Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fire seemed to be taunting him, and Gilbert hated it.

It danced across the walls, from far below to the corners of a barely-visible ceiling. The flames were beautiful, horrid ballerinas that turned into clawed hands before his eyes. They threw shadows across the far corners, sharp and jagged like the rocks the cavern was carved out of. The diamond cuts that covered every single centimetre of surface were long and pointed towards him. Maybe the cavern was actually carved into a vein of diamond, but it was impossible to tell now. Everything was soot and dust and dried blood.

The fire came from the pit before him. He'd been forced to the floor, his nails digging into the crumbling rock at the edge. His skin would become hot and cold in waves, his face glistened with sweat and he thought he would be sick. His knees stung, and, as he looked over the edge, a string of blood and saliva dropped into the mess of flames and stone spikes packed into the floor. Certain death. It was an efficient, but messy, killing machine. If Gilbert had to choose a way to die, the pit would be bottom of his list. And if he had to pick the pit, he hoped he would fall in a way that would kill him instantly, instead of leaving him skewered and burning. His neck and shoulders stung at the thought.

Not that he was the one facing this death, and that was the worst part. 

“Thirty seconds.”

Gilbert choked back a sob and looked up at the twin cages dangling before him. A pair of terrified faces stared back, with puffy eyes and drying tracks of tears streaking down their cheeks. They were well past tears now, only room for numb terror. This wasn't real. It couldn't be! Everything had happened so quickly, and Gilbert wanted this to be a bad dream. He would give anything to wake up, safe in his bed. But the blood in his eye from a split forehead and the sting of his scraped palms told him it was really happening.

How could he choose?

His little brother hiccupped quietly, rubbing his runny nose with the back of his hand. Gilbert could see the bruises covering his legs, and face; the police were never the kind to be gentle. Ludwig had always been a strong, serious boy, and Gilbert barely recognised the broken, terrified mess he'd become. He barely understood what was going on, and didn't know why they were being kept here. It was because Gilbert was a reckless idiot, but the boy couldn't know that.

Céline simply sat at the bottom of her cage, having accepted her fate. She could see the spikes and charred bones through the bars across the bottom floor, and knew they would be the closest she got to a proper grave. He would choose Ludwig, of course. His brother was the most important person in the world. She was probably willing to die for the child herself, but he could not do that to her either.

Gilbert turned to the man behind him.

Emperor Roderich III, leader of the Eurasian empire, autocrat, and a brutal one at that, stared boredly back at him.

"You really are taking your time. Weighing up your options, or just panicking?" He waved a hand. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't care."

“Please,” he begged, “there’s gotta be some other way. Take me instead.”

Roderich’s allowed a smirk to twist his smooth, fine face as he thought. Or acted like he was thinking. This all seemed so routine to him, like he knew every plead, bargain and defeat by heart, like the monotony of playing with people's lives was so tedious to him. The man was sitting on a heavy, wooden throne, dwarfed by his regal maroon robes in a way that would be comical, if Gilbert was in a jokey mood. He looked like sickly, rich boy playing at emperor.

As it was, Gilbert just lay on the floor, handcuffed and beaten and cold for the first time in his life. Eurasia didn’t get cold, but down here there was no room for light, and even the fire was too far away to heat up the frozen rock. Gilbert's shoulder ached. He was just glad his body had settled on a temperature.

The Emperor’s eyes flashed through his delicate glasses with nothing but pure evil. As far as Gilbert could see, there was no goodness left inside of him. Everyone said it. Maybe he had been human when he was born, but his bloodline was poison and Roderich was the result of his own fate. A monster raised to retain control, to not be the weak link in his family’s chain.

To his right stood General Zwingli in his decorated military uniform, holding a gun aimed for Gilbert’s head, in case he tried anything. His eyes gave away no emotion, as usual. Zwingli never missed, and Gilbert didn’t want to do or say anything that might make him turn his gun on Céline or Ludwig.

"Well, there is a third option," Roderich, tapped his chin with a finger in pretend thought, smiling, "I probably should have mentioned it, before you had to decide who should live. How silly of me. Must've completely slipped my mind."

“Will they live?” asked Gilbert, afflicted with hope. "Both of them?"

“Of course."

“You promise?"

Roderich studied him. “You are in no position to demand such a thing, but, be that as it may, I promise. I swear on my life, and theirs, that they will be free to go. No harm will come to them." No more harm, anyway.

"Then what must I do?"

Another wicked smile. "Oh, I think you already know that."

Gilbert turned back to look at the terrified faces before him, then looked down at the vortex of fire calling him. The two cages, Céline in one, Ludwig in the other, swung lazily above the pit, the chains holding them to the ceiling creaking and groaning.

"Ten seconds." Roderich's hand hovered over a pair of levers, on the wall next to his throne. "Or I'll be forced to drop them both."

"Don't do it, Gil!" cried Céline.

"No! Wait, choose me instead!" Ludwig looked close to tears, "I don't mind! I can face it, just please don't leave me!"

Ignoring their pleas and protests, Gilbert turned back to Roderich.

"I choose the third option," he whispered.

“Good boy.”

Chapter Text

Janus had long given up on screaming himself hoarse to wake his grandchildren. Not every single morning. It was just impossible. Prying all three of them out of sleep was like trying to to hold mud, so he just settled for standing by the stairs, banging pots and pans together until the boys had no choice but to get up, along with half the street. It was a miracle that no one had phoned the police on them yet.

Lovino winced at the sound, giving himself ten seconds to stare at the ceiling, outraged at being awake, then hauled himself into a sitting position. His little brothers were already dragging themselves out of the room, yawning and rubbing their eyes. “I’m up!” he called back, and the banging stopped. Finally, one second of silence, then his brothers started calling out their breakfast requests and accusing each other of stealing their school supplies.

That was the one good thing about their tiny living quarters. You didn’t even have to yell that loud to talk to anyone in the house. It also meant that secrets were never kept for long, which suited his nosy, gossipy family just fine. And it certainly didn’t hurt the Empire to know what everyone was doing. Or saying. Sometimes, Lovino had to wonder if the house itself was bugged, but they’d had no proof of it yet, and it wasn’t like it would be hard to listen in on their conversations. No Vargas had an indoor voice, though their grandfather was trying his hardest to train them to talk quietly. Or... quieter. Anyway, Lovino wasn't going to test his hypothesis by being an idiot.

It was a dangerous world, especially for someone as careless and naïve as his little brothers. But that was old news.

Lovino sat, rubbing his shoulder; all he wanted was to remember his dream. It had dissolved the moment he woke up, and now it was frustrating him. He recalled a numb sense of terror, being trapped and suspended. He couldn’t recover any detail from the sludge in his mind, but the leftover fear made him uneasy.

He took a deep, slow breath, looking around his room. It was one he shared with his brothers, most of the floor space taken up by three rickety, old beds. Whenever one of the boys turned at night, their irons bars would rattle and bang. The rest of the room had an old wardrobe and a shelf of schoolbooks, and not much else. It had a window with a view of their tiny garden and the house opposite. The carpet was dark green and trodden down so much it was like plastic.

What was that stupid dream?

It didn’t matter, anyway. He dragged himself out of bed and got dressed, ready for the coming heatwave. Things got unbearably hot by late morning, with barely any air circulating. His shorts were looking frayed and the colour in his shirt was starting to fade. Maybe when Grandpa Janus next got paid, he could get some new clothes and dump the old ones on Feliciano. Poor Sal never got new clothes, but he did get to be the doted-on baby of the family, so there was that.

It didn’t take long to travel from one end of their terraced, two-bedroom house to the other. The building was largely metal and rather thin in places, like the rest of the city. Iron, to be precise, rusted and ugly brown. Wood and plaster were also used in places to keep the thing together. Living in an iron building was the sign of the lower class, the common workers, poor but not living in scrap metal shacks, like the Disgraced. It wasn't ideal, but they weren't the worst-off in the city.

The richer a family was, the nicer materials their house was made out of, up to the Grand Palace in the centre of the city. The lavish building housed the Emperor and his family, built from stone and decorated with gold and platinum and jewels, whatever valuable materials were around 200 years ago, after the first Emperor took over. He’d called himself Emperor of all Eurasia, but no one actually knew what was beyond the city walls. Or how far the land stretched in any direction. Or if there were other people out there, supposedly under the Emperor's rule but not knowing he existed. Was the city all there was of humanity?

Not that it mattered.

He pushed all thought of the Empire aside as he entered the main room. It was by far the biggest room in the house, but still cramped. A battered old dining table took up half the space, the other half a sitting area the family squeezed themselves into at the end of the day to talk and watch TV. Lovino and his brothers would cram onto the sofa whilst Grandpa Janus took the armchair, sketching and writing poetry that would make anyone blush. Grandpa kept his little notebook hidden, and Lovino was not going to make the mistake of looking through it again.

Feliciano and Salvatorio were already halfway through breakfast, Feliciano completing some last minute homework. He scribbled out his notes with one hand, jam roll in the other. Salvatorio was reading from a textbook propped up against the milk, combing his hair at the same time. “There you are, my little Lovino!” exclaimed Grandpa Janus, sat at the head of the table reading through the post. Messages here were burnt onto thin sheets of foil at a post office before being delivered. After being read and censored, if needed. Paper was rare here. “Good sleep?”

Lovino nodded to save speaking a lie. He sat down and got eating, studying his grandfather. Janus Jupiter Vargas leaned back in his chair, his plate left untouched. The moment his eyes were off his grandsons, his smile was gone, replaced with a look of confusion. And worry. His brows were knotted together and he scratched his stubbly chin. “Since when did we get those things?” Lovino asked, nodding at the letter. It didn’t look like a bill. There wasn't much in the way of burnt words; whoever it was had either written something innocuous, or chosen their words carefully.

“Huh? Oh, just a message from an uncle of yours,” Grandpa Janus explained, “you remember Francis, right?”

“Francis… Francis… The overly affectionate one?” asked Lovino. "Blond-ish, wine drinker, rarely buttons up his shirts?"

“Yes, him!” Janus snapped his fingers, breaking into a grin, “so you do remember him, then?”

“I remember the whole family.”

“Well, Francis seems to have run into a bit of trouble, he doesn’t say what, probably can’t through written communications, but it seems we'll have to make room for six new arrivals.”

Lovino dropped his roll. “What?”

“Francis has… recently lost his home,” explained Grandpa Janus, “this letter, it’s a plea to let them stay, otherwise they’ll be homeless, living in a shack.” Disgraced. What had he done?

“So, technically, not homeless.”

Grandpa Janus flicked his ear. “They will be here this afternoon.”

“But we’re all on top of each other as it is and there’s only four of us!”

“I’m sorry Lovi,” sighed Grandpa Janus, “but they’re family.” An illegitimate child. Two, of many, in fact, Francis and Céline. But Lovino knew Grandpa Janus loved them all, and would do anything for his children and grandchildren. “We can make things work. The four oldest have jobs and the youngest have school, so they won’t be around all the time.”

“Only in the evenings when we’re all together.”

