Azama woke slowly, his body still sore. It took a moment for the events of the previous day to return to him, and his confusion at waking up in a strange room was slowly replaced by one of weariness.

He had finally gotten the chance to meditate, but the cost of nearly being mauled negated the benefits it brought him. After the second encounter with the bear, Kiran had brought Azama back to their room and Azama had almost immediately collapsed on the bed and entered the realm of sleep. He could count his blessings that he hadn’t been in his room when the bear decided to have its fun, but was this situation really that much better?

Azama pushed himself up off the bed and took stock of the room.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows through the large window on the wall behind Kiran’s bed. Azama didn’t know which side of the castle Kiran’s room on so he couldn’t be sure where in the sky the sun actually was, but considering when he had fallen asleep, he probably slept through the whole day.

The room was reasonably furnished; it wasn’t as spartan as Azama’s own room -or rather, Azama’s former room- but it was more modest than he expected the room of this army’s most important person would have been. There was the bed -of course-, as well as a desk and chair not unlike Azama’s own with a stationary set on top, as well as a dresser and a bookcase. Atop the desk sat a new change of clothes for Azama, as well as a note and a parcel.

The situation struck him as not unlike what he had encountered upon first returning to his room last night, so he started with the note, promising himself he’d read all the way through this time.

‘Azama,’ the note read.

‘I hope you’re reading this well rested after what happened yesterday. Since the bear ruined all your clothing I asked one of the tailors in town to make you a few replacements. This one might be a little loose since I don’t know your exact measurements, but Jakob has offered to tailor them once you wake up and I figured a new set of clean clothes would be better than nothing. There’s also some food, since you’ll probably be really hungry.’

‘I’m not sure when you’re going to wake up, but I’d like to talk to you before make yourself impossible to find again.’

That sentence was followed by a crude drawing a person winking.

‘This isn’t really an order, but I’d appreciate it if you’d wait here for me. I’ll check up on you every hour or so, but if you have somewhere to be we can talk later.’

‘Stay safe!’

‘-Kiran’

While he didn’t really want to stick around longer than he needed to, Azama had no pressing matters to attend to and leaving would prompt questions he didn’t want to have to answer. The room was almost unnaturally quiet, so he could pass the time by meditating a bit if the mood struck him, but being in Kiran’s room while sorting through his feelings about them might be more difficult than it otherwise would be.

For now, he’d eat and change his clothes, and then figure out where to go from there.

The package contained a small loaf of bread that was still slightly warm to the touch, as well as an orange and a few pieces of dried meat. It would make for more than just a decent meal, at least, Azama mused. He grabbed the orange, peeled it, and started walking around Kiran’s room.

While the bookshelf was the most notable feature of this room -aside from the unusually large window-, unlike most of the other rooms he’d been in, it seemed like Kiran had gone out of their way to decorate the walls of their room. Attached to the walls were a number of rough sketches of people, and closer examination revealed that they were meant to represent the various Heroes Kiran had summoned, though there were a handful of some that Azama couldn’t recognize despite the attention to detail that had been put into them.

Having finished the orange, Azama went back to the table and grabbed the loaf of bread, tearing off a piece as he returned to the drawings on the wall.

There was a drawing of a young lady who seemed to be using both magic and -of all things- a knife on some unseen enemy, her pose invoking the same kind of assertiveness that Camilla carried herself with while wearing a notably more modest outfit. Beside this sage (or was she some type of magic-using assassin?) was a sketch of a man who was roughly the same age. His claim to fame seemed to be both a physique that dwarfed anyone Azama had ever seen and an outfit that made no attempt at concealing it, and his slicked back hair and chinstrap beard added to his distinct look. There was a note scrawled in the corner of his paper with arrows pointing towards the two of them saying “do NOT separate”.

‘Would that make them a couple? Or was Kiran just playing matchmaker with people who hadn’t even shown up yet? They both seemed to be oddballs but sometimes that’s where a relationship’s chemistry came from.’

Having finished the bread, Azama glanced towards the meat on the desk. While strictly speaking he wasn’t a vegetarian, meat was considered a minor luxury in Hoshido and as a monk he had no problem with foregoing it for months during times of shortage. On the other hand, leaving just the meat would probably just lead to questions from Kiran that he didn’t care to have to answer, so in the long run it might just be easier to literally bite this figurative bullet.

