aekhyun melted from the darkness back into the light of his tent that had been pitched earlier that day. His heart pounded against his ribcage, threatening to shatter it. Baekhyun’s breathing was heavy; he had sprinted through the long passage down to the pitched fort of the Shanxues’.

He did not have a reason to run. No one chased behind him, no one saw him, and no one threatened to attack him. Yet, he ran as he had never ran before, desperate to escape. Baekhyun feared. Despite all of the courage he thought he possessed, he feared, for the thought of having to face Chanyeol once again wrecked him.

Baekhyun had always thought it would be alright. But now, he knew that it would not be. Imagining killing Chanyeol and killing Chanyeol were two completely different things; at opposite ends of a single spectrum.

Tomorrow, at the rise of dawn, Baekhyun had lied to himself, he would be able to kill the man. But deep down within his heart he knew that that was only a lie. What would dawn change? What would the light of the heavens breaking through the waking clouds of morning do? How would light foster darkness? If anything, dawn would only make him even more unable to hold the steel of his blade tight within his hands.

“Hell engulf me,” Baekhyun whispered to the night.

Death. That was an escape, was it not? If death arrived, he would no longer have to bear the pain of his heart fighting with his mind. Everything was tearing him apart, piece by piece to shreds.

“Excuse me sir?” One of the soldiers that stood guard within the general’s tent asked.

Baekhyun glared at him. How dare, how dare, he disrupt him, watch him, in his weakest moment? He was pushed forward, perhaps by anger, perhaps by the desperation within his soul that needed to prove that it was still capable of killing. Baekhyun’s hand went to the neck of the man.

Baekhyun gripped tightly and lifted his soldier up into the air. His cold eyes regarded the struggling man for a single instant before clenching his hand. The snap of bone echoed through his tent.

He released.

The body of the man dropped to the group with a thud. Baekhyun smiled slightly, satisfied that he had not become weak; pleased that despite seeing Chanyeol, he was still himself. If the night had changed all, at least it had not rendered him worthless.

Friend or foe, it did not matter, Baekhyun could kill both. For his king, for his beloved king, Baekhyun was willing to stain his dirty hands a deeper shade of blood red; of rosy crimson. Tomorrow, he would ride into battle, as tall and cold as he ever was on the back of his silver stallion.

Baekhyun would close his eyes. He would lead his forces in for the kill. All would be fine. The thumping within Baekhyun’s heart slowed then, as he realized that his problems were easily solvable.

He did not have to kill Chanyeol himself. It did not matter who did in the end. Chanyeol would die in battle and Baekhyun could pretend he didn’t know, didn’t see, never knew. Baekhyun could be blind. In that way, he could achieve his duty without breaking his heart.

Baekhyun smiled as he realized this. All was still well. Tomorrow, as dawn broke, a new hope would shine down. And even if dawn could not give him the courage to kill, it could turn him blind under its dazzling light, so that he would not have to bear the blood sure to stain Chanyeol’s body in the midst of the siege.

“Someone come in here and get rid of this body, I don’t want to see it ever again,” Baekhyun called to the outside of his tent.

The body lay still, frozen to the ground as two men automatically came in and disposed of it. Baekhyun grinned the entire time. It was satisfying to be so bloodily cold. Aloof and without care or compassion – that was him. But as his finger glossed over the blade of his still uncovered sword, Baekhyun couldn’t help but shiver slightly. His blade, like all else, was frozen, but more so, sealed to winter’s curse by the blood it had spilled in Baekhyun’s steed.

Death was cold. It always was.

Baekhyun was used to it.

♥

Chanyeol watched over his troops with a wary eye as they busily fortified the falling wall. He could not stop his eyes from continuously running over the crumbling piece of infrastructure. Even if they did not fall, the wall itself would fall in the heat of battle. It was as though fate itself was against them in this fight. Glory and victory when Chanyeol needed them most would choose to become elusive.

He glanced up at the dark heavens above him that was lit with little stars in that particular night.

“Heavens, tell me this: if my fate is truly written in your stars, if my story is painted across your skies, send me a sign…will I lead my men into hell’s claws during this war?”

Chanyeol was not superstitious; he believed only in what he could see. But he would be lying if he claimed that he did not believe in the existence of heaven. There was something within the skies, some higher power, a form of glory, power, justice, and fate. Nature was controlled by a force that only some perfect being could possibly radiate. The way that all fit together in a way that could not be read by mere humans served only as proof that there was a hand behind all. Everything happened for a reason – that was the heaven's mandate.

Chanyeol spoke to the skies often, especially after Baekhyun’s departure. It created a calming aura within his soul when he looked up at the endless stretch of heaven and bared to it, his unprotected spirit. He confided in it and breathed safe in its confidence. There was another benefit to staring at the skies; when you stared up at the stretch above, sometimes tears would return to your eyes. Sometimes staring at the sky could stop your tears from falling.