“Well, get used to it. My word is final, and I will not see my family suffer such an indignity.” He banged his fist on the table. “I would do the same for any of you!”

“I know, I know,” growled Lovino, "I'm not saying kick them out, I wouldn't want that. Just, we'll be cramped;" it wasn’t like he had any space or privacy in this house to begin with.

“Um, Grandpa,” said Salvatorio, “you said there were six people coming. I remember five. Francis, Céline, and his foster kids.”

“Ah, Céline's also bringing her brother-in-law or something,” said Grandpa Janus, skimming through the message one more time, “it wasn’t too clear. Funny, though, they haven’t mentioned her fiancé at all… Greg… Giovanni…”

“Gilbert. Maybe he ran off when he saw they were having problems,” Lovino suggested.

Feliciano gasped; “what a horrible thing to do! How can anyone leave their fiancée? Does no one care about love anymore? And Céline is just the loveliest-!”

She wasn’t. She was a shady bitch and Lovino thought she was the best.

“That’s no way to treat a girl!” exclaimed Salvatorio, “nor your brother.”

“Now now boys,” said Grandpa Janus, “we do not judge until we have the full story.”

“Good!” said Salvatorio, “I refuse to believe he could do that.” Lovino looked at him.

“Understood,’ said Feliciano.

“So Lovi,” said Grandpa Janus, done with the subject, “jobs. Where are we going to be looking today?”

Lovino tried to keep his sigh subtle. “I was thinking of trying a few restaurants. Local ones. Gotta be something, right?”

Grandpa Janus nodded.

“Look, if I get desperate, I can ask at some factory, right?”

“But is that what you want to do?”

“No. Probably not.”

“Want me to ask around for you?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway, Grandpa.” Lovino gave a small smile at that, then found a renewed interest in his breakfast.

“You are trying, aren’t you?” asked Grandpa Janus, placing a large, rough hand on his shoulder.

It was vital Lovino got a job, now he was an adult and no longer in school. He had until December to find employment, or he'd be breaking the law and receive an according punishment. A person wasn't allowed to be workshy in the city. Lovino hated that, even in July when he theoretically had time, people still looked at him like he was useless. Just some lazy kid who didn't want a job.

Even though they'd be right.

Sort of.

Lovino wanted a job, but not one he wouldn't want to do for the rest of his life. But what did he want to do? Would he ever find out? What if he found out too late when all the jobs in that field were taken, or after he'd attached himself to one profession? It was a panic that mixed nicely with the panic of the looming deadline and just what would happen if he couldn't find a job.

"Of course I am," he assured his grandpa. He still had plenty of time; so no need to worry. Right? At least, if he pretended nothing was wrong, he could pretend he wasn't panicking too.

"Good… good…"

"Well, I'll just get started on that. Might be my lucky day." Lovino said goodbye to his family and strolled out the door.

The street where they lived was messy and narrow, just a dull iron road bordered by tiny terraced houses. No gardens, no decorations, just rubbish strewn everywhere and dull-eyed adults on their way to work. That would be him too, eventually. Hopefully.

He started jogging down the street, greeting a few women cheerily, but ignoring most people. He reached the end of the lane and took a right turn, slower now and keeping his head down. He put on a blank expression and tried to avoid catching the eyes of the small group of police, standing around and cracking jokes. Another turning, and Lovino found himself in a small side street, a shortcut.

He could always find a job another day.

Chapter Text

It was cool and dark under the bridge, with welcoming shade that protected a person from the intense glare of the sun. The water was warm and clear, no good for a cooling swim, but you could see the bottom, the golden-red copper riverbed reflecting the sunlight. There was a walkway either side that ran the whole length of the river, providing people with access to the city’s water supply, and an easy route from one west to east. It dissected the city, and, like everything else, was artificial. It sprouted from the western side of the city wall and disappeared into the eastern stretch, where it was cleaned, processed and regurgitated out of the western stretch once more. A network of pipes connected it to the houses so that everyone had running water but the river itself was also used to carry cargo too wide to fit through the streets. Long canoes would come and go, boatmen waving at the people they passed on their way. The river was three metres deep wherever it flowed and flowed slowly, so people could also swim in some fruitless attempt to escape the sun’s heat, especially in the stifling, airless summer.

The walkway under the bridge was where Lovino spent his days, smoking, slacking, and joking with his friends. It was the one place where he could escape from his worries, from reality. He walked towards his friends, waving cheerily and flashing a grin. They waved back and Lovino bent down to kiss Isabel’s hand. “Hey gorgeous!”

Isabel laughed, snatching her hand back. It was their little joke. She was sitting on the floor her legs hanging over the side, feet submerged in the crystal water. Her grin was almost hidden by an enormous summer hat.

Her older brother, Adriaan, was sat next to her, watching them with a face like someone was pissing on his cigarettes. Lovino did a mock sigh, rolling his eyes animatedly. “Well, we don’t want you feeling left out now, Adriaan; don’t worry, you’re beautiful too,” he kissed the older man’s hand as well. Xavier, leaning against the wall, burst out laughing. Adriaan shook his head, snatching his hand back.

“Dickhead,” he growled.

Lovino had never been overly fond of Isabel’s brother. He wasn’t the worst person in the world, but he was still a prick who’d sell his own mother if he thought it was a good investment. Until recently, he'd been the only one old enough to buy cigarettes, so they kept him around.

Lovino shrugged and took a seat next to Xavier, in front of an old poster of the Emperor. Feliciano had drawn a moustache onto a few months ago with a felt pen when he and Sal were hanging out with them after school. This little bit of graffiti indicated that the authorities never checked under the bridge, as such an insult to the Emperor would have been removed immediately, so the four of them could stay there and talk about what they wanted to undisturbed.

“Hey Lovi,” said Isabel cheerily, “so, how’s things with you?”

“Can’t complain,” replied Lovino, “well, actually, I can.”

“You always can.”

“Apparently, Grandpa just invited a shitload of relatives to stay with us. I don’t even have room to tug one out as it is; I’ll never have privacy now!"

"Jerk off in public like a non-coward," said Adriaan, and Lovino didn't even attempt to respond to that.

"Have I ever mentioned my Uncle Francis?”

“Nope,” said Isabel.

“Francis Bonnefoy?” asked Xavier.

“You know him?”

Xavier shrugged; “he hangs out with my cousin. Nice guy, wouldn’t wanna live with him but still pretty cool.”

“Yeah well I have to live with him, and the other ones too,” Lovino folded his arms, pouting.

Isabel giggled. “So how is your booty- cousin! Cousin. How’s your cousin?” 

Xavier snorted, dusting down his floral shirt. "Damn Belle," he spluttered, “how come you never compliment my ass?”

“Maybe I will from now on; it’s just his is like a pair of cannon ba-.”

“Yeah, Toni’s okay! Still a fucking dipshit, though.”

“Not even gonna ask,” muttered Adriaan.

Xavier rolled his eyes. “He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his neck.”

“You sound like your mother,” said Isabel.

“His mother’s hotter, though,” said Lovino.

Xavier pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering one to Adriaan (Isabel didn’t smoke) before lighting one for himself and flicking the empty packet at Lovino.

“Cunt.”

“So, have any of you got any closer to finding a job yet?” Xavier asked, ignoring him.

“Yes I’ve had this nice job sticking up posters for a few years now,” replied Adriaan, smirking.

“I wasn’t talking to you, old man.”

“No,” answered Lovino, “I probably should start looking.”

“You should,” Isabel sighed, “we all should. Or there’ll only be hard labour left.”

“Not yet, though. Can we please just enjoy our last few months of freedom?”

“Okay,” Isabel splashed him, “but if we get in trouble, it’s your fault.”

Lovino stuffed his hands in his pockets, wandering down the road. It was evening now and he was returning home after a long, hard day of doing nothing. The sun was starting to disappear behind the western stretch of the wall and there was a noticable drop in temperature. The wall surrounded the city, sheltering the residents from harsh winds and possible hostile wildlife, and keeping everyone locked inside.

After saying goodbye to his friends, Lovino had gone for a wander around the nicer parts of the city. He turned a corner and found himself in the Golden Square, the open space for citizens to gather in front of the Grand Palace. In the middle was a beautiful fountain, and silver trees bordered the Square. A cheering crowd filled the space, barring his way. He looked towards the balcony at the front of the palace, and, sure enough, there was the Emperor, the grand Empress, Érzsebét, and the royal heir, Prince Franz. Sighing to himself, he began halfheartedly cheering and waving too, in case there was anyone nearby that might accuse him of disloyalty. It picked up as he began shuffling through, and Lovino had no way of knowing what the Emperor was even saying in his address, only that he approved and supported him. He didn't really have an opinion on the Emperor. His grandpa wasn't a fan, but the guy had been in charge for years. It wasn't something they could change, so Lovino just carried on the best he could.

Most of the crowd drowned each other out, though, and it was only when Lovino stopped to rest, by the trees at the back, that he heard anything resembling interesting conversation.

“I bet I could shoot the dickhead from here.”

Lovino's ears prickled, and he glanced up to see a little blond man in a tree hissing his dissenting remarks to his friends. His round face was red with heat and anger, and lucky for him, no one else appeared to have heard, besides his horrified friends and Lovino.

“Tino, what the hell are you saying?” another man hissed back, staring at Tino with a look of horror, “you wanna get killed? Cause that’s how you get killed!”

“Gunner is right, you know,” added a third fellow, “besides, you can’t even hold a rifle anymore, let alone shoot one.”

Lovino decided to pretend he wasn’t listening, so they wouldn’t stop their conversation for his sake. This was the juiciest thing he’d overheard in weeks. He would do nothing with that information, but overhearing would sustain him for weeks. Xavier always said Lovino and Isabel were the worst gossips in the city.

“A guy can dream, Vidar!” cried Tino, who appeared to be a day-drinker. Lovino spared a moment to watch as Gunner dragged him out of the tree and covered his mouth. The two, more sober, men got their friend out of sight and earshot before he caused any trouble for himself. Lovino shook his head, deciding to continue his journey home and trying to appear cheery and celebrating as he navigated his way through the crowd. Why did the name “Tino” sound so familiar?

Ducking into a side street, Lovino spat on the ground and began walking again, quicker now, lest any more opportunities to be arrested came up.

“Please, treat this as if it’s your own home,” Grandpa Janus clasped Francis’s hands as the group stood in his main room.

They were a sorry sight, dressed in as many clothes as they could to save space in their bags. Céline and a little boy of around fifteen - introduced as Ludwig - were covered in bruises and cuts that had barely scabbed over. Janus didn’t want to bring the subject up, but he could guess what happened to her fiancé. They were older than the last time he’d seen them, and in worse condition. Francis looked like he’d been going without dinners and they’d all been roughed up. The three foster kids: twins, Alfred and Matthew, and little Angelique, looked ready to cry.

“Thank you, Papa,” Francis sighed.

“So, want me to fix you up something to eat?” asked Feliciano, sat cross-legged on the floor next to Salvatorio.