‘I’m still hungry, so I might as well eat it, and the castle probably has plenty of meat to use from the-’

‘Nope!’ Azama interrupted his own train of thought, refusing to finish that thought. He wasn’t going to go there and remind himself of things that would ruin his comparatively good mood.

He grabbed the dried meat and turned back to the sketches on the walls, doing his best to quell any unwanted ideas before they could take root in his mind.

Another illustration that stood out to Azama was the only one that was a close up of anybody’s face. This man, who was drawn in much greater detail than all the other people Kiran had drawn, had a very striking face, and the first word that came to mind when looking at him was ‘sturdy’. His cheekbones and brow were well defined beneath the weathered skin of his face, and the eyebrows above his eyes were bushy and may have evoked the concept of a fiery personality on someone younger. Framing his face was an impressive head of hair that put Prince Ryoma’s to shame as it wrapped down below his chin to form a beard that made the late King Sumeragi’s look modest in comparison. While all of this would normally come off as at least mildly intimidating to Azama, something about how Kiran had chosen to draw this man’s eyes and small smile elicited the opposite emotion. They reminded him of how Wrys’ expression brought about a sense of warmth and safety, and while the rest of the features on this man’s face didn’t exactly scream ‘friendly’ Azama was nonetheless surprised at how, despite all that, this man struck him as someone who was innately good at handling situations that required care.

Of course, this was all disregarding the elephant in the room: instead of ears like Azama’s, this man had two small cat ears poking out of his hair, roughly in line with his eyebrows. Azama had heard rumors of a clan of fox-like humans in the southern mountains of Hoshido, but they apparently had massive, fluffy tails and ears that dwarfed the size of their head, which seemed far removed from the subtlety of this man’s feline features. With the realization that he wasn’t looking at a human, but rather at someone of another race, some of the other parts of his appearance began to make more sense. The way his hair erupted from his face was more like a lion’s mane, and while it was a bit of a stretch, the way his beard grew a little towards his lip could be some type of vestigial whiskers, but that still left the question of who this man was.

The only clue Azama had towards piecing together this man’s identity was a note in the bottom right corner of this portrait, which read ‘King of Red Lions’ with another note below it that said ‘(not a boat)’.

He had no idea what the boat comment meant, but this man did have the demeanor of a king and lion-like features. Perhaps he was the leader of a country inhabited by others of his race? That seemed to be the likely answer, and given that this man was clearly of some importance, Azama could probably confirm his identity by asking around if it ended up being that much of a concern to him.

Switching gears a bit, one of the oldest sketches, which suffered from heavily yellowed paper and faded ink, was of a monocle-wearing mage that could be none other than Canas, who had been summoned in the middle of the past summer. This anachronistic art at first made no sense, since it meant Kiran had known of Canas well before he had been summoned, but it actually might be the final piece needed to solve one of the various mysteries surrounding Kiran.

Now done with the meat and critiquing Kiran’s skills as an artist, Azama returned to the desk and began to change into the newly made clothes that had been prepared for him. He had barely gotten through with removing his prayer beads and headdress before it occurred to him that he had no idea if the door to Kiran’s room was locked, or if it even could be in the first place.

A brief investigation revealed that -for whatever reason- the deadbolt could only be engaged using a key. Having no way of ensuring that nobody could walk in on him, he simply placed a chair up against the door in hopes that it would deter any would-be accidental voyeur long enough for Azama to convey whatever state of undress he was in and resumed swapping out his clothes as he let his mind wander.

Kiran seemed to have some degree of knowledge of Heroes before they were summoned. While this could be an ability granted by Breidablik, there wasn’t any consistency between their level of understanding of any given Hero. As far as Azama could tell, this varied from knowing Ike’s entire life story to only knowing that Ishtar wielded Mjolnir, and if it was indeed information provided by Breidablik, the inconsistency between depth of knowledge would in turn be inconsistent with how every other feature of Breidablik had been so well thought out. Yes, it was possible that the regalia’s creators had limited information on certain Heroes while knowing almost everything about others, but it was vastly more convincing that Kiran had acquired that information elsewhere.

If that was true, where did they get it from?

It’s possible that tales of different Heroes were passed down as legends from the world they hailed from, but that would beg the question of where the legends had come from. While he certainly was curious enough to want to find out the why Kiran knew, the only way to get those answers was to ask them and the idea of going out of his way to interact with them wasn’t exactly appealing.

