Wolfram couldn't refuse that charm. He rubbed her curls with a fatherly air about him.

"And, then, there's the wedding at the end of the story!" Oh, yes. The little princess did love a good wedding and that made Murata's thin grin even wider. He'd had more than his share of weddings, but, he also understood why they were enjoyed. He, too, appreciated a good party from time to time with a delightful nuptial bed romp afterwards.

"Yes, it does end with a wedding, doesn't it?" Murata teased. "I wonder who I will marry this time around?"

"Maybe…me?" Greta said, looking excited at the prospect.

"Not on your life," Wolfram grumped, throwing the sage a dangerous glare. "But, when the time comes, years and years from now," he tugged at his constricting collar at the thought of giving his little princess away, "we will see to it that you have an extraordinary wedding, beautiful flowers, and a dress with a royal length train."

"And that special lace that I love?" Greta added hopefully. It was so expensive.

"That and more," Wolfram promised as any proud papa would. "Pearls, probably."

Murata clasped his hands together and rubbed them, "I can't wait."

"Well, I sure can," Wolfram said under his breath and opened the door for the three of them to enter the Royal Throne Room. Inside, Gunther, Conrad, Yozak, and Gwendal stood waiting patiently. There were two uniformed castle guards by the door, looking dull as usual, but they brightened upon seeing Greta and her infectious smile.

Greta went up the red carpeted stairs first, followed by Wolfram and Murata. The little princess, in her flower print dress from Earth, stood to the side and allowed her father to be at Yuuri's right. That was his appropriate place—as Yuuri's "right hand" and, from his expression alone, it was clear that he expected everyone to respect that fine position. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword casually. On the left, Murata stood and waited with Greta next to him. The child was still hugging her precious book.

Exactly where people stood made no difference to a certain double black. It was all the same to him anyway. Yuuri pushed his weighty crown away from his face and leaned forward with a pleasant but curious smile. "Why are we doing this again?" he called down to Gunther. He'd been told earlier, but that was before breakfast and he'd had a lot on his mind. After all, today was "strawberry jam day" and Greta always celebrated that with a happy dance. It was fun to watch.

The white caped adviser coughed proudly into his fist, ready to be of help to his favorite monarch. "We have a representative from the human country of Zhahel today, Yuuri Heika. Their wealth comes from: producing grains, money lending, and, interestingly enough, controlling the trade routes running throughout their central desert region."

The double black scratched his head at that. "Controlling….the what?"

"He means that they strong-arm anyone going through their very dry desert into paying huge fees to get from 'point A' to 'point B' where there's water available," Murata translated lowly. "And I wouldn't be surprised if their king sells a 'little information' along with those tasty grains they are so famous for."

The sage's sarcasm was evident and Yuuri's mouth made an "o" as he caught on.

Wolfram sighed, "Here we go again." They'd been over this, but Yuuri, evidently, had been daydreaming of something. Considering the time of day, it was probably his empty stomach or something else of minor importance. The blond looked around him and a frown slowly came to his lips. It was bad form to be giving all of this information now, just as their visitor was about to appear. The possibility of being overheard was high and so was the consequence of offence to someone who had, most likely, traveled for days and days just to get here.

Disapproving green eyes met black. They'd talk later; Yuuri wasn't going to slip out of this one so easily. It was so amateurish for The Demon King of Shin Makoku to be this way.

"R-Right…" Yuuri laughed uncomfortably and turned away, trying to sit up a little higher on the throne and not being able to because he had parked his rump smartly on his red cape. The material was pressing his shoulders down.

This was going to be one of those days.

A soft knock at the door and the guard on the right opened it. He peeked into the hallway. Based on his profile, he seemed to be pleasantly surprised and then gave his king an amused look.

Wolfram's face grew stony to that. There was something going on and he wasn't going to like it. That was for certain. His gut told him that much.

As the door was opened fully, a soft swishing of silky material could be heard. A lone visitor entered the room with what seemed to Murata to be a small, wooden treasure chest made of rich, dark cherry wood clasped in her hands. She was dressed in beautiful, deep scarlet silks which highlighted her piercing eyes, making them stand out like jewels. She approached the carpet, striding forward as though a creature in a dream, her creamy arms and long legs flashing when the dress' material moved just the right way.