“Could you please?” asked Matthew, “if it’s not too much trouble. We’ve had a long day.” He had fluffy blond hair, slightly longer than his brother's, and trouble raising his voice. The twins were about a year older than Lovino.

“Sure thing!” Feliciano gave a bright smile and stood up to leave.

“I’ll help,” added Salvatorio, following him out of the room.

“Take the bags upstairs, the rest of you,” said Francis, “ask Grandpa where you’ll be staying.”

With instructions from Grandpa Janus, the kids began dragging the bags upstairs, Ludwig hovering around the others awkwardly the whole time.

“I suppose you want to know what happened,” said Francis in a low voice. Grandpa Janus nodded.

“But, if it’s too painful to talk about…”

“We might as well,” said Céline, sitting up straight, “won't take long. Once it's out in the open, people can stop wondering and asking and tiptoeing around me. I’m not sure if you know, but Gilbert, my… my fia- he was the editor of a little newspaper. A worker's newpaper, about labour rights. The higher-ups didn’t like his editing.” There was nothing more to say.

“I see,” Grandpa Janus sighed, “so sorry to hear that. I’m sure he was a good man.”

Céline nodded, barely listening anymore.

“I’m home!” called Lovino, shutting the front door behind him and walking into the hallway. “Anyone care?” he added when he was met with silence. “I was doing drugs and stabbing old ladies!”

“No you weren’t, Lovi, but you’re just in time to help us,” Feliciano stuck his head in the kitchen doorway, smiling brightly, “get a plate; we have guests.”

Lovino had no time to answer before a platter full of homemade snacks was thrust into his empty hands. Feliciano and Salvatorio appeared with plates of their own and he was bustled into the main room. The boys put the food on the coffee table, to the apparent delight of their new "guests". Did they count as guests if they were never leaving?

“Wow, thanks guys,” Alfred, Matthew’s twin brother, began helping himself, “this looks great; I could just eat everything!” He vaguely resembled his twin, mostly looking like if someone had injected life into Matthew. Alfred had a golden tan, a barrel chest and wide smile. Matthew, by comparison, looked practically ghostly. 

Matthew looked at him. "We know."

“Please don’t,” said Francis, picking up a roll, “these are for sharing.”

Feliciano beamed. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty to go round!”

“You’re a good cook, Feli,” said Angelique, the youngest of the group, curled up between her foster brothers, “can you teach me sometime?” She was a young girl of about fourteen, with dark curly hair in twin ponytails; large, brown eyes; and a cute, round nose. 

“Of course!” Feliciano was practically glowing from the attention. Lovino was proud of him, and a little jealous. After all, he was the one who’d taught Feliciano everything he knew about food. Of course, everything he knew about food came from Grandpa Janus, but he still wanted some credit.

Feliciano noticed Ludwig starting at the food on the table, but not touching anything. The kid tugged on his shirt nervously, looking at the floor. Apparently, he was only a year or so younger than Feliciano himself, but looked small and bony, with cuts and bruises covering his skin.

“Hey, Ludwig, right?” Feliciano shuffled over to the kid, “aren’t you eating?”

Ludwig glanced up at him before looking back down without answering.

"He, well, Ludwig hasn’t said a word since his brother..." explained Francis. "They made him watch," he hissed to Grandpa Janus.

Feliciano saw Ludwig’s mouth twitch. "Here," he said, piling food onto a little plate, "eat, you’ll feel better."

Ludwig nodded, tentatively taking the plate, picking up a biscuit and taking a bite. He gave the smallest nod and Feliciano smiled.

"There, see? You feeling better?" Ludwig shrugged.

Lovino knew he was supposed to be feeling sorry for the kid, and he was, but the boy was just so creepy, the way he stared at everyone. Still, Lovino couldn’t imagine losing a brother. It was also weird not being the focus of his own brother's attention; Feliciano usually had a million questions about his day, and, instead, he was stroking Ludwig's hair as he ate. Lovino wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, but he supposed the weird kid needed Feliciano more right now.

He turned away from Ludwig, to the twins.

"So, you two got jobs then?" he asked, trying to make conversation. He hated trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, we work at the arms factory," said the one with shorter hair, Alfred, right? Lovino always had trouble telling them apart. It shouldn't be that hard, but he could never be bothered with men. 

"Hey, that sounds interesting, making and testing out guns."

"It’s really not," said the other, Matthew, "it’s just screwing things all day."

Lovino snorted. "That don’t sound so bad, screwing things all day." Matthew and Alfred laughed. They seemed alright and Lovino suspected they would make the whole overcrowding not seem so bad. Grandpa Janus flicked him on the ear and grumbled something about children being present.

"So you have a job?" asked Alfred.

"Not yet," replied Lovino, pretty sick of being asked. Yes, he'd started the conversation, but only because he couldn't think of anything to talk about without mentioning all the homelessness and death. Or the drunk guy. "Only out of freaking school."

"Well if you want," suggested Matthew, "we could always put a word in at the factory if you can’t find anything."

"Thanks, I’d appreciate that," he lied.

"Don’t worry about it," Alfred flashed a grin.

Grandpa Janus flicked on the TV out of habit. There was only one channel. At the moment, there was a speech from the Emperor being broadcast, one of several daily addresses and possibly the one Lovino saw him give earlier.

"… And we must thank the loyal people of this empire,

For their efforts in maintaining the order and stability,

Necessary for the growth of the city, in all areas of life,

So that I may, proudly, say, t he ten year anniversary of my coronation next week…"

Francis sighed, switching off the set the moment the broadcast ended.

"Dick," murmured Alfred; Matthew nodded in agreement.

"Yes but he’s the dick that runs the place," Grandpa Janus shook his head, "so we all have to be careful. Perhaps, we should avoid the written word for a while.”

Chapter Text

He had half an hour before the next patrol.

Heracles kept a calm, steady gaze on the Eastern Market Square at the end of the alley, hidden in the shadows of a doorway in a CCTV blindspot he'd found earlier. The city wall loomed over him, over the slums where the residents crowded into one-room huts, trying to give off no signs of life. Anyone caught outside in the lowest level, the Disgraced, was shot on sight. It was where scum too low-level to execute were evicted to, and the people here were considered disposable, only good for whatever hard labour needed doing. Heracles tried to avoid the place, if he could. This was the one time he'd ever needed to come here, and the day of scouting had been one of the most tense in his life. People were beaten to death on a whim, others simply keeled over and gave up. If he never came back to the place, it would be too soon. Whoever policed this place should be shot, their homes given to the poor souls forced into such poverty and oppression.

Heracles was waiting for someone he hadn’t seen in ten years. 

All he had to go on was a note left on his counter that morning. Anonymous, but in a vaguely familiar hand, and telling him to wait here at 10pm, have whatever was left of the rebels ready, and it was probably a trap. But Heracles had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge, and he just couldn’t walk away from a mystery. He always needed to know more. Kiku said it was a bad idea, though. Heracles was known to the police. He’d been low down in the rebel ranks, not important enough to punish, just keep an eye on.

Not like his siblings. To think they'd been trying to protect him...

Had this been to test if he’d cause trouble, if given the opportunity? Because he would. Though he’d probably just get tortured to death and dumped who knows where before he could get far, he would still take any opportunity to fuck with the empire.

At least Kiku was safe at home. No, he wasn't safe if Heracles was causing trouble.

He shouldn't be throwing his life away. It'd hurt Kiku, in more ways than one. He was being selfish. “What am I doing here?” he asked himself, scratching the back of his head.

“Waiting for me, I presume,” came a voice from the end of the alley.

Heracles jumped, just suppressing a shout. He turned towards the voice with raised fists, then immediately lowered them.

“Sadik Adnan, you bastard,” he murmured, “you’re really back.”

“The one and only,” Sadik winked at him. He was grinning widely, leaning against the wall. Heracles noted a distinct lack of his own siblings. He’d been the only one in the family to escape exile, but his twin sister and younger brother? He’d not seen them in 10 years. One of his closest friends, Muhammad Hassan, had been exiled with them, but only Sadik was left to stand before him. Sadik’s smile fell. “Hey, I know you got a bunch of questions and all, but we need to find cover. And I need to get this little man to sleep.” He gestured at his chest, where a small boy nestled in his coat, arms around Sadik’s neck, Sadik cradled him tenderly. The boy wore one of Sadik’s old shirts as a tunic and was wrapped in a frayed blanket.

Heracles’ nephew, he assumed. So, there was at least some family returned to him.

“Hestia had the baby, then?”

Sadik nodded. “Just lost sight of the city when she went into labour. This is Kuzey.”

“And where is she? And Stelios? And Hassan?” Sadik shook his head. “I see.” A heavy silence fell between them.

Sadik cleared his throat. “Still, I’m here for a reason.

Heracles sighed and got walking. It was a route he'd planned carefully. Less chance of being seen. “We’re going to try again?”

“Yes, and-”

“No. I don’t want to be part of this.” Herakles surprised himself. He thought he would be up for causing the Emperor some trouble. He'd also been foolish enough to hope Sadik had travelled back here with Hestia and Stelios. Herakles had imagined himself fighting by their sides, fulfilling their dream after all these years, finally contributing to the rebellion in a way he'd not been able to before. But if Hestia, Stelios and Muhammad were gone, what was the point? And why had Sadik, of all people, survived out in the wasteland?

Kuzey stirred in Sadik’s arms, and a pair of large eyes peeked out from under the blanket.

“Dad?” he mumbled. 

“We’re here, little one,” he muttered, stroking his hair, “we’re in the city. Think you could walk now?” Kuzey nodded, and he set the boy down. He wrapped his blanket around him like a shawl, and took Sadik’s hand. “We should get inside before we’re seen,” he insisted, and Heracles rolled his eyes. He lead them down another alley. Sadik kept a firm grip on Kuzey’s hand, and Kuzey huddled against his trousers.

“Back to the old place?” asked Sadik.

“Where else?”

Sadik gave a firm nod. “So, did you find many people?”

“You gave me one day.”

“So… no?”

“You’ll see when you get there.”

Sadik groaned, and Heracles shushed him.

One more corner, and he was home. The bike shed outside the cafe was empty, as was the surrounding square. The ground fell away at one side, into the river, with a short fence stopping people from falling in. Mostly. The building itself was falling apart, forgotten except for the regulars. Even the police didn’t pay much attention, now that the rebels were all but destroyed.

“It’s good to be home,” Sadik sighed.

“It’s my home,” said Heracles, dragging him inside.

The cafe had been scrubbed clean for the next day. The wooden floors beneath their feet were worn and faded, like the panelling on the walls. At the end of the room was a counter, and an empty display shelf for sandwiches and cakes. Behind the counter was the back room, and below the back room was a cellar, where supplies were stored, kept cool by the freezing rock. There was a box in the storage room that - before that morning - hadn’t been removed in ten years, covering a stone slab. That stone slab was the doorway to another world.

“After everything that happened, it feels like home to me,” Sadik smiled, gazing all around the airy, main room of the cafe, “it’s where my family was.” Kuzey was also staring, his awe not tinted with nostalgia. Was this the first building he'd been in?