Putting the final touches on his outfit, which fit him far better than any outfit that wasn’t already custom tailored to his body had any right to, Azama was irritated that he still didn’t know how he felt about Kiran. They evidently didn’t mean anyone any harm, he mused, but anyone who had spent more than half an hour with Corrin would tell you that your intentions and the results of your actions could be two vastly different things. If Azama knew if the whole ‘sending home’ business was ‘death’ or not he could move on from it, but as it stood he had no way to sort through his complicated feelings regarding Kiran without asking them himself. Kiran seemed to be willing to send people home without much thought, and while it would be uncharacteristically malicious of them, it wouldn’t surprise Azama if his query would be met with a “Do you want to find out?” and a sadistic smile.

Musing over the cruelty of fate to have put him in such a position, Azama walked over to the door to move the chair back to the desk. As if taking pity for all that he had been subjected to within the past day and waiting until he was done with all he wanted to do at the moment, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Hello? Azama?” a familiar voice called out, “Are you awake?”

Azama thanked the gods that his reunion with Kiran would be delayed, for the one who stood on the other side of the door was none other than Celica. She would no doubt dote on him, but that was far easier to stomach than the emotional turbulence that being near Kiran would bring about.

“One moment, I need to unblock the door.”

Moving the chair out of the way, Azama went to open the door before a sudden realization stopped him as he was halfway through turning the doorknob.

Celica may be outside, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that Kiran was there with her. Surely they wouldn’t do it deliberately, like some sort of interpersonal trojan horse, but the idea that he would have to face Kiran and Celica together, when he was at his most vulnerable, made him entertain the idea of that it might have been more ideal if that bear had been just a little bit faster, just a little bit more ravenous.

Azama braced himself for the worst and opened the door.

Kiran wasn’t there; it was just Celica.

“Are you feeling better? I heard about how you were attacked by a bear yesterday and wanted to check up on you.”

“Wrys did a good job at treating my wounds.”

“Oh, that’s a relief! I saw the remains of your outfit because I was on garbage disposal duty today-”

‘Of course you were,’ Azama thought to himself, hating how his gut was always right whenever he didn’t want it to be.

“-so I was afraid that the bear roughed you up a bit too much.”

Azama was silent for a moment, wishing his acknowledgement of Celica’s doting had been enough for his discomfort with it to disappear.

“Not that there’s a way to be roughed up by a bear too little, of course,” Celica hastily added, concerned that Azama’s silence was a sign of displeasure with her wording.

“I appreciate the concern, but you needn’t worry yourself over a monk like myself.”

“Now Azama, you shouldn’t think of yourself like that! You’re just as vital to our success as anyone else here! You shouldn’t be afraid of asking for more from people!”

Azama sighed, too tired to hold his tongue on this matter any longer.

“Your scolding would be more effective if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing.”

“Pardon?” Celica didn’t look angry, but rather …surprised, perhaps, that someone may have seen something that she went to great extents to hide.

“I apologize for my curtness, but the way you try to bear everyone’s burdens isn’t healthy. There’s merit in trying to be a saint, but you shouldn’t strive to be a martyr. You’re free to help people all you want but you can’t help people if you burn yourself out.”

“That’s…”

“Your friends are worried about you, Celica. I know you might not be comfortable with revealing-” Azama stopped himself, glancing down the hallway to make sure nobody would overhear him, dropping his voice to just above a whisper before he continued, “with revealing that you’re the last surviving member of the Zofian royal family, but there will come a point in your life where you’re going to be faced with the decision to either rely on your allies or to shoulder it all yourself and if you aren’t realistic with what you can do on your own there’s no guarantee that all the years you spent in hiding will pay off.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t aware that you were that worried about me. I’m sorry that you worried-” Celica paused, before correcting herself, “No, rather, I’m glad that you let me know you felt that way about me.”

“I’ve been playing the ‘hide all your problems from others’ game much longer than you have, and while it’s far too late for me to change my ways I’d hate to see you head down the same path.”

“You’re a really nice person beneath all those layers of sarcasm, you know?”

Azama laughed, “Hinoka made the same mistake when she was looking for retainers and she’s regretted it ever since.”

“You seem to be feeling better, at least,” Celica smiled, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not really, I’m just waiting for Kiran.”

