CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

This wasn't the first time Tatsuya found himself in a precarious situation, held captive against his will—over the years, his vendetta against Kuro and sense of self-preservation had not endeared himself to any noble—but this time was different, he wasn't alone. Beside him, sat on a threadbare state-filled pallet serving as their bed with her hands and feet similarly unshackled, in a room sparsely furnished and devoid of any comfort or amenities, was Farah.

WhIch, honestly, left him feeling conflicted.

On one hand, misery loved company—it wasn’t a lie to say a part of him was deriving a sick satisfaction from this—but on the other, Farah didn't deserve to be stuck in this terrible situation with him, because Tatsuya knew there was no way this would end well. It couldn’t. He was involved, and due to how his life worked, that usually skewed things into the negative. After all, his life has been a series of fuck you’s, and it wouldn’t even surprise him if the spirits had planned this from the start.

Maybe a bit too left field, but fuck, he didn't know why they were kept together once Ferris had handed them over to the capital militia. It seemed odd, considering his previous encounters with captivity. Usually, people were separated and isolated from any potential allies or sources of support. Maybe it was an act of kindness. Ferris was aware Farah had decided to stay back instead of escaping with the others and might have thought them foolish lovers, and because it was obvious the room was not meant for long-term incarceration but rather for temporary holding (until execution, that was), maybe this was the lord’s way of rewarding her actions; allowing her to spend her last moments with her supposed lover.

Or maybe it was because they, as fire and air elementals, had no hopes of escaping past the multi-layered stone wall or metal door. Either way, the reason ultimately didn't matter. Tatsuya wasn’t averse to the decision, and racking his brain, as he did, offered him a moment of quiet introspection, allowing him to feed his curiosity—and speaking of that, there was something more important he just had to know.

His execution drew closer with every passing second, yet he was still undecided about his next action. Obviously, he didn't want to die, but he would feel better about potentially dooming thousands of innocents (again) if he knew whether or not the Wind Blades’ plan could still happen, with or without his interference—or what said plan was for that matter. He needed more information.

“What exactly did you guys plan on doing at the capital?” He tried to keep his voice low, unaffected by the desperation he could feel bubbling within. “Why didn't you want me going after Kuro?”

Farah’s head rose from between her knees to face him, face scrunched in obvious confusion.

“What exactly would my actions jeopardise?”

“Oh,” she said after a while, legs straightening out and hands coming to a rest on either side of her body. Her pose was open, willingly vulnerable, but paradoxically, her tone was guarded. “I… don't think I can answer your questions.”

It took all he had to stop the sudden surge of anger at her words—this was a matter of life and death, his life and death—but he managed with a sigh through his teeth. “Why?”

“It isn't my call to do so.”

“I understand that”—mirroring her actions months ago, he took a deep breath to forcefully purge himself free from said anger before gently reaching out and placing his hand on hers, breaking the tense atmosphere that had enveloped them—“but look at it from my point of view: I was asked to put aside my own goals in favour of yours, and I don't even know what yours is. That is neither right nor fair to me.”

Farah shifted uncomfortably, her teeth teasing her bottom lip as she turned to the side, away from his searching eyes.

“I…”

“Farah,” Tatsuya said softly, “isn't this something I need to know?”

“I—”

“What’s the harm in telling me?” His fingers wound their way around her palm, interlocking with her own and gently squeezing it before abruptly letting go.

“Don't you trust me?”

She was quicker, facing him again and stretching her hands through the space between them to grab his own like a vice, rooting it to the spot. A head shake, barely perceptible, as if she was trying to deny the validity of his claim. “I do!”

“Then why won't you tell me?!”

“Some of the others don't trust you!” Her reply was quick and sharp, plunging the atmosphere back into a tense silence.

For several seconds, his mouth was unwittingly agape. “Huh.”

He had honestly not expected that, but it seemed a given that after a while, the lack of genuine connection with them (sans Farah) would be noticeable, and as shown by his inner conflict, his focus was on personal gain rather than mutual benefit—but still, couldn’t things just be simple? As a matter of fact, why couldn't they be dumb? Why were they able to see his true intentions through the convincing facade he presented?

He eventually closed his mouth, though its corner curled into a frown. It was quickly becoming a struggle to not inadvertently give in to the turbulent emotions within him and do something he might regret.

“The others aren't here,” he continued stiffly, “and with the way things seem, it's likely they won't be here anytime soon.”

“They will. I know they will.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and its wavering undertone betrayed her doubts as if she was not only trying to convince him but also herself of the truth behind her words. Her eyes met his, and at that moment, he grasped the depth of her vulnerability. It was a testament to the trust she was placing in him, unknowingly baring her soul and allowing him to see the internal battle she fought.

Unbidden, his own turbulent emotions dissipated, and he shuffled closer, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Farah and pull her close. Their dirty clothes pressed against each other, and the stench of their circumstances lingered in the air, but neither of them cared. The warmth of their embrace and the reassurance and support he offered surpassed any discomfort caused by their unkempt appearances.

“Okay, and if—sorry, when—they come, don't you think it's best if I know what the plan is so I'm able to help? I doubt you would have much time to enact it with Jao out of commission and the entire capital looking for you.” As her head lay on his shoulder, he gently ran his fingers through her hair while his other hand caressed her back, and with each tender touch, her arms tightened considerably around him. “You would need my help, and despite your lack of trust in me, I'm willing to still help. Just tell me what I want to know.”

She sighed, then said, “...in order to stop the creation of the Legend, we would first need to know where its creation would take place…”