Heracles snorted. “I’m flattered you consider me family, but-”

“I was talking about your sister.”

Heracles flicked his nose. Kuzey kicked him in the shin. “Don’t be mean!” he squeaked. Heracles cursed and bit back the urge to boot the little bastard across the room. It was cruel to do that to a child, and besides, Kuzey was all he had left of Hestia.

“Kuzey, don’t kick. We’re in civilisation, now.” Sadik sat on one of the tables. “Where is everyone? Downstairs?”

“Yes, but before we go, please understand, you can use the base, but I don’t want to be running around getting myself killed. I have a life now. Kiku and I got married.” 

“Congratulations,” Sadik gave a nod, “you were allowed?”

“The Emperors go back and forth on the subject. Current one, for all his faults, lets us marry regardless of gender. Guess that means the city was overpopulated.”

“He’s still a tyrant.”

“I know. I’ve known for the past ten years. I’ve known at every rally and execution. Roderich is as set in his ways as his father, but that Empress of his, she has new ideas. New cruelties.”

“They need to go. I don’t care if we exile them, or have to kill the whole lot, but they can’t be left to rule like this. If all the citizens banded together-”

“No. There’s no way you’ll get the whole city on your side.”

Sadik sighed. “I know things didn’t go so well last time,” he looked haunted. Heracles didn’t blame him. “And I know you have every reason not to believe me-”

“I had to watch my mother die,” he glared at him; “I’ve waited all this time for Hestia and Stelios to come back, and I long accepted they’d never… but- well, I'd had hoped... You can’t ask me to do this again. So stop.”

Sadik didn’t stop. “But we’ll recruit more, plan carefully. I’ve had so much time to come up with ideas out there. We will succeed this time!” He looked so hopeful; Heracles wanted to look away. “Please; I just want a better life for Kuzey. He’s been through so much; I just want him to be safe for once.”

Heracles glared at him.

“Things are going to be different, this time,” Sadik promised.

“Shut up.”

“Can you at least tell me if you were able to recruit people?”

“Find out for yourself.” Heracles went out into the back. Sadik picked up a half-asleep Kuzey and followed. Down in the cellar, Sadik strode over to the box he remembered, and the path in the dust where it had been recently moved. They’d need to sweep that up. He pushed the box aside to find a sliver of old rope. It didn’t stand out in the darkness, but he knew what to look for.

Pulling on the rope opened up a trapdoor, revealing a ladder descending down into darkness.

Sadik cast his mind back to his younger days, following Hestia through the ladder to join their parents’ meetings, learning and discussing tactics with the other rebels. Back then, things were exciting, the consequences for failing nonexistent in their minds. It wasn’t a game, but he didn’t take it as seriously as his father did. And he didn’t think he’d ever see him executed.

But now this was all or nothing. Sadik had to take his father's place, be strong, and save the city. And avenge everyone he had lost. It had been almost fun, stewing in the desert, planning and dreaming of the day when he finally saw that tyrant, and his entire court of rich jokers, executed. He was going to kill Roderich personally. Maybe he'd send the Empress and little Prince into the desert to die, as his Hestia and unborn son had.

He climbed down the ladder. At the bottom, Heracles passed down a sleeping Kuzey before shutting the trapdoor and following. It was truly a miracle that this place had never been found by the authorities.

The three of them - Kuzey in Sadik’s arms - wandered down a dim corridor, deeper and deeper into the earth, lit only by a series of tiny, tiny lights on the floor. The corridors were built to be winding, all looking the same and easy to get lost in. Even if someone discovered their base, it would be nearly impossible to navigate, unless they had a mole helping them. Plans and secrets would stay hidden, and any group of soldiers or guards would have to go two at a time, split up to cover all the branches of the base, and be easily picked off in the dark. Well, that was the theory anyway.

One turn, and then another, and Sadik found himself outside the meeting room. It was a place he’d always felt safe in, as well as so electrically alive. They’d talked about murdering the emperor there. Planned a hundred ways for this omnipotent family to die.

“Everyone in there?” he asked. Heracles nodded. 

“Great,” Sadik’s smile fell ever so slightly. “Is it okay if I put the little one to bed first?” It had been years since he was around people. What if he’d gone feral? What if he didn’t know how to talk to that many other humans?

“Of course. You remember where the bunks are?”

Sadik nodded and made his way down the corridor. One turning, and he’d reached a section dedicated to spare rooms. Sometimes it was too dangerous to go home, whether it was curfews or storms or crackdowns by the police, and he and Hestia would curl up in a bed, safe in their own little cocoon, with Heracles grumbling to himself in the bunk below. 

The room was as he remembered it, besides the dust. There were several rows of bunks with a bookshelf in the corner, donated by Hestia's mother, Mrs Karpusi. Sadik had read every book, once Heracles had stopped hogging them all.

He couldn’t wait to explore the old place, but there would be time for that later. He would have so, so much time. It wasn’t like he or Kuzey could leave again. Sadik was a wanted man, even if the authorities were not yet aware of his return; he couldn’t just apply for a flat for the two of them, couldn't even move into Heracles's spare room. But compared to how he’d lived in the desert, this place was practically a palace.

He placed Kuzey in the nearest bunk. The boy opened an eye, staring at him in confusion.

“Hey, Little Man,” Sadik kissed his forehead, “get lots of rest; you’ve had a long journey.”

Kuzey closed his eye and was asleep within minutes.

Sadik smiled at the child before leaving as quietly as he could. Making his way back to the meeting room, he stopped at the doors to compose himself. Could he speak to all these people? He hadn’t spoken to another adult since Hestia died. They would probably think he was uncivilised. Stupid. They’d leave and give him up to the police. Or forget this ever happened and he and Kuzey would be left down here to rot. But he could never convince them to risk their lives. He wasn’t his father. He had the voice, but not the commanding presence.

He smoothed down his hair, puffed out his chest, and opened the door.

The meeting room was a large hall, with a stage at the far end. In the middle of the room, a bulky, steel table stood. Sadik didn’t know whether to be disheartened or relieved that only five seats were occupied.

He silently walked across the room, studying the five with interest. He put on his best, most calculating face, squaring his jaw. There was Heracles, of course, and Sadik recognised two of the four new faces. Kiku sat next to Heracles and watched him with interest. Next to them was young Arthur Kirkland, the only person not to have been in conversation before he entered. A bowler hat sat on the table in front of him, and he awkwardly scratched his eyebrow. Arthur and Sadik had known each other back in the old days, and he’d considered Arthur a friend. 

The final two sat huddled together, one scruffy and rat-like with a tiny hat and long fingers tapping the table. He had quick, sharp eyes and hair like honey. His body was all points and angles. The other was older and tired, possibly homeless, or from the Disgraced. His clothes were frayed, and one fart from falling apart. His hair was dark, parted in the middle and thinning.

Sadik took his seat at the head of the table and cleared his throat.

“So, Heracles, want to explain to me how we’re gonna overthrow the Emperor with just six people?”

Heracles met his glare. “I repeat, you gave me a day’s notice.”

“We can begin a recruitment campaign tomorrow,” said Kiku, “I assure you, we’ll find more people.”

“So, you’ve really been outside the city?” asked the rat-looking guy.

“That’s right.”

The two strangers exchanged glances.

“What’s it like?” asked the other one. 

Rat Man’s eyes shone. “What did you see? Are there other people? I heard there’s animals out there. Are they big?”

“Who are these guys?” Sadik hissed at Heracles.

“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” Rat Man put a hand on his chest. “Call me Alin Radacanu. And this is my very good friend: Tsvetan Borisov. So, what’s it like on the outside?”

Sadik sighed. “No good to live in, so we’d never be able to escape and survive out there, if that’s what you mean. No good for sustaining a lot of people.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s a dead, barren wasteland. Desert. Occasional storms would flood the place. There’s few people, and I travelled to every corner. No resources, either. I barely scraped through, never settling, just moving from place to place to find something to eat. There are beasts, yes, but they’re wild. Vicious. It’s a life on the edge.” He shook his head. “The city’s the safest place for us. Or, it will be once he have some basic rights.”

“So that’s what you’re fighting for then,” asked Heracles, raising an eyebrow, “our rights?”

“Indeed we are!” Sadik stood up, walking over to the stage and scrambling up. He could make a big speech! His father used to do so many, all moving and resounding and able to make a person believe anything was possible. “Because every one of us deserves our freedom! The right to live as human beings, and be treated with dignity. To not be killed or imprisoned for no reason, to criticise the government and not have our families pay for it! Our mission is to restore democracy, true democracy, and protect it!”

“Demo-what?” asked Alin.

“Democracy! We will vote for our leaders, and they will maintain peace, and if we don’t like what they stand for, we vote ‘em out! No torture, no executions, no police abuse! And no fucking royal family! We will haul them from their palace and turn it into a homeless shelter! We'll tear down the wall and expand the city to give us all space! We will strip Roderich of his jewels and his power until he is as scared as our families were! We will drag the Emperor and his court through the streets and hang them for all to see!”

Arthur clapped, Kiku, Alin and Tsvetan soon joining in, but not entirely enthusiastic. Sadik took a dramatic bow and jumped off the stage. It was probably too short. Too concise and not enough solid plans.

“You have my loyalty,” said Arthur.

“Thank you, friend,” Sadik clapped his shoulder. “So, not convinced the rest of your family to come back, then? Where’s your mother?”

Arthur looked down. “It’s been too long since we last met. There were raids. Arrests. Waves of purges. They went after my family. My siblings were more heavily involved and their executions were already arranged. Hector, well, you know what he was like, a fight broke out. He didn’t want the police taking the others, and he wasn't coming quietly, but you can’t win against guns.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My youngest brothers and I were the only survivors, because I hid us under the bed like a little bitch. I was tortured, Peter and Brendan…”

“Children of those executed were rounded up and sent to the mines,” Kiku filled in, “I doubt any lasted long.”

Arthur was very quiet.

Sadik had liked Arthur’s family. He’d been a close friend of his sister, Muirgheal. “I’m so, so sorry-”

“Save your pity. I’m here to fight. There is nothing left to take from me, so I have no reason to fear anyone. What's my life worth if I'm alone and bitter?”

“I will fight too,” said Kiku, to Heracles’ dismay, “you are a good friend, and will follow where you go.”

“What about you, new guys?”

“For painful reasons Alin Radacanu and Tsvetan Borisov would like to withhold, we also want in,” said Alin Radacanu.

Heracles sighed. “After some consideration, I think it would be hard to use this place as your base if I was not somewhat affiliated. I won’t be storming the palace anytime soon, but I suppose I’m already in enough trouble that actually listening to you won’t make it worse.”

“Thank you,” Sadik gave a smile that wasn’t returned. "You know you're a dead man now, so you might as well go all in."

"Don't remind me."

"And none of us are storming the palace anytime soon. We need more people, more weapons and more preparation."

Alin coughed awkwardly. “I must ask, how did you do it? Sneak back into the city?”