"Majesty." Her smile was perfect. She had rows of fine-looking, pearl-white teeth.

Wrapped in the thin material, her breasts swayed in gentle motions and her auburn hair flowed.

Yuuri was spellbound.

Wolfram was furious.

"I have something for you," she purred with an accent foreign and eyes promising a world of carnal pleasures if he'd only allow it. She raised her arms, presenting the offering.

She passed the little group still standing to the right side. Murata noticed from where he stood that Gwendal seemed to want to face-palm himself. The Commander of the Mazoku Army could see disaster on the horizon, but he couldn't stop it without creating an awkward scene at best and offense at worst. Gunther, too, didn't seem pleased but for a different reason. That overly familiar language the woman was using was getting on his last nerve fairly quickly. In fact, anyone who tried to corrupt his flawless, innocent maou would become an enemy in his book fairly quickly (if not permanently). From his perch on high, Murata could read Yozak's lips. He asked Conrad, "Should we stop her and…?" Then, the spy turned his body more towards the side, making the rest impossible to follow.

There was a low, deep-toned growl and the distinct, unpleasant scent of something burning. Murata's eyes cut to the side. Oh, it just got better. Instinctually, Yuuri gripped the arms of the throne. He wasn't brave enough to look. Then again, he didn't have to.

He knew.

Everyone knew.

"Majesty," the woman said, her tone positively come-hither. "…a gift from my country…my king…"

But it wasn't entirely clear to Murata whether or not it was just the box or that plus the young woman that was the intended "gift." He smirked at the possibilities.

She was stunning and she would take full advantage of it, apparently. Her teasing eyes swept the room—seeing who else was interested and, all the while, enjoying a certain blond who was boiling over with jealousy. Then, her head turned back to the young, blushing double black monarch. "Mine" her walk said, and, without another word, without permission, she took the stairs up.

"Enough!" Wolfram fumed and violently stomped out the small fire he'd created on the carpet in front of him.

"N-Now, Wolf," Yuuri tried to soothe with a pacifying gesture, palms up. But it didn't go well. The blond just ignored him and took the carpeted stairs down two at a time, determined to confront the voluptuous threat right before him. He could handle her. He'd dealt with this kind of thing before because Yuuri was such a total wimp and someone had to be the one with a backbone. Someone had to set the standard. Someone had to draw a line in the sand.

And if Yuuri wasn't going to be captain of his ship, Wolfram, then, chose himself. They were engaged, after all, and everyone—everyone—was going to respect that.

"Give it to me," the blond demanded, his hand out now.

"Wolfram." Gwendal's tone had a slight and not-so-hidden thread of danger to it. Murata could practically read his mind: This was no time to go into a petty, envious rant over something so minor. This situation called for diplomacy and decorum—maturity, in other words. Getting along with these people could benefit both countries even if the Zhahel "representative" was somewhat…morally flexible.

Murata could read Conrad's face, too. There was no disguising it. Embarrassment was there. Wolfram should have known better. He'd been raised to deal with the trials of courtly life. He knew. So, there were no excuses.

"W-o-l-f-r-a-m," Gwendal repeated the name once more, another wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

Murata's attention ping-ponged between the two brothers. This was fun. He never got this kind of entertainment while staying in the temple. Sometimes, real life was far better than TV or even books.

The young woman shook her head "no" playfully, never losing that soft smile at the blond ex-prince. She swayed her shoulders, making her breasts move enticingly. "Only for the king…king only… He is the one, I'm told."

Green eyes hardened immediately. "Don't tell me 'no'! And don't tell me what to do!" he shouted and, immediately, Murata enjoyed the distinct sound of Gunther attempting to hold back a little gasp.

Indeed, this was not, at all, going well. Murata stood a little taller and rocked happily on his heels. This was absolute fun—a verbal and emotional tug-of-war on the stairs. Behind his glasses, his eyes danced.

The outstretched hand shook with fury and Wolfram began to physically smoke, heat and little tendrils of curling grey rising up all around him. "I ordered you to hand it over," the blond gritted out between clinched teeth. "An order…not a request!"