“Okay, then I’ll be taking my leave. I hope we’ll have the chance to be on the battlefield again soon.”

Azama sighed, shutting the door as the young lady walked away. He normally would have just allowed Celica’s actions to bear whatever fruit they would, but, despite his best efforts, the bond they developed was forged in the fires of combat and it hurt Azama when he saw himself in her. Maybe it was because so many people from the land he hailed from chose to wear their heart on their sleeves, but he felt a sense of kinship between himself and Celica that was unlike anything he had ever felt, but because it was derived from parts of him he understood were inherently bad he couldn’t help but worry that she’d drive herself into a corner that she couldn’t safely get out of. Hopefully she’d reconsider how she went about things after their conversation, but she was at that age where kids just weren’t able to admit to themselves that they aren’t equipped to do what they want to, so Azama was reluctant to believe that she’d take that conversation to heart.

“It’s a shame she might not even remember this conversation when she returns to her world.”

He fell onto Kiran’s bed, allowing his limbs to fall whichever way they so desired as he stared up at the ceiling.

“If she is returned to her world.”

A moment passed.

“Now that’s a depressing thought I haven’t yet entertained.”

Azama had spend the past year or so at the Order of Heroes functioning under the assumption that when the day came he would be freed from his torment, but what if he wouldn’t? Azama had, in the span of less than a day, had gone from tired of this world to absolutely exhausted, and the idea he could never escape? Dreadful.

While he personally hadn’t noticed it in regards to himself as a man in his late 30s, the younger Heroes hadn’t aged a day since they had been summoned. Using the homunculus explanation, it would be easy to rationalize that oddity, but Sharena and Alfonse, natives to Askr who were in the prime of their adolescent years as well, hadn’t changed a single bit either. Did that mean that Azama wouldn’t be able to wait for old age if all other means of escape failed? Would he have to rely on the off-chance that Kiran would chose to free him themself? Sure, the idea of a world where nobody aged sounded utterly hellish, but Alfonse had spent many a day lamenting how he wished to return to when he and Zacharias were younger, indicating that at some point in the past people in Zenith aged. Time still flowed, as the early spring he had been summoned during gave way to summer, which flowed into autumn, then winter, then back to spring and now into the blazing hot summer they were currently subjected to, but it seemed as if it flowed independently from-

Azama stopped himself, backpedaling a bit to address something far more pressing than that.

“Oh boy, there’s a fun thought.”

Was this hell?

Was this some sort of afterlife meant to punish Azama? Plenty have said that ‘hell is other people’, and while Azama wouldn’t rule out the idea of him having done something he couldn’t remember that would justify the ordeals he had gone through over the past year and a half, there were plenty of people here who Azama simply couldn’t imagine being worthy of eternal torment.

Zelgius had almost indubitably committed some grievous sin, and maybe Katarina’s murky past involving an attempted regicide was enough to be put here by whatever higher power deemed it so, but what about Nino, who was too young to have willfully committed anything wrong? What about Wrys, who was as close to a literal saint as you could get? Perhaps the only requirement for entrance into this land of suffering was to have killed someone, regardless of the context? Everyone here had participated in a war of some kind, but there were people, like Hector, who didn’t seem to mind living in this world. Could it be a personal hell custom tailored to be as insufferable as possible to Azama, with other Heroes being mere constructs based on people trapped in a distant, far off hell of their own? Was-

Azama emerged from the depths of his thoughts, noticing the sound of someone rushing down the hallway. His line of thought had gotten more a little ridiculous for a moment there, but the telltale hustle of their footsteps betrayed who it was.

‘Wow, I sure do hope that’s not who I think it is.’

They stopped right outside, gently knocking on the door.

“It’s unlocked.”

“Oh, you’re awake?” Kiran let themself in, confirming Azama’s suspicions, “That’s great! How are you feeling?”

“Too tired to pretend to be better.”

“That understandable.”

Today, like every day before, Kiran seemed to be a woman, probably roughly his own age. Her voice was assertive, almost commanding, but it softened slightly as she spoke to Azama.

‘Of course,’ Azama corrected himself, knowing to not trust his own memories on this matter, ‘They surely were someone else entirely yesterday.’

“How do the clothes fit?”

“Almost too well. You didn’t measure me in my sleep, did you?”

“Of course not!” Kiran laughed as they brought the chair Azama left by the door back to the desk and sat down, facing Azama, “I’d never betray your trust like that.”