“Well,” said Sadik, “you know the plant that cleans the river water and filters out all the waste in the pipes?”

“Yes?”

“And you know how the waste is dumped outside the city via a massive pipe?”

“Yes?”

“Do you not see where this is going?”

Alin winced. “Oh. Nice.”

“Yeah. Luckily, this place has spare clothing, if I remember right. Spare everything. It’s too late to be trying to make your way home now, but there’s beds here. Get plenty of rest; the real work begins tomorrow.” He thought of Kuzey. The boy had never slept on his own before, and Sadik wanted nothing more than to wash and curl up next to his son.

Chapter Text

Feliciano hated waking up. He scrunched up his eyes in protest at the bright light. He didn’t want to go to school; he wanted to go back to sleep then spend the day lazing in the sun. But, any second now, his brothers would start talking like they were on opposite ends of the house, despite being meters away, and sleep would be impossible. He was surprised he couldn’t already hear them. Had he woken up early, for once? Lovino had a few choice words for when that happened.

Now that he thought about it, he was pretty uncomfortable. And damp.

He bolted up, fear trickling over him like the mystery liquid. He’d wet the bed! This was so unfair! He hadn’t wet the bed in at least 4 years, and now, of all nights, when he was sharing a bed and everything-

Oh.

He pulled back the covers.

Ludwig had wet the bed.

Feliciano didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to be mad, not after seeing the state Ludwig had been in, and this wouldn’t help how he was feeling. He hadn’t said a word to anyone, jumped at every little thing, didn’t want anyone touching him. Even now, he was on the edge of the bed, up against the wall, shaking in his sleep, brow furrowed. Every time Feliciano had brushed against him in his sleep, he’d flinched.

And now this.

He gently shook him awake.

“Hey, Ludwig?” For once in his life, he kept his voice a whisper. “You’ve had an accident; we need to get you cleaned up.”

Ludwig blinked in confusion, then it hit him. He scrambled up to the headboard, away from the puddle, curled up on himself, and maybe sobbed. Maybe he held actual tears back, but all Feliciano could see was a pair of shaking shoulders.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, friendo,” Feliciano patted his back, “it happens. It’s okay. We’ll get your stuff washed and get some breakfast and forget all about it, sound good?” He gave Ludwig a bright smile, and Ludwig nodded miserably in return. One of his eyes was still swollen and black. “No one will ever know.” Feliciano got him up and stripped the sheets, sneaking out into the hall. Luckily, his brothers, and the twins, were heavy sleepers. They passed the cupboard where Angelique slept under the boiler, and snuck into the bathroom.

“It’s a good thing everyone else is as lazy as I am; lots of privacy.” He smiled as he loaded the washing machine. No one had privacy here, but he needed to reassure the boy. Ludwig didn’t respond, tears streaming down his face that he tried to wipe away. “Nothing to be ashamed of, but you might need to strip.”

Ludwig didn’t look too happy about that.

“I need to wash the pyjamas.” Feliciano took his off. "We have towels if you want," he added, when Ludwig still hadn't made any move to strip. "You get your clothes in there, I'll fetch a change for you." 

Ludwig took his soiled pyjamas off and hid behind the shower curtain, a pair of towels wrapped around him.

"Oh, good idea!" Chirped Feliciano the moment he came back. "Get showered. I got you a shorts and shirt." No reply. He turned on the machine. "I'll get started on breakfast."

Lovino dipped his sore feet into the river water. Fuck the heat. Actually, that was a lie. He loved the heat and the sun, but he hated walking on metal. Who decided the city was supposed to be built out of metal? His shoes stopped him from blistering, but it was still like walking on coal.

“So, how’s life with the Bonnefoys?” asked Isabel.

“Awful. Crowded. Smelly.” Replied Lovino, “the twins are alright, though.”

“Any hot ones?” she asked, sitting next to him and dipping her own feet in the water.

“Are you ever not horny?” 

“Never. Keeping wet is the best way to keep cool.”

"Piss yourself, then." Lovino rolled his eyes, “I don’t know if they’re hot; they’re my relatives, fuck’s sake!”

“Coward. There’s never more than a million people in this city at one point. We’re all probably a little related. Especially with how many descendants your grandpa has.”

Lovino wrinkled his nose, exchanging a glance with Xavier. “Thanks, I was hoping to fall amazingly in love at some point, but that’s always gonna be in my mind now.”

“Aw, suffer. And I will fuck your relatives.”

“Where’s Adriaan?” asked Xavier, “why hasn’t he graced us with his complete and utter lack of charisma.”

“At work,” replied Isabel, “a concept foreign to you two.”

Xavier looked at her. “You’re unemployed too. Besides, there may be a position in town with my name on it.”

“So much for waiting til September.”

“Yeah, but you know all the good jobs will be gone soon. This one’s working in an ice treats parlour. I mean, if I gotta do something, I’d like that.”

“I guess.” Maybe Lovino shouldn’t be a jealous bitch over his friends actually having interests and direction, but he was going to be a jealous bitch anyway.

“I wonder if I could get a job at the palace,” said Isabel, and Lovino nearly fell in the river.

“What?” cried Xavier; “are you insane?”

Lovino looked at her like she was. “You know those people are,” he glanced around, “evil. No servant of theirs ever sees retirement.”

“I just want to see real flowers,” she explained, “I could if I worked in the palace gardens. I heard there’s beautiful flowers growing there. Adriaan told me.”

“Yeah, but you have to be one of the nobility to even get close to the palace,” said Lovino.

“Then I’ll find me a noble,” said Isabel, wiggling her eyebrows.

“But-” Lovino decided not to mention the unlikely chances of a noble even looking her way. Everyone was allowed to dream.

“You’re too good for some poncy lord or politician,” Xavier told her bluntly.

“Well aren’t you-” Isabel stopped, looking past Xavier. “Wait, who’s that?”

Out next to the bridge, at the top of the steep steps leading to the street above, was a man with incredible sunburn, bright red limbs poking out of a shorts and shirt, and sunglasses. His hair was the colour of piss, and didn't match his eyebrows.

“Oh shit, he looks freaky,” Lovino hissed. “How much as he heard?”

“Think he’s part of the Shadow Police?” asked Isabel, clutching his hand.

“Nah, they have uniforms and stuff,” Xavier tried to reassure her.

“Maybe he’s undercover.”

Lovino looked at the stranger. He stared back. “Nah, that’s crazy. Come on now, we’re not doing anything wrong.” Saying stuff that was wrong, but not, technically, doing anything wrong.

“Never stopped them from arresting anyone,” said Xavier, “take ‘em away for some questioning. Might be released. Probably not.” He nudged Lovino with his foot; “shit! He’s coming over to us!”

“Act natural,” said Lovino, “act innocent.”

“Which one?”

The strange man sat down between him and Isabel. They both shuffled away.

“Hello all,” he nodded at them, “may I join you?”

“Why?” asked Isabel.

The stranger shrugged. “You seem interesting. Thought I might sit and listen. What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," said Lovino quickly. 

For once in his life, he wished Adriaan was there. He always knew how to act in the presence of authority figures. He'd be able to speak for them here.

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

"We're not breaking the law," said Xavier. Lovino wanted to kick him.

"I never doubted that for a second." The stranger scratched his head. "Would you like to?"

"What do you mean?" Lovino eyed him suspiciously. This was a trap. "We obey. We care about the law."

"Do you?" The stranger raised an eyebrow. He jerked a thumb at the wall. "That poster. Your work?"

It was the one Feliciano had drawn a moustache on. Not an act of rebellion, he'd just been bored. And Lovino wasn't going to grass on his brother. Disrespecting the Emperor like that was illegal.

"That's ridiculous," Isabel wrinkled her nose.

“I won’t say anything,” said the Stranger, “but I like that you have an eye for trouble. Mischief. Maybe even a little rebellion.”

Lovino leaned closer. “What do you mean?”

“Would you say you’re satisfied with life?”

“What does that mean?”

Arthur glanced around. “You guys seem young. Smart. You have your entire futures ahead of you, like thousands of other young people in this city. But who’s to say you have a future here. Want to change things? Make life better? Less… oppressive?”

“That’s impossible,” said Xavier flatly. Rehearsed. “This is the way things have always been, and always will be.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You can help make it different.”

“No thanks,” growled Adriaan from behind them.

The four jumped, wheeling round to find him looming over them, furious. He recognised the stranger, Lovino could tell. He looked scared too; it wasn’t a reassuring expression. 

“You’re not dragging my sister into this, Kirkland,” he spat, grabbing Isabel’s wrist. 

“Ad-”

“Trust me, it’s for your own good.” He yanked her up. “Please, just come with me. I can’t tell you two what to do,” he added at the boys, “but if you had any sense, you’d walk away from this.” He stormed off, dragging Isabel behind him.

Isabel scratched at her brother’s arm. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”

“Arthur’s trouble. He’s only gonna drag you down.”

“I can make my own decisions!”

“Just trust me here,” Adriaan finally let go, wheeling round. “I’m begging you, stay away from him. He’s going to get you killed.”

Isabel saw the pleading in his eyes, heard the quiver in his voice. Adriaan never got like this, about anything. She sighed. “I see. Fine, fine. I’ll be good.”

Adriaan left a scene of stunned silence under the bridge.

“Well,” began Kirkland, “that was… unfortunate. Still, what do you two say? Can I call this a success?” 

“What are you getting at, exactly?” Lovino liked doing the exact opposite of what Adriaan wanted him to do, and it wasn’t like he’d been helpful with this guy, just leaving them behind to look after his sister. Maybe Lovino was curious now. He’d been told not to do something, and now he wanted to do it. They way Adriaan spoke about Kirkland implied he was the real deal, not some undercover cop. That excited Lovino.

Arthur brought his voice down to a whisper. “I’m talking revolution.”

Revolution. A word so forbidden Lovino had never dared think it before. He tingled with anticipation.

“Sounds a little risky,” said Xavier, glancing at Lovino for help.

Arthur leaned in. “It is, but imagine a world without him. Without any of them.”

Incomprehensible. The Emperor was eternal.

“If we got enough people on our side, if we managed to pull this off, everyone could be free. Safe. I really think we can do it, but we need people. There are more of us than them, but we all have to wake up and stand together.”

This was ridiculous. They’d be found out within hours and killed. And then their entire family.

Xavier spoke first.

“Sure, why not? What about you, Lovi?”

He shrugged. “I’m not letting you be stupid on your own. And what have I got to lose?” Besides everything.

Chapter Text

“I’m not sure I caught your names,” admitted Arthur, as he navigated winding, narrow streets, the two boys following closely behind. “Lovi, is it?”

“Yeah, just Lovi. And this is Xavi.” He wasn’t giving out full names just yet. He probably should’ve gone for a completely random nickname, had the stranger not already known his. Thanks, Xavier.

“And you’re Kirkland, right?” asked Xavier, “that’s what our friend called you.”

Kirkland winced. “Indeed. I’m asking you not to spread that information around, though. Not even to your friends.”