Gwendal, this time, barked a furious reprimand as Wolfram made a snatching motion for the small treasure chest. A brief struggle and he'd gotten his fingers around the domed wooden object and forced back the lid with his thumb when Murata's world spiraled into a hellish sensation of piercing, scorching misery—as though suddenly burned from within with hot steam. A deadly aura winked, then flared. His eyes flew to the box Wolfram was now holding and he stood in shock and dismay as a thick, black squid-ink substance shot out of the box and onto Wolfram's lower cheek and jaw followed by a long, glowing yellow crystal—flying out along the same course.

Time slowed.

He could hear his heartbeat.

Nothing more.

Murata saw Wolfram turn the rest of the way—his face twisted in anguish as he looked up, seemingly imploring him. Wolfram, his neck, shoulder, and right arm stained black. Shinou's arm was stained when he was nearing the end and the darkness was eating him alive.

Wolfram was burning. Alive.

The same face. The same expression. Agony.

The two, one.

Pain. Pain was the same for them both.

It couldn't be changed. It couldn't be helped.

Yes, it could!

"Arrest her!" Murata ordered as he ran down the stairs, thumping his feet hard as he did so. The woman, while fleeing, reached into her robes and pulled out what looked like an ice pick with a bulbous, wooden handle—whether to defend herself or to commit suicide, it wasn't clear. Gwendal wrestled the weapon away while Conrad stood behind her to block any plan of escape.

Wolfram had dropped the box and fallen awkwardly into a sitting position on the stairs, trembling. On instinct, he raked his fingers across his burning face, fingers slipping against bubbling black goo, trying to do away with the crystal—to brush it off, pull it off—anything, when Murata restrained his hand with a firm grip. "Don't," the sage commanded with traces of the black stuff splotching onto his skin as well and then, awkwardly, he rammed in his hand and removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket.

"Listen to me! Listen!" he demanded of green eyes. "You will have to endure everything until I tell you differently." The sage leaned in meaningfully. "Do you understand?!"

Wolfram, his eyes shining in pain, gave a begrudging, almost submissive, shaking "yes" but could say nothing more than that. Even though it was excruciating, he would do whatever The Great Sage told him to do. Trust was there. It surprised the sage just how much considering the short history the two of them shared and the intensely jealous nature that belonged to Wolfram von Bielefeld.

Murata dabbed at the substance, trying to get the crystal clean enough to grip with the handkerchief, and then announced, "A poison-filled 'trick box'…that's what that was…" He made a quick nod to the splintered pieces of wood on the floor. "Not a very ingenious weapon but still fairly effective," he had to admit. There had to have been spells cast on the box for it to get this far without him detecting it. He kicked himself for this oversight, for letting himself get distracted by a pretty face and a fun atmosphere. "Get everyone who has even a drop of human blood in them out of the room. That black poison has been brewed up by an expert herbalist to kill humans and half-humans."

Yuuri was standing three steps behind Murata, leaning forward slightly with deep worry in his eyes. "But…what about you, Murata? I mean, Wolf will be okay, right? But you…?"

Murata ignored the concern. He had to focus. This wasn't over. Not by a longshot.

"Have someone call Gissela because this is not good," Murata told him matter-of-factly, still studying the blond. The sage's mind was racing.

Without warning, Murata made an attempt to get the crystal and created what felt like a huge static shock between them. There was a "pop" and the sage's whole body tingled sickeningly. Wolfram cried out in pain, long and anguished—his voice echoing hideously in the room.

"S-Sorry," Murata whispered harshly, rubbing his hands together to get feeling back.

The sage backed off, letting him take deep, shaking breaths before trying once more. But it seemed as though he was on the verge of hyperventilating. The blond arched his back suddenly. Wolfram's fingers were digging into his black jacket, knuckles white.

Tears. Green eyes had tears in them. Shinou never cried. But he should have, just once at least, for someone who was worth it.

Black poison from Wolfram's right hand was soaking through Murata's jacket—black on black.

"We have no choice. We have to try again, von Bielefeld. I'm sorry, about…"

"I…" The blond's breathing suddenly hitched and Murata barely caught him, softly resting Wolfram's head on one step. Cursing to himself in Japanese, the sage leaned forward and gripped the crystal still burning into Wolfram's jaw. "I need to remove this while there's still time. These things are deadly to Mazoku," he told himself aloud, totally blocking out anything else said in the room.