‘Do I actually trust you?’ Azama asked himself, hating how he couldn’t find an answer.

A moment passed.

“Celica was looking for you earlier; did you get the chance to talk?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a nice girl, that one. Maybe a bit too nice for her own good, if I had to pass judgement.”

‘Do you know why she’s like that? Is that why we’re supporting?’

“Did you do that on purpose?” Azama broke the silence this time.

“Do what?”

“Put us together because of that. She’s like I was when I was younger, except far more eager to save everyone, and I’ve been trying to figure out if you were trying to have me serve as some sort of cautionary tale to get her to realize the danger of her ways before it’s too late for her to change.”

Kiran shifted in their seat, pausing before responding.

“I wasn’t really aware of what you were like when you were younger. Celica needs to be healed after using Ragnarok, and your defenses can cover-”

“Yes, yes,” Azama interrupted, not caring to hear the rest of a spiel he was all too familiar with, “I do love acting as a meat shield, as you know. Are you some kind of lowkey sadist?”

“I-,” Kiran held their tongue for a moment, “You’re not usually this snappy, would you like more time off?”

‘Oh, really?’

“I’m exhausted, and pity isn’t going to help. Being here has taken a lot out of me, but I still want to talk, the two of us, one on one. I want answers, really, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get any if I let this chance slip through my fingers.”

“I’ll tell you whatever I can. It’s the least I could do for you.”

“Then answer my question.”

“Ah, right. Me being a sadist. I apologize if it came off that way, but I don’t enjoy making you suffer. You have defenses that rival Hardin’s and I didn’t want to let that go to waste.”

“Hardin wears armor, I don’t.”

“That is… true. I can deploy you less often, if you’d prefer.”

‘Combat is less monotonous that just waiting around to die; would I regret taking them up on their offer?’

“I’ll get back to you on that. Going back a bit, you do know some things about Heroes before they’re summoned, no? Why?”

Kiran remained silent, their mouth contorting as they tried to find some way to weasel their way out of answering.

“Are you really going to go back on your word that quickly?” Azama was too tired to feel angry, but he did his best to let Kiran know he wasn’t happy with their silence.

“I’m sorry, Feh really doesn’t want me talking about that.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Azama let out an exasperated sigh, “Is it because the truth is too hard for us mere mortals to bear? The way she talks about ‘Heroes of Legend’ and ‘people of a far off world’ so much that it’s not hard to piece together enough of the picture. After all, while it would make sense for legends to be passed down within their worlds and maybe even worlds a few outrealms apart, but in a world so ‘far off’ that it has almost nothing in common? The answer is almost painfully obvious, Kiran.”

“That’s-”

“I don’t care if I end up being some fictional character in your world. It’s out of my control, and what matters to me is that I’m real in this world. If you can’t tell me the truth, that’s fine. Those drawings on your wall tell me more than enough; you knew things you couldn’t have, and that information had to come from somewhere.”

Kiran, once again, remained silent. It was clear that they were conflicted about this, but

“If you want a definite answer, you can confront Feh. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you any more than this.”

“Fine. Speaking of which, who are they?”

“The people I drew?”

“Yeah. I recognized Canas and a few others, and there was someone who could be Yukimura, but I didn’t recognize most of them, like that knife mage and that man you called the ‘King of Red Lions’.”

“Knife mage?” Kiran looked at Azama, dumbfounded for a moment before they let out a laugh, “That’s one way of describing her. Do you want the short answer? I can talk about them for hours.”

“In the grand scheme of things, I don’t really care.”

“They’re people from various worlds that I’d like for us to be able to summon one day. The ‘knife mage’ is Calill, a sage from Tellius, and the man next to her is Largo, her husband. The lion-like man is a Laguz from-”

“Hold up. What’re Laguz?”

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting. Unlike most other lands, Tellius has two major races, Beorc, who are humans like us, and Laguz, who have the ability to transform into a more ‘animal like’ form in a way similar to the Manakete from Archanea. There are a bunch of subspecies of Laguz that can transform into different forms, like Ravens or Dragons, and when-” in a rare moment of self-awareness, Kiran stopped themself, “I’ll spare you the details, since we aren’t even able to summon Laguz right now. That man is Caineghis, the king of the country Gallia and he is a Lion Laguz.”

“Should I ask why he’s ‘not a boat’?”