Xavier nodded, and glanced over at Lovino. Lovino had to wonder if the guy was having second thoughts. He definitely was.

They followed Kirkland through winding back streets, past carts and people running errands and intimidating police. Kirkland lead them to a small, grimy cafe in some corner of the city they’d never bothered exploring before.

“Sit down and I’ll explain things further.”

The boys exchanged another glance, then followed Kirkland inside.

“...So, at the end of the day, our aim is to overthrow the Emperor and establish a democracy,” Kirkland told them. "It may lead to the imprisonment or exile of the royal family, or, in an extreme case, their execution."

Lovino whistled. "Damn, even the kid?"

Arthur winced. "The prince may be an innocent party in this, but his death would be a small drop compared the the children his father and grandfather have killed," he clenched his jaw, "and we can't show weakness where the royals are concerned. Children can grow into dangerous adults, after all. Ideally, we let him live in captivity or exile, but things are seldom ideal."

Lovino and Xavier stood in front of him, leaning against boxes in the back room. It seemed like a strange place for headquarters, or was this where he and Xavier would get shot and their bodies used in the sandwiches this place sold? Seemed like a good business model: getting rid of potential troublemakers and saving money on meat.

The long and short of it was there’d been an attempt at revolution about ten years ago that had gone as well as Lovino’s potential career from the sounds of it, but Kirkland was being vague on the details. Lovino was too afraid to ask further. Whatever happened, disaster never stopped stupid people from trying again, so they were going to have a go and maybe they might get closer to not failing.

“And what exactly is a democracy?” demanded Xavier.

Kirkland blinked, then sighed. “Of course. How silly of me. It means the power will be given back to the people. We get to decide what happens, and what leaders get into power by way of a vote.”

Lovino raised an eyebrow. “So, no emperor?”

“No emperor. No inherited power. Our leaders would have to listen to us, or get voted out. If we even have leaders. We're leaning more towards something like a people's council.”

“Okay, sounds like a nice dream,” Xavier looked between them, “but will it ever happen? In our lifetime? In reality?”

"It does sound like a bit of a fantasy," added Lovino. A huge one, really. Life was as it is, and it was silly to change things. This was normal, and rocking the boat would only end badly for the people on the edges.

Arthur sighed again. “We cannot create a democracy on our own, or anytime soon, I will admit. We need people to fight with us, for their rights and freedom. We need the people organised and united. They need us more than we need them. The people make the food, the clothes, enforce their laws. If we stopped doing what they said, they would be powerless. This is where you come in. Are you willing to fight alongside us?”

Lovino glanced around the back room. There was just the three of them, but who knew who could be listening on the other side of the door. He groaned. “What do you say, Xavi?”

Xavier nodded, lost in thought. “Okay. Might be fun.”

Fun? “Fine. I’m in too.”

The back room led to a cellar, which contained a hidden trap door. The tunnel underneath looked like one of many, possibly even a whole maze, mirroring the city above, but Kirkland was holding back the details. Lovino didn’t blame him. There wouldn’t be a lot of trust between him and them, not for a while. Neither Lovino or Xavier had been too happy about climbing a rickety little ladder into darkness, though. And, when they reached the bottom, it wasn't much lighter. Kirkland lead them past closed, identical doors, this way and that. Once again, Lovino had to wonder if he was being led to his death.

Kirkland finally reached a door, no different from the others, but of some importance to him. He knocked loudly, then stepped back.

“Come in!” a voice called, and Kirkland opened the door.

Lovino and Xavier found themselves in the biggest room they had ever seen, let alone been in. Maybe it was as big as the Emperor’s rooms! There was a stage at the end, with a long table in the middle and little else. There were a few boxes on the table, but it was a bare room, and dusty too. Sat at the table, were three men in deep discussion. Lovino was sure he recognised one of them, at least.

“Oh no,” breathed Arthur, moving to step in front of the two boys, “I’m so sorry, children…”

“Ah, Arthur!” One of the men, a big man in green, waved him over, “there you are! Please, allow me to introduce you to-”

“Yes, Tino Väinämöinen,” Arthur snarled, “I’m familiar with your work.”

Lovino should’ve recognised the Emperor’s ex-personal guard the day he saw him climbing that tree. Through his terror, Tino's rant had been forgotten. All Lovino saw was a killing machine. Tino was short, but fierce, and built like a tank. Even if the years had rounded him, he still had chiselled muscles in his legs poking out under his shorts. His left arm looked strong too, but the right stopped at his elbow, from saving his old master’s life. Even the legacy of the man scared Lovino out of his wits. Even if he could no longer hold a rifle, he’d ended many lives in the name of the Emperor. He could probably kill everyone in the room with his bare hand.

He’d retired - from work and public life - just over nine years ago, after losing his arm. His image was still paraded around, like some sort of hero, but the man himself was rarely seen in public. Apparently he hadn't quite left his job behind after all.

“We’ve been caught already,” whispered Arthur. Lovino paled. This was it. Five minutes into some dumb idea and they were gonna be arrested and tortured as traitors before even doing anything. Even if he ran, he would be identified. Xavier looked like he wasn’t going down without a fight, balling his fists to get a punch on Tino before they were all shot. 

Lovino couldn’t even bring himself to fight; his entire family was doomed.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” said Tino casually, “I’m on your side. I promise.”

The third man - with shoulder-length brown hair - piped up. “He’s one of us.”

Arthur ignored him. “Boss, how do we know this?”

“Who do you think got me into the city in the first place?” replied the boss, the big man, “it wasn’t a one-man job.”

Arthur looked between his boss and Tino. “Why would he help us?”

“Oh I hate the Emperor as much as you do,” Tino replied, surprisingly bright about it. “I should explain, right? That man - that monster I served - he took so much from me. I hope what I have to say will be enough to convince you.”

Arthur scowled at him. "So, you're switching sides when it suits you?"

"That's not-"

“You were threatening to shoot him,” Lovino spoke up, “at the rally."

"Oh, you saw that," Tino blushed. Lovino wondered, briefly, if that had all been for show. Pretend to hate the Emperor to gain their trust, it was evil and genius enough for someone like Tino. Maybe that was why he hadn't been arrested.

Lovino frowned, or maybe he was being paranoid. "But why? You were completely loyal to the emperor. You saved him from that malfunctioning factory machine. I heard all about it. You gave up the ability to hold a gun to keep him safe.”

“So that’s the story they went with? I never checked. You hear that, Sadik?” Tino gave a short, harsh laugh.

“So it’s not true?”

Sadik raised an eyebrow. “Arthur, who are these children?”

“New recruits. Lovi, Xavi, please sit.”

Lovino did as he was told, sitting between Arthur and Xavier, all of them a good distance from Tino. 

“So, you’re here to fight?” asked Sadik.

The boys nodded; there was no backing out now.

“Great! Well, you need to hear what Tino has to say, then. We all need to trust each other.”

“It’s true I was close to Roderich III,” began Tino, “and I have done so, so many horrible things in his name. And of my own free will. I was ambitious, power-hungry. Stupid. The transition from pride to disgust in my work was a slow one, as my... well, my victims grew younger than me. Smaller. As my husband could no longer look me in the eye.” He picked at the grains of wood in the table. “I wanted to do some good for once; I wanted my husband to be proud of me, and he agreed to my plan because he loves children and longed for his own some day. It was a spontaneous plan, when we saw these soldiers leading child prisoners to the mines. Little more than babies, but they would die down there, and maybe collect gems and salt in the short time before. Traitors’ children, but children all the same. Berwald believed they were innocent. I don’t deserve him.”

“I would love to meet him one day,” said Sadik.

“He’s amazing.” Tino gazed into space for a moment, then shook himself. “I don’t know why we thought our plan would work. We only saved two, passed them to some friends to hide, and went back for more. They weren’t exactly well-guarded. But we were caught before we could save any more. The little boys we’d already hidden were never discovered, but we were arrested, and this man I had dedicated my life to called us traitors.” Tino paused for breath, looking around at them all to check he had their attention. He did. “But he had some sense of loyalty. At least, he didn’t want to kill us, not after all I’d done for him. Maybe he considered me a friend. Or maybe he thought it would look bad if his personal guard was revealed to be working against him. It'd explain that cover story. Did you know his father was killed by a member of his own council?” He shrugged. “We were not killed. He didn’t grant us our wish to take in the orphaned children of the mines, and we still had to be punished, but I wouldn’t have to watch Berwald die.”

“As you can see,” he gestured at his missing arm, “our lives came at a price. Mutilations. He took away my shooting arm, and Berwald lost his eyes. I would never shoot again, and Berwald could never look at his husband again. Edelstein made me watch as his new Captain, my old subordinate, took them out. Berwald joked that they were never much good to see with anyway.” He fell silent, but no one else dared speak. “He cannot see our sons grow up. You have my undying loyalty. I’m no good as a soldier anymore, but I can train people. I don't even care if you kill me afterward, I'd deserve it, but let me do what I can!”

“Oh, we need your experience,” Sadik squeezed his hand. “Few know more about Roderich III than you. I’m sorry for what happened to your family.” The two exchanged a smile, then Sadik turned to Lovino and Xavier. “And it seems we have some new people for you to train. We are grateful for your assistance, but can we have your loyalty too?”

Lovino tried not to squirm.

“Yes,” said Xavier immediately. Lovino nodded.

Sadik didn’t look satisfied. “Do you swear to commit to this cause and fight with your all?”

“We swear,” said Lovino, who had committed to nothing in his life except being as petty as possible.

“You swear on your mothers’ lives?”

“Yes,” replied Xavier. Lovino hesitated.

Sadik raised an eyebrow. “Getting second thoughts?”

“No. My mama’s dead. Childbirth. Thanks for reminding me.”

“My apologies,” Sadik bowed his head, “your…”

“My grandfather. Yes, I swear on his life.” He was an idiot.

“Welcome aboard,” Sadik shook both their hands, squeezing them within an inch of their life. “Can we get you here at 7 tomorrow? And try to recruit some people! Friends, family, anyone you can trust. We’d love to see some new faces but be careful who you tell, of course.”

The boys nodded and stood up to leave.

“Oh, sorry,” said Sadik, “I never caught your surnames.”

“Do we have to?” asked Xavier.

“Humour me.”

"We'd rather not."

"I swear on my son's life that I will never divulge your identities, even under extreme torture." Sadik put a hand on his heart. "I will take every secret here to my grave."

“Alright, it's Xavier Martinez Rodriguez,” Xavier groaned. "You're dramatic."

"I know."

Lovino bit his lip. “Lovino Vargas.”

“Vargas?” Now both Sadik and Tino were looking at him curiously, “sorry, how did you say your mother died again?”

Lovino frowned. “Childbirth.”

“I see,” Sadik shook his head slightly, “well, anyway, see you both tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“Hey! I’m home!” Lovino closed the front door and wiped his feet on the welcome mat.

“Great! You can start dinner for us,” his grandfather called back, from anywhere in the house. His voice just carried. “There’s three tins in the kitchen!”