He pulled with all his might.

Wild, green eyes opened as Wolfram cried out with a broken voice, the crystal finally torn from his pale skin. It left him wan and raw—bleeding heavily from a meaty hole of ripped-open skin. Murata looked upon what he was forced to do while Yuuri held Greta to his chest, making her turn away.

"I said 'go'…unless you're a full-blooded Mazoku," Murata ordered and Yozak and the guards cleared out this time on his order.

"But Murata…" Yuuri implored and the sage shook his head, waiting for him and the little princess to take a narrow, hidden door behind the throne out of the room.

"Take the escape route. Don't pass us on the stairs. And make sure that Greta touches nothing in this room."

"But…But…"

"Debating this is pointless." His tone was cold now.

"O-Okay… But, we'll be waiting for you...you both."

Then, he heard two sets of feet make their way for the hidden door and Murata found himself able to breathe a little easier.

But just a little.

From the door, Conrad called out to Murata, "Shouldn't you be leaving, too? Gissela's on her way now. She's coming as fast as she can." The concern was there, evident. And his brown eyes had questions.

Murata wrapped the wet, muck-covered handkerchief around the glowing crystal and knotted it tightly. Then, he dropped it down to the foot of the stairs, hoping that would give some distance between it and Wolfram. Murata then showed his black-splotched hands, "Sorry… It's too late for me."

From within, he laughed at the irony, somehow bitterly pleased with it.

It was not his purpose to safeguard the fiancé of the king. The Great Sage of Shin Makoku belonged to the reigning king and the country. It was a destiny and a design—a position of greatness. But, at times, it felt as though he was simply part of the furniture. And an outdated piece at that.

But he knew why he did this and he knew why it was a calling—an illogical, compelling one.

To atone…and something more…

The Original Sage's feelings, despite the façade, ran strong and deep. This made an innate reaction from inheriting his memories, once Murata really thought about it. And those feelings were not his. But they were his. And Wolfram was not Shinou, but he had Shinou's youthful face and blood running through his veins.

"Nothing good will come from associating with me."

Ancient words, an ancient prediction.

A promise.

How badly it worked out for them. And, yet, there was a chance to make it all better—because Murata had seen small changes and knew that, very soon, the bratty prince was going to be the key to a certain someone's happiness. And, in return for his patience and sufferings, the fire wielder would get the one thing money couldn't buy—a family. A place to belong. Love.

But only if he didn't die.

"It will be fine," Conrad called from the doorway but with no confidence behind it. "You must…"

"I do need something…if I could have your help," Murata said, forcing a thin smile on his face that he really didn't feel. "I need another wooden box…preferably cherry wood with leather handles…and a flask of holy water. No Mazoku can touch that rare, glowing aragonite crystal," he pointed to it at the foot of the stairs, "without having their element rapidly drained from them or even eclipsed." He studied Wolfram's face while continuing with, "So, just leave the items at the door and I'll handle the rest."

Conrad forced a nod, showing he understood.

"Good," the sage sighed heavily, resting his forearms on his thighs and leaning over. He was starting to get light-headed and sick to his stomach. "And, please, forgive me for asking you to make it quick. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to walk out of here on my own."

.

.

In the infirmary, Gissela and three healers were busy tending to their special patients. While the poison was being cleared away properly, thanks to an old invention of Anissina's that was just sitting in a corner doing nothing, it was a matter of pouring healing energy into Wolfram and Murata while Conrad, Gwendal, Greta, and Yuuri observed from a respectable distance, trying not to get in the way.

"I'm not sure that our rather 'willful' patient here is quite ready for visitors just yet," Gissela stated in an even tone, hoping that Yuuri would get the hint and take his child out of the room.

"No, I have to see that Wolfram is okay, Yuuri!" Greta worried aloud. "Look at him!"

"Uh…well…" Yuuri was doing his best not to fret openly. So, he did what he usually did—tried to hide his feelings with an uncertain smile. "Wolf's getting a bandage on his face right now. See? And that poison burn on his neck was so small that she could heal it practically at once. Gissela's doing a great job. Oh…and look over here. His hand is bandaged nicely," the double black soothed in fatherly fashion as he hugged her to his side. "So, things are looking up. Really. You still have both of your fathers by your side."