“In another world that’s a boat with that same title.”

“Right-o. You like Tellius a lot, it seems.”

“Its history and how its political climate has changed throughout the years has fascinated me for quite some time.”

“Mhmmm,” Azama mumbled in acknowledgment, taking a moment to gather his thoughts again.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Are Heroes actually pulled from other worlds, or are they ‘created’ using the ‘originals’ as a type of blueprint?”

Kiran put their hand to their chin, deep in thought.

“That’s not something I’m equipped to answer, sorry. We still haven’t learned a lot of things about how summoning works, but if I find out you’ll be the first to know.”

“It’s not that big of a problem; I exist as an entity of some form right now, and that’s enough for me. I guess that means you don’t know what happens to Heroes after they are consumed during skill inheritance, nor after they are ‘sent home’ or used to make combat manuals, huh?”

“We don’t. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Of course not,” Azama sighed, realizing he actually said that out loud a few moments later.

“I take it you’re concerned about what happened to the Wrys, Zelgius, Lukas, and Camilla who gave you their skills?”

“In a way. I’ve thought about it as much as I can with what I know now, and while they all consented to it, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“I don’t have any answers for that. Maybe it’s because my work back where I came from required me to sacrifice other living beings for what some called ‘the greater good’, but maybe your distaste for it indicates that you’re a little more human than the rest of us.”

“‘More human’, huh? That’s a concept that can sour easily.”

“…Yeah.”

“You don’t seem to have most of the answers.”

Kiran looked away, frowning slightly.

“I guess. I wish I could help you with this, Azama, but different people have different ways of looking at things and trying to guess how you should feel isn’t going to improve things.”

The air in the room had grown heavy, making Azama wish he could just sink into the bed and disappear. Kiran was taking this seriously, which Azama appreciated, but the lack of answers was frustrating.

“What did you do back home?”

“I did cellular res-” Kiran stopped themself again, “Sorry, I’ve been here for a year and a half now and I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that everything is so different. I researched new types of medicine, which sometimes required me to test them on …very small creatures.”

“Oh, right, the world you came from doesn’t have magic.”

“Being able to heal people with the wave of a hand would be convenient, but we made up for it in our own way.”

“By killing other things? That’s quite the morbid take on the meaning of ‘equivalent exchange’.”

“That wasn’t something I enjoyed, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

They sat in silence for a moment, giving Azama ample time to summon the willpower to ask his next question.

“Speaking of which, you’ll be freeing me of my time here at some point, right?”

Kiran turned back to Azama, surprised that the conversation had shifted in this direction.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, of course, the final release, the goodbye, the farewell, the ta-ta and toodle-oo,” Azama tried to stop himself there, but the words kept flowing, “I’ve grown tired of this place, and yet I have no way of leaving. Letting myself get mauled by a bear will only make me suffer, and if I fall in battle I’ll just be revived here. Heroes don’t age, so I can’t even just wait for my time to be up, which leaves my only way out of this place in the hands of you.”

Kiran remained silent, prompting Azama to turn his head towards the window.

“I want to go home, Kiran. The bear was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I haven’t enjoyed a single moment of my time at the Order of Heroes and I just want out. It took me an eternity to be able to successfully meditate, and it only made me realize how much I don’t want to be here. The only moment of peace I have is when I’m asleep, but it’s hard to even view that as a positive thing when it’s just a fleeting moment of unconsciousness between one hell and the next.”

Azama took a deep breath before continuing.

“The only thing getting me out of bed for the past year and a half was the hope that maybe that day would be the day that I’d meditate away my problems but when that day came it didn’t bear fruit! All my waiting was for nothing! When will you let me out of this hell, Kiran?!”

“Azama, I-,” Kiran paused, choosing their words carefully, “I’d like a moment to think my answer through, if you don’t mind.”

“Take your time.”

“I didn’t realize you were this depressed. I’m… hesitant to send you home on such short notice, since I want to be sure it’s what you really want, but if you’d let me I’d like to do whatever I can to make your time here more enjoyable. It’s my fault, as summoner, that your problems have grown to this point and I’d like to do what I can to make up for that.”

Azama sank deeper into the bed, too tired to move into a more comfortable position.

“Why do you do this? Why do you force yourself to care about me?” Azama felt the emotions build up, the sorrow, the agony, begging to be released in a flood of tears that his body had long forgotten how to produce, “Why did you invest so many resources into me? Why did you deploy me every chance you got? Why are you so intent on keeping me here?”