Lovino groaned. Nothing that came out of a tin tasted good. Even if raw ingredients weren’t fresh, the meal still tasted better having prepared it from scratch. Not that anyone had the time or money for that. Lovino himself had time, he supposed, but he was technically supposed to be out looking for work. Was being a troublemaker a legitimate career path?

He trudged into the kitchen, emptying tins of gross, salty macaroni into a saucepan.

All Grandpa Janus had to do was ask, and he’d stay home to cook from scratch. Of course, he was supposed to be at work for the rest of his adult life, but he could manage. Maybe. Grandpa Janus could barely manage after work, but Lovino was different. Or maybe he could work as a cook and take things home at the end of the day? Cafes and restaurants always had old food for workers to take home. It was almost worth the long hours.

He rested his head against the cupboard. “I fucking hate my life.”

He glanced up to find Ludwig staring at him from the doorway, and jumped. Had he always been there?

“What’ya want? Can’t you see I’m working!”

Ludwig’s face crumpled and he disappeared, running up the stairs.

“Weirdo. How is that weedy fucker three years younger than me?” He stabbed at his macaroni.

Ludwig ran until his reached the bedroom, diving under his freshly-washed sheets and curling into a ball. His arms trembled, but he told himself not to cry. Not again. He was supposed to be a big boy, but all he wanted to do was hide from the world and sob. 

He wanted to be a big, grown adult, like his brother. He wanted to be strong, and brave. He'd just wanted to help Lovino.

But, try as he may, nothing would come out of his mouth.

Gilbert would be so disappointed in him. He was pathetic, acting like a small child when he was fifteen. He could've fought the police, protected everyone somehow, but one punch, and he'd cracked. He expected another one every second of the day. And every day was like being stuck on top of a pit, one drop away from death. The adrenaline had long worn off, and he had no idea how to handle the constant fear. He never felt safe, even back on solid ground, everything swayed.

He wouldn't be okay again, would he?

“Did you have a nice day, Lovino?” Grandpa Janus grinned at the boy as he dug into his dinner. 

Lovino just grunted in return.

The entire family was crowded round the one table, the buzz of several conversations overlapping each other as they discussed work and school. The air was heavy with sweat and dirt, not helped by the sun glaring through the window.

“I’m sorry about the food,” Grandpa Janus continued, “it’s all they had at the market. Again.”

“All the good meat gets saved for the rich,” said Francis.

“I miss being rich,” added Céline.

Lovino nodded. He hadn’t tasted fresh meat since he was little.

“Well, there’s nowhere to farm, right?” said Matthew, continuing the train of complaining. It was the only place they could talk freely. As paranoid as Lovino was, and as much as Roderich would want to, the Emperor didn’t have the means to bug houses; his ancestors had spent too much building an overly grandiose palace and a military to protect it. And he was the richest man in the city. No one had any money or livelihood or knowledge here; it wasn’t a sustainable way to live, and there was next to no farmland. Only about a quarter of the city was used to make food, either overcrowded pens for livestock, or greenhouses. Or factories growing food that barely counted as food. Lovino didn’t want to know what went into those; they were all the family could afford.

“Why can’t we use the land outside?” he asked. The rest of the table fell silent. Francis and Grandpa Janus exchanged glances. “I mean,” Lovino continued, “what’s even out there? We could grow stuff and put the animals there and there’d be more space to raise more animals, right?”

“We can’t go outside,” said Grandpa Janus flatly.

“Ah, come on, Papa,” Francis nudged him, “surely you've told Lovino about the outside.” 

Lovino looked at Grandpa Janus expectantly.

“I have,” he said, “there’s nothing there for us; it's just wasteland. If there was a means of helping us survive, we would have expanded the city. But the truth is: if you end up outside, it means the Emperor ordered your exile. And you don’t survive exile.”

“Sadik Adnan did,” muttered Lovino before he could stop himself. Arthur had explained it to him and Xavier on their way out, but he knew he’d made a mistake the moment he brought it up.

Grandpa Janus was stunned into silence, dropping his fork where it lay forgotten on the floor. The rest of the family didn't dare speak up. Eventually, his grandfather found his whispered and cracked voice. “Where did you hear that name?” 

“What do you know about him?” Lovino questioned, eyes narrowing.

“He’s dead. He was thrown out of the city 10 years ago, and died sometime after because people do not survive outside.”

“Did you know him?”

“How about you tell me how you know him before I smack you red?”

Lovino glared at him. “I met him today. He’s back and I know what happened ten years ago. A bunch of people tried overthrowing the Emperor. He’s gonna try again.” His little brothers looked up at him with wide eyes. This was the most scandalous thing anyone had ever said in front of them.

It took Grandpa Janus a moment to process that. “Well- Look, you just make sure you keep away from him, okay? He’ll fill your head with dangerous dreams. If he tries talking to you again, ask how his father's revolution went. You may not remember, but I do. A lot of people were put against the wall, or hung from it. The executions lasted weeks, and most were public. The ringleaders weren't, their deaths happened somewhere more quiet.” He glared into his dinner. "And you know the funniest thing? There was no revolution! The idiots were found out before they could make their first move!"

"So it's never actually been tried?" Lovino didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"Some guys were picked up by the police and tortured," Janus shrugged, "from what I heard, it didn't take long to break them. The guys were practically singing out names. Everyone else was rounded up soon after. Remind Sadik of that next time you're unlucky enough to run into him."

“Maybe I wanna help him,” Lovino said quietly.

Janus turned a shade of purple Lovino had never seen on a human being before. “I will have no grandchild of mine mixed up in that!” He slammed a fist on the table. “You trying to get us all killed?”

“It’s really all that’s left to do to us,” reasoned Lovino, “we’re poor! We’re broken! We’re oppressed!"

“You have no idea what they could do to us!” Grandpa Janus got up, pacing the room to stop himself throttling the boy. “You think things are bad now? You think there is nothing left for them to do to us? This is nothing compared to what the authorities would do if they could hear this conversation, never mind catch you plotting some revolution. Stay out of it, and let other idiots get killed chasing a pipe dream.” He laughed. “Maybe those morons getting caught and killed will ease the pressure of keeping this city fed.”

Lovino wrinkled his nose. “What the hell, Grandpa?”

“Look, just stay away from Adnan if you want to live, got it?”

“But what is the point of that if we can’t be free?” Lovino was surprised with himself. Since when was he so passionate? He was a compulsive arguer, but the more he argued for the sake of it, the more he found himself believing it. He wanted to leave the city, do what he wanted, not worry about saying the wrong thing. Was a better life really too much to ask for?

“I would rather you were all safe and here, instead of-” Grandpa Janus looked away, unable to finish his sentence.

“The boy is an adult now,” Francis chimed in, “I know he is choosing a scary path, but his heart is in the right place. I’m sure he’s perfectly aware of what he’s getting himself into.”

“No he’s not! He has no idea!” Grandpa Janus squeezed Lovino’s arm. “I am begging you, boy, stay away from Adnan and anyone who thinks like him.”

Lovino pulled his arm away. “But Grandpa-”

“I am not losing you, or Feliciano or Sal. It’s bad enough-” He looked away. “Just- don’t be an idiot!”

Lovino shook his head. “Why are you so scared of doing the right thing?”

“Because this isn’t some game or dream! This is real life and you can die from just speaking these words! We all can! You want to know how bad things can get? Ask this lot what happened to Gilbert.” He pointed at Francis and Céline.

“I used to think you were so brave,” Lovino sighed, “when did you become a coward?” He stood up, looking at his grandfather in disgust. “I cannot even look at you right now.”

“Right back at you, boy,” Grandpa Janus spat, “I forbid you from having anything to do with this. One more word of Adnan, and you can find another family to get killed. I will not have you jeopardising your brothers’ safety for some silly idea. Understand?”

Lovino gave a salute, slamming the door on his way out. He stomped up the stairs, kicked his bedroom door open, and proceeded to kick Feliciano’s bed frame. Stabbing pain jolted up his leg, and he burst into a string of profanity, flopping down on his own bed to hold his throbbing foot. Then he turned onto his stomach and screamed into the pillow.

He goddamn knew this was serious! Yes, it was also exciting, an adventure, but he was allowed to think that! He could be a hero! Then retire on a farm outside the city with a family, maybe even have his own restaurant and his brothers could come and go as they pleased, and he’d never have to worry about them. Now he had a taste of that future, he was going to get it!

All this time, his Grandpa complained he wasn’t doing enough with his life, but the first time he cared about something, it got shot down. If his foot wasn’t still hurting, he’d kick the wall. Instead, he just threw his pillow across the room.

“You do this every time you get told “no”?” asked Céline, leaning against the doorway, “and I thought I was spoilt.” Francis was standing next to her, awkwardly avoiding eye-contact. Lovino wanted to tell them to fuck off, but was too humiliated to speak. What sort of adult threw a tantrum like that?

“What do you want?” he sighed, voice cracking. If he started crying, he was going to jump out the window.

“That was quite the speech you gave there,” commented Céline, “the kind Gilbert used to give. He snapped too, just like you.” She sat on Sal’s bed. “Used to be so obsessed with order and the way things were, determined to followed the law down to the last misdemeanour, but it became harder and harder to justify what he wrote each week. He stopped being able to bear what was happening to the people, and he wanted to use his voice for change.” She sighed dramatically. “You saw where it got him.”

“There needs to be more direct action.” Francis paced the room. “You believe Sadik can give us that?”

Lovino shrugged. “I don’t know. But they seem organised. Got a cool secret base and everything.”

“I am going to finish what Gilbert started,” said Céline firmly.

Lovino sat up. “You think this is a good idea, then?”

“Not in the slightest,” Francis laughed, “but one of my closest friends was just murdered, and I want revenge on the man responsible.”

"Right, I get it." 

"And I want the kids to grow up in a better world," continued Francis, "your brothers included."

"Can we join too?" Alfred poked his head through the door. Matthew was there too.

Francis didn't look too happy at that, but did not argue. "Of course. You two are old enough to make your own decisions. As much as it pains me."

"Great! We wanna kick some royal ass!" Alfred flopped down on Lovino's bed, almost sending him flying.

"Hey, watch it!"

"You get used to him," sighed Matthew. 

"Surely, the more people that are all in, the more likely it is to work," Céline looked around, "we need to get the whole family on board."

"So I can join?" Asked Feliciano.

"Absolutely not!" Cried Lovino, “you’re definitely too young!”

“No I’m not!” Feliciano pouted, “I’m two years younger than you!”

“A child! I agree with Grandpa that I don’t want you in danger. You could get hurt!”

“But I’ll be in danger anyway, right? And, if you don’t let me help, I’ll… I’ll tell Grandpa what you’re gonna do!” There was an unusual fierceness to his eyes.

Lovino screamed through gritted teeth. “Don’t be a fucking narc, Ciano!”

“It would break your Grandpa’s heart to hear such a thing,” Francis wailed dramatically, “don’t do it!”

Matthew crouched down next to him. “You already have a special mission, Feli. You need to be Ludwig’s friend.”