She leaned into Yuuri as he rubbed her curly head. Greta sometimes needed that assurance, demonstrating to Yuuri that while she came across as more mature than others her age, she still was a little girl and needed love and support when times were toughest for her.

Being alone was one of her greatest fears. Even Wolfram knew that.

"He will be fine," Conrad confirmed, trying to smile, too. But the second son noted that Gissela didn't join in the conversation as usual. She was still taking copious notes on her clipboard and her critical eye made him troubled. Conrad looked over to Gwendal briefly. He'd noticed it, too, evidently.

"H-e-a-d-a-c-h-e," Murata complained as he opened his eyes. He'd actually been listening in on the conversation in the room, but had gotten bored of it and wanted an aspirin instead. "Pounding won't stop…"

Yuuri walked over to his best friend's bed, the two lower level healers making way for him. "What a relief!" Yuuri's black eyes almost danced, this new relief brightening them. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done."

Murata murmured "glasses" and Greta handed them over from the small side table that separated his bed from Wolfram's.

He focused on the face hovering over him. "There's no need to thank me, Shibuya. I really didn't do anything," Murata returned, sitting up achingly in the bed and allowing Yuuri to tuck a fluffy pillow behind his back. "The one who truly saved your life was von Bielefeld." He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Maybe, that would stop the throbbing briefly. Gissela handed him a cup of strong-smelling herb tea. "Thanks," he said to her and continued, "Who knew that his jealousy could actually come in handy?" He gave a wry smile to his own joke before taking a sip of tea and pruning his lips at the bitter taste. "The one who made that box probably knew that you are half Mazoku but you have the ability, unlike most, to wield an element. So, it would be logical to make a weapon that was light, easy to carry, and would kill a human as well as a Mazoku. All bases were covered with such a simple thing."

Yuuri turned his eyes to Wolfram. "I owe him a lot."

Slowly, Murata shook his head. "I don't think he did what he did because he wanted you to 'owe him'." The sage hesitantly took another sip of the steaming drink. It was cooling off but it was just as vile. "His heart was in the right place…sort of…"

"You mean he was jealous," Yuuri said with a little guilt.

"A jealous heart?" Greta asked innocently, making both Gwendal and Conrad slightly amused with her.

Murata studied the sleeping blond bishonen next to him but continued to speak to Greta. "Someday, you'll understand what he was feeling and you'll say to yourself, 'Oh, so that's what that was' and everything will all make sense." He knew that people had a habit of understanding things when the time was right and not before.

"And then the wedding comes and you ride off together into the sunset?" the child asked hopefully. She still had the red leather book with her.

Or, maybe not… he thought glumly.

Murata didn't want to lie, but he couldn't ignore any possibilities, either. "Maybe…perhaps…" But his tone spoke of disbelief.

Happily ever after doesn't exist. Or, maybe…for me, it is not supposed to.

The sage looked around the room and noticed the strange looks he was getting. He didn't want to wade into the topic too deeply. He didn't feel well enough to do so and he hoped that Yuuri wouldn't ask any questions, either—not in front of Greta, at least. Let the child keep her romantic fantasies and dreams of that special someone caring for her. Murata did note that the double black had turned away from him when he said "maybe." But, at the moment, he didn't want to play the role of king's adviser, either. Just like the blond next to him, he just wanted to sleep and let go of the day.

"So tired," came a voice and Greta immediately said, "Wolfram!"

Wolfram's eyes half-mooned. Thin slivers of emerald peeked out. Then, when he saw Greta's delighted face, he forced himself awake and took in her smile. "Hello…" he said faintly, then turned his head and scanned the room with his eyes. "How did I…get here?" The blond put his injured hand to his cheek and noticed, immediately, the bandage stretching from cheek to lower jaw. Gingerly, he patted his face and could feel that bulkiness as well. "Something happened, didn't it?" he asked feebly.