Kiran remained silent long enough for Azama to start bracing himself for an answer he wasn’t going to like.

“I like you, Azama.”

For a moment, Azama felt a flash of rage.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“Azama, please, hear me out,” Kiran begged, “I’m not attracted to you, this isn’t me proposing to you without warning, but I do enjoy your presence. You’re the only person who remotely down-to-earth here, even if you do everything you can to hide your own thoughts. You’re the only person who I feel I can have a decent conversation with, and without you I feel that the Order of Heroes would be incredibly lonely no matter how many Heroes I summoned.”

Kiran’s pace picked up, not giving Azama a chance to butt in.

“I’m out of my element here, Azama. I’m an unfathomable distance away from my home, and you’re the only person here remotely like anyone I knew before coming here. Where I came from, the idea of warfare was so far removed from daily life that it was easy to forget the nation I was from had been at war with somebody else in one form or another since its inception two hundred years ago. I never thought I’d have to participate in one, much less lead an entire army on my own! I’m constantly in terror of the fact that I could make one wrong move and this entire world would be doomed because some war criminal is going to be able to run free! I do my best to make seem like I have things together for morale, but I don’t! I feel like I’m juggling a bushel of babies on a tightrope and I have to pretend that it’s as natural to me as breathing! But I can look to you and your presence is stabilizing. You’re the one point of familiarity I have in this world and even if Hoshido couldn’t be any more different from my land I see you and even if it’s for the briefest of moments I don’t feel like I’m performing in a circus from OSHA’s nightmares. I know this is selfish of me, and I’m sorry; I know that this isn’t what you want to hear, and I’m sorry, but for my own sanity I need you to let me help you because if you go away I’m afraid everything is going to fall apart. I’d love if I could pretend this was me, as someone who had been trained as a doctor even if I never went down that path, objecting to allowing you to end your own life without serious consultation, or if I could pretend this was me wanting you to not give up hope just yet, but in the end I feel like I’ve become so dependent on your presence that the mere idea of you not being here already makes me sick to my stomach.”

Azama stared at Kiran for what felt like an eternity as he tried to process what they had just said. There was a lot to unpack, as he didn’t realize that Kiran was hiding as much from him as he had hidden from them.

Kiran was the first to break eye contact, flustered.

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have-”

“Give me a moment to digest all that before you apologize for the 80th time tonight.”

Kiran took a deep breath in and, after holding it for longer than Azama felt could have been healthy, slowly let it out.

“That’s fine. Go ahead.”

Azama took a few deep breaths of his own in an attempt to clear his head.

Kiran had been panicking when they were talking, that much was clear. Despite their apparent fixation on Azama as a way to stay emotionally grounded, they also seemed to make an honest attempt at respecting Azama as a person. They hadn’t forced themselves onto him, gave him plenty of space, and even seemed genuinely concerned for his wellbeing after everything that had happened in the past day.

Could that all have been to manipulate Azama into trusting them?

Sure, Azama couldn’t rule that out. People who wanted to hide their intentions frequently were more likely to reveal them, but Kiran didn’t send out the same warning signs Lukas did. Above all, Azama trusted his ability to judge people, and Kiran, by all appearances, didn’t seem like a bad person.

And even if Kiran was some sort of manipulative stalker secretly trying to coerce him into staying, did that change the fact that Azama could gain things from this? He hated to be pragmatic about relationships, but he’s at his wits end and if exploiting Kiran’s attachment to him would lead to his quality of life improving he could deal with whatever guilt he felt over it when he encountered it.

In truth, he did not seek the release of death as desperately as his wording suggested. The lack of knowledge of what occurred once a unit was sent home made it far more of a risk than plain old suicide back in Hoshido; if a Hero who was sent home only lost their physical body and was forever trapped to wander the world as a spirit, unable to interact with the world they were bound to and unable move on, how could he view that as an improvement? The ‘great unknown’ was truly unknown, and the safest option for bettering his circumstances was to try to control the world around himself. Up until now he had no means to do so, but Kiran, as the de facto leader of the Order of Heroes, might be the only person here able to help.

If nothing else, it was worth trying out.

Azama propped himself up on the bed, his body aching from sitting still for so long. He stretched, letting out a contented sigh as blood began to flow through his limbs again.