“Tell me, what have you written in my legend tonight? How will my stars align tomorrow?”

There was no response. There never was. But that did not discourage Chanyeol, nor did it cause him to find talking to the sky useless. It was less about getting an answer than it was about confiding and speaking out the fears and wonderings within his heart. His words, if left unspoken, would constrict within him and suffocate his self.

Besides, he did not need the sky to respond and paint his future fate for him. Chanyeol had Zitao. Tao, the reader of heaven’s ways, was Chanyeol’s looking glass to the future. If only Tao could speak, then Chanyeol would be able to understand even better. But it was alright, it sufficed that at least Zitao would give him signs.

“Tao, you’re back,” Chanyeol automatically said when he felt a presence behind him. He did not need to turn to know that his co-commander had returned. Over the years he had gotten used to Zitao’s steps.

Zitao stepped forward, positioning himself at Chanyeol’s side instead of behind him. He gave a curt nod to his general.

“You didn’t catch him.”

Zitao shook his head but Chanyeol caught no worry in the eyes of the man and thus decided that the intruder was of no threat to the overall mission.

Tao opened his mouth and for a second Chanyeol thought the man was going to say something, but the co-commander closed his mouth again seconds later. Deafening silence settled between the two. It was then that Chanyeol noticed the sound of dripping liquid in the night.

His eyes automatically went to the ground near him. Blood.

Chanyeol grasped Tao’s hand and forced open the fist of the man. Tao winced. Blood…blood, it was everywhere. Red flooded Chanyeol's vision and then blurred as tears stun his sight. Salt water leaked from his eyes as it dripped onto Tao’s bloody palm. Tao winced again, the salt stinging his open wound.

“God. Tao…”

Once again Tao opened his mouth, but like before, nothing came out.

“This hand…this cut…it’s so deep. You could lose this hand.”

Chanyeol’s heart stung as though a thousand scorpion stingers were jabbing repeatedly into it, their vile poison damaging his blood. He clenched at Tao’s hand tightly. How? Why? Why couldn’t he protect the people around him? First Baekhyun…and now Tao? What use was his courage, his bravery, if he could not even prevent those around him from falling to harm?

“Why Tao? Why did you grab the intruder’s sword with your hand? Why didn’t you just kill him?” Chanyeol’s voice was extremely soft, barely audible in the soft breeze of night, “Mercy…it is a terrible thing in war. Having mercy on the enemy is taking the hand and slaughtering yourself and your loved ones with it. You should not have showed him mercy. Tao…if you lose this hand, what will I do?”

Tao only shook his head sadly, a sheen of tears arising in his eyes. Chanyeol wanted to know what the man was thinking. He wanted to know his reasons, but Tao did not speak. Tao never spoke.

Blood continued to drip in a seemingly endless flow from the hand of his beloved co-commander. Zitao rose his free hand and patted Chanyeol slightly on the shoulder, perhaps in a comforting gesture. The man’s face was pale, all color drained from his skin. Tao had never looked more fragile to Chanyeol – never more breakable. It reminded Chanyeol of the lifeless form Baekhyun had walked within the few days before his departure.

Then, Tao’s hand still on Chanyeol’s shoulder, the Seer collapsed.

Chanyeol’s heart stopped. Time itself ceased.

Chanyeol caught the man in his arms before he could fall completely to the stone ground of the wall. He held Tao still; desperation boiled within his veins. Tao was losing too much blood. Tao would die soon if the bleeding was not stopped. Tao.

“God damn it!” He screamed to the soldiers that had now stopped their tasks at hand to observe the crisis that was formulating, “Someone get the ing medic!”

Automatically the soldiers dispersed to the lower grounds to search for the medic they had brought along. Chanyeol was left alone on top of the tower with Zitao’s frozen body in his grasp.

Tao was his best friend. Tao was his way of communicating with the skies. Tao couldn’t die; Chanyeol wouldn’t allow it. Years. They had known each other for years. They had fought together in more battles than Chanyeol could remember. Losing Tao…that would only add another long slash across his heart, right next to the one Baekhyun had left.

Slowly Chanyeol felt his heart shattering into a million little pieces.

“Don’t die Tao,” Chanyeol commanded, “as your general, I forbid you from dying. Who will tell me of the messages in the stars if you are gone? Who will fight by my side?”

Blood continued to drip.

Chanyeol would find him. He would find the man who harmed his co-commander, and he would kill him. The intruder would pay in blood. Chanyeol swore then, that for each drop of blood Zitao lost, the man whose sword had cut into Tao’s hand would lose a dozen more.

“If you die on me, Tao, I will destroy the world. I’ll raze Shanxue until not one of their people are left standing. Die and they will pay. So, Tao, please wake up…don’t make me become the ruthless murderer that I am not.”

Chanyeol didn’t want vengeance to continue, didn’t want to kill more than he had to, but he knew, he knew that he lost Tao, blood would be spilled.

“Don’t die…”