"We're proud of you, Wolfram," Gwendal praised in a gruff voice, sticking out his chest. "You stopped an assassination attempt on Yuuri Heika…even if it didn't appear to be one at the time." Yes, he'd add that little bit to remind his baby brother to not get into the habit of behaving badly. "The black poison, combined with exposure to the glowing crystal, burned your skin…making it difficult to heal."

"Yes, you took the brunt of it," Conrad joined in, "and, in turn, Geika saved you."

Murata noticed green eyes turning to him and then up as Yuuri approached the bed. The young king sat on the edge of the bed by Wolfram's side and took his uninjured hand, holding it warmly. "Thank you, Wolf… You saved me."

Wolfram gave a confused look.

Yuuri blushed slightly and went on with, "I know that girl was really, really pretty and all…and that you felt…umm…unhappy…about the way she was behaving around me and everything… I wasn't encouraging her to do anything in front of you, I mean…and…"

Wolfram turned his head slightly away and blushed harder than Yuuri, Murata noticed, and the blond bishonen couldn't meet eyes with anyone. "I must whole-heartedly apologize, but I simply do not recall this…incident," he said using the formal Mazoku tongue. "If I have created offense…?" He let the question hang in the air.

"You can stop talking like that," Gwendal huffed, irritated now. "Drop the pettiness toward Yuuri Heika. He has apologized enough."

Another confused look. This time, one aimed at his brother, followed by a soft "Wha-?"

Gissela's attention zeroed in on Wolfram and then she checked the clipboard. "I have some questions for you, then." She made her tone pleasant enough. "Just the usual."

Wolfram gave a slightly suspicious nod.

"Who is he?" and she pointed.

Wolfram gave a slight smirk. "You've got to be kidding, right?"

"Just answer the question." Her tone was polite, but determined.

The blond sighed but decided to play along, Murata noticed. It would probably be much faster that way if he did. Then, they would all leave. Wolfram turned his eyes to the tall man in the high collared green uniform. "That is My Lord Brother, Gwendal. Hopefully, he will have me released soon." His facial expression and a blond eyebrow were raised to that as if to say, "Please?"

Gwendal quirked a thin grin. He couldn't help himself no matter how peeved he was at his baby brother.

Gissela smiled at her clipboard. "Good. Now, who is he?"

Wolfram pruned his lips and glanced away. "Seriously?" he deadpanned.

"Seriously."

Wolfram's expression held a shadow of his bratty self when displeased. "If I must… This is my other brother, Conrad."

To that, Murata observed Yuuri smiling as broadly as Conrad was. It felt good to the two of them to have Wolfram acknowledge to the entire room their kinship—that blood bond. The blond had come a long way since the day they'd first met.

"I am…?" Gissela asked, pointing to herself.

"Gissela, my torturer," the blond complained, "…especially if you think you're getting any of that bitter tea in me. I can smell it from here. It reeks."

At that, the sage gave his drink a good whiff and found himself agreeing. It ranked up there with horse urine.

"I see…" Gissela made a notation on her clipboard. "So, who is he?" The green haired woman pointed to Yuuri and Wolfram followed the motion with his eyes. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room emanating from the blond fire wielder. "Come on, Wolfram," she sing-songed, "He's the one still holding your hand." Her motive was clear to the sage. She thought she'd tease Wolfram a little as payback for that obnoxious, previous comment. Predictably, Yuuri would blush even darker and it would be great fun to see them react. The word "fiancé" and, maybe, "We are going to be married," would be amusing to hear while Yuuri fled from the room.

"This is…" Wolfram turned his head away and met eyes with Murata briefly. The look was unmistakable. It said, "What, the hell, is going on? Do something!"

"Well?" Gissela prodded in a cheeky manner.

"Go on," Murata encouraged slowly, his eyes narrowing as he concentrated.

A slight shrug in the bed, but that uncomfortable expression still remained. "Umm… You see before you…Yuuri Heika, our esteemed twenty-seventh Maou of Shin Makoku." He took his hand back with respect and rested both palms on his own chest. "And standing over there is his daughter, Princess Greta."

The child's face fell.

"And I am…?" Murata asked hesitantly, not understanding this in the slightest.

The blond slowly broke into a winning smile, pained from all he'd been through but astonishingly beautiful nonetheless. "And you are Murata Ken, The Great Sage of Shin Makoku…and my husband."