“We both just said some things in the heat of the moment that we probably wouldn’t have had we been calmer.”

Kiran nodded in agreement, waiting for Azama to continue.

“I feel,” Azama spoke slowly, each word carefully picked so they couldn’t be misconstrued, “that there has been a lack of communication between us.”

Kiran nodded again, since it couldn’t have been truer. Before today, Kiran and Azama had barely spoken of matters unrelated to combat. In part it had been because Kiran was nearly constantly occupied by some important matter only a summoner could handle, but Azama couldn’t deny that he had made an effort to avoid them due to his complex, unresolved feelings over units being sent home.

“Before I say anything else, I need you to understand that I do not, in principle, want to die. Death is only a means by which I would be escaping this infernal world.”

Azama paused, giving Kiran time to process that.

“However, I cannot be sure that being sent home actually sends me home, nor can I be sure that it actually kills me. In essence, ‘suicide’ isn’t guaranteed to give me the result I seek, and because it is an irreversible process I find the risk involved too much.”

Azama took a deep breath, knowing that what he was going to say next was a point of no return.

“Because of that, I am willing to take you up on your offer to help me.”

Kiran noticeably perked up beneath their robes upon hearing that.

“However!” Azama interjected Kiran’s growing sense of relief, having yet to complete that though, “However, I will not rule out the possibility that at some point in the future I will want to be sent home. I need to know that if that day comes you’ll permit my release.”

“I’m… I can’t commit to that right now. I’m sorry.”

“Kiran, I’m going to be honest with you. I understand that you’re attached to me, but you need to realize that being that fixated on anybody to that level isn’t healthy. What if I fell ill and no cure could be found in time? What if whoever we have to face next, be it Loki or someone else, finds a way to kill Heroes for good? Even if-”

“I know,” Kiran didn’t wait for Azama to finish, “I’m well aware. I don’t want to force my problems on to you, but it’s a habit I’ve been trying to get rid of for over a decade and without realizing it I started to depend on you, and I’m sorry for that.”

“We evidently both have a lot of issues, Kiran. If nothing else, we can talk though things and try to resolve them.”

“You shouldn’t have to be my therapist. This was supposed to be me helping you, I can’t even-”

“Speaking to you, before I brought up sending me home, was the closest I’ve come to any degree of catharsis since I was summoned. It helped me, Kiran, and if I were less exhausted, I may have actually enjoyed our talk. Talking to others about your problems can be therapeutic, and I have no problem with you getting that out any chats we have.”

“I don’t-”

“We all have this problem, Kiran. You, me, and Celica. We all want to be selfless and help people and deal with their problems, but we all pretend that we don’t have any of our own until it becomes too much to bear and we break down right when it’s vital for us to maintain our composure. You clearly realize this is a problem you have, and I can’t, in good faith, allow you to help me at such a cost to yourself.”

Kiran shifted in their seat, but Azama refused to give them the opportunity to deny what he was saying.

“You shouldn’t let yourself be troubled by the idea that we’d be separated. You’ve clearly grown fond of me, but if you want to give me more of your time, I’d like to give you more of my time in turn, not less.”

Azama let out a long sigh.

“We’re both adults. I need you, as my superior officer, to, after admitting that you can’t do this on your own, be willing to let people help you. Is that unfair of me to ask?”

Kiran remained silent for a long time.

“No, not at all. You’re… right. We’ve holed ourselves up in our own shells and refused to allow others to share the burdens we shoulder, whether we meant to or not. We both let problems grow until they became unbearable without doing anything about them, and that’s how we got to this point.”

A single tear rolled down Kiran’s face.

They wiped it away, but another came to take its place.

And another.

And it quickly turned into a steady flow of tears as they cupped their head in their hands.

“Oh god,” they managed to get out between sobs, “I really thought I was alone here. I was about to give up, to just… I don’t know. But all I, all we had to do was reach out to someone. That was it, that was all I needed to do and I just didn’t. I didn’t even try.”

“All we can do is try.”

Azama wrapped his arms around Kiran, hugging them closely as their sobbing slowly receded.

“And if things don’t work out?” He continued.

Kiran looked up at Azama, their hood still concealing all but their mouth and chin. The tears had stopped, but it was evident that they, like Azama, were still recovering from the sudden burst of unpleasant emotions they experienced earlier.

“At least we tried.”