“I’m not five, Matti,” he grumbled.

Matthew nodded. “You’re right. Look, Ludwig is incredibly traumatised. The Emperor did that. I believe you’re the one who can help him. Get him talking, help him open up. You can’t replace his brother, but you can be there for him. He needs someone to be gentle with him.”

Lovino wasn’t sure he liked that much better. Feliciano and Ludwig were weirdly close; it was creepy how the kid clung to his brother, shadowed him like a bad dream. But it meant Feliciano wasn't getting shot at.

Lovino felt cold. Would he be shot at?

Feliciano thought about it, then nodded. “Okay, I can do that. I’d rather do that instead of fighting anyone. But, when Ludwig’s okay, we can join, right?”

Wrong, but Lovino nodded. “Yeah, sure, but he has to be completely, absolutely okay.” There! An impossible standard.

“I won’t let him down, I promise!” He darted out of the room, presumably to find Ludwig. Lovino hoped he didn’t blurt anything out to Grandpa Janus. He turned back to the others.

“I’ll need you all at Karpusi’s cafe tomorrow. 7am sharp. That okay?”

“I can manage that,” said Francis, shrugging, “I’m owed some time off.”

“I’m blacklisted from most jobs,” Céline spat, “you have all my time.”

Alfred glanced at his twin. “We can find an excuse, right?”

Francis got up, walking over to Lovino and resting a hand on his shoulder. “But you have to do something for us first.”

“What?”

“Apologise to your grandfather.”

“Nope. No way!” He shook his head childishly.

“Come on,” Matthew insisted, “the man’s devastated. You've just shattered any sense of safety he just had. You need to reconcile. Especially if we’re going to be doing something so risky. You’ll never know what day you won’t come back.”

“Don’t want to.” Lovino knew he was right, though.

“Life’s too short for broken relationships, young man,” Céline made sure to look him right in the eye. “He won’t be mad forever, he doesn’t want to be. Just make up and save yourself that precious time.” Lovino squirmed until he hauled himself up and back downstairs, dreading the coming conversation.

Grandpa Janus was sat in his armchair, staring out the window and lost in thought. Lovino wondered if he knew he was crying.

“Grandpa?” he asked softly. 

The old man jumped, then turned to look at him. “Oh, my boy.”

“Yeah,” he walked over and sat on the arm of the armchair. “Look, I’m sorry. I was a jerk. You're just trying to keep me safe.”

He nodded. “It’s okay. Sorry for being so harsh. I was just… so, so scared for you. All of you.”

“I know.”

"A household of ten people. That's a lot of lives on the line."

"I know. I'm sorry."

“Come here,” Grandpa Janus pulled him into a tight hug. “Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Grandpa.”

“You’ll keep safe, right?" He clutched Lovino's hand; "promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.”

“I promise,” he lied.

Chapter Text

Sadik glanced around him, pulling his hood down further over his face, just in case his information was wrong. It was okay, though; the streets were completely empty. He knocked on the door he was slouched next to, wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve. Tino had provided him with an updated map of a route here, avoiding the CCTV, and he’d waited for nightfall, but it was still the most terrified he’d ever been.

It would be worth it, though.

It was a tense few moments before Isabel answered the door. “Hello?” she asked nervously before spotting him. It took her a moment to recognise him, but when she did, she looked like she'd seen a ghost. “Oh, Sadi-”

He put a hand over her mouth before pushing them both into the hall. He shushed her gently, giving her a soft expression to show he meant no harm, then shut the front door behind him. “Sorry about that, Issy. I can’t be outside. And you probably can’t be saying my name.”

She nodded. “Wow, you're back! I heard you might be in the city, but assumed it was just a rumour. I mean, we thought you were- you had to be dead!”

“No, I’m here! A bit of desert can’t get me,” he laughed. “But wow! Look at you! You were so tiny last time I saw you!”

Isabel gave him a sad smile. “We’d lost all hope of seeing you again. Well, he had.”

“Where is Adriaan?”

“In his shed. Wanna see him?”

He nodded. “Should’ve known he’d be hiding in there. Thanks, Issy.”

She lead him down the hall and into the garden: a square of dusty metal Adriaan had decorated with sculptures of plants, strings of lights in jars, and paintings of birds on the fences. It was a few steps to cross, but Sadik took his time, admiring the handiwork. It was an oasis of beauty in the grim city.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the shed door.

“Fuck off, Isabel!”

“Haven’t changed much, then,” he replied, leaning against the shed and chuckling.

There was silence, before the door opened a crack and he was pulled in. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight.

“Sadik, you bastard! It’s really you?”

“I missed you too,” he mumbled into Adriaan’s neck, clutching his shirt. He wanted the moment to freeze, for time to leave the two of them alone. Adriaan wasn’t entirely in tune with his emotions, but there was no mistaking his joy as he clutched Sadik’s face in his hands. Sadik wondered if he’d kiss him, but Adriaan wasn’t so forward. It had been a long time since they’d done that. Just like it was a long time since they had hugged the same way, as boys, when the world was bearable and they had hope. 

He wondered if Adriaan still loved him.

Sadik knew he still loved Adriaan.

People were quick to write him off as a dick, but Sadik knew better. Adriaan was brilliant. He just saved his brilliance for those he cared about, sometimes. Sadik became lost in the earthy smell of Adriaan’s clothes. It was familiar. It was home.

“I should’ve known. Things were getting restless, talk of doing stupid stuff. Of course you’d be at the centre of it all. When’d you get back?”

“Few days ago. Sorry I didn’t stop by sooner, been busy.” He paced the shed, taking it all in. “No one’s flattened this place, then?”

“I’m careful. I thought you knew I was smarter than that.”

Adriaan’s shed had no windows, lit only by a single bulb, and special, strong lights he used to work. Not a single beam of light ever escaped the shed, though, and Adriaan was careful when entering and leaving the place. The caution was for good reason: what Adriaan did in his shed was illegal.

Most of the floor was covered in pots of tulips, the only flowers the pair of them had ever gotten their hands on. People just weren’t allowed to grow plants, except for food, and the only flowers in the city, officially, grew in the Emperor’s own gardens. 

It was no wonder the air was so thin.

“Things good with you?” he asked.

Adriaan nodded. “Steady job. Friends. Well, Isabel’s friends. I just tag along like a loser. You know how great my people skills are.”

Sadik nodded, then broke into a grin. He pulled Adriaan into another hug. “It’s so good to see you again!”

Adriaan laughed and hugged back. “Things that bad out there?”

“Oh you have no idea. How the hell Kuzey and I survived, I’ll never know.”

“Kuzey?”

“My son.”

Adriaan nodded. There was silence again before he spoke. “Still have a wife?”

“Still have commitment issues?” Adriaan looked away, and Sadik followed suit. “Hestia didn’t make it. No one else did.”

“I’m sorry.” Neither could look back at each other now. Adriaan crouched down to water his flowers. “I’ll try to breed a special tulip. Name it after her.”

“Thank you. I wished I’d shown her them before… well, everything.”

“She’d have liked them.” Adriaan didn’t mention that the flowers were their thing. No living person knew about the flowers; he’d not even shown Isabel. The risks were too high. Not to mention, Sadik wasn’t sure his wife and ex-boyfriend being in a small room together would’ve been wise. He'd had fantasies about it, but he figured reality was seldom so kind.

Neither of them could ever forget that first bulb. They’d found it in the dump outside the palace walls, risking their lives to explore it. They thought it was food, and took it back to headquarters to ask their parents if it was safe. It was more than a rotten onion, and their parents had given them some old gardening books from the HQ library and some soil from tunnels currently being dug out to expand the base. They’d grown their first flower here in Adriaan’s parents’ shed, identified it as a tulip, and instantly fallen in love with it.

Adriaan had been 8, Sadik 11, and they’d felt like the smartest people in the city. They grew more and more flowers over the years, in their little sanctuary, growing up with their rebellion of colour and fragrance. They’d even had their first kiss here. 

“Arthur tells me you’ve been avoiding us.” Sadik glanced at him warily.

“So that’s what you’re here for,” Adriaan growled.

“I wanted to see you again, I swear!”

“And get me to join your little plan. It’s not enough to have Kirkland harassing my sister?”

“I care about you! I have to be the leader now, and I’d feel so much better with you by my side. You’re a smart man, Adriaan, practical too. I know you can help-”

“Absolutely not.” Adriaan turned his back on him, sat amongst his flower pots. “I’m not risking my sister’s life, or my own, for your hero fantasy. You’re a fool if you think this is gonna work and, let’s be honest, did you really survive all that time out there just to come back and die within a month?”

“Adriaan, that’s not how- forget it,” Sadik sighed and turned to leave, when Adriaan spoke again.

“You’re leading these people to their deaths, you know that, right?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You poor, stupid bastard. You learnt nothing from last time? You’re gonna go against the Royals and the might of the state and get away with it?”

“I can and I will.”

Adriaan shook his head. “Even if you win, even if you get your fantasy world, it’s gonna come at a price. People will die.”

“You think I don't know that? People are already dying, every day, from living like this. But we’ll be careful. I’m gonna pick the right time to strike, when the city is on our side and there’s nothing the Royals can do. Casualties will be kept at a minimum. I’d sooner see myself get tortured to death than allow unnecessary killing.”

“If this carries on, you will be tortured to death. Fuck’s sake, Sadik, you know trying to reason with you is trying to breed a pure black tulip: fucking impossible.”

“No one ever got anywhere hiding in his shed like a bitch.”

Adriaan snorted. “And which of us is gonna make it to forty?”

“I’d rather die than live in fear, or hide underground, cause that’s my only other option. I can't live a normal life here until Roderich is dead. Besides, are you, or are you not, growing illegal flowers? You think the police are gonna let it slide if they find out?”

“They won’t,” said Adriaan with a smug smile, “I’m careful. I plan for everything. All the lights are powered by a circuit I built myself. I power the generator with that bike in the corner. The electricity won’t get flagged anywhere. There’s no windows to see into, and the only people who know about it are the two of us. You’re not gonna go telling on me, right Fugitive?”

“No, and I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want, but just remember: no Emperor means you can grow all the flowers you wanted. You could do it all day, rather than sticking up propaganda for a regime you hate. Yeah, Arthur told me about that.”

Adriaan pretended to not be listening.

Sadik sighed. “We could sit among the flowers all day, you know?” He bent down and placed a soft kiss on the top of Adriaan’s head. “Goodbye, then.”

Chapter Text

The streets were busy as Lovino led his family to that rickety old cafe. There were people all around them, going to their real jobs. He led the others in a tight knot, heads down and minding their own business. They were going to work too, no need to arouse suspicion. No one really paid them attention. After all, everyone had their own lives to be getting on with. Lovino kept his eyes forward, not saying a word, and almost everyone else seemed to get the message.

“So, who we meetin’?” asked Alfred in his ear, “anyone we know?”

Francis shushed him. “Really? Right now?”

Alfred huffed, quietening down for a few minutes. Lovino followed the river path, up to a set of narrow stairs. It led to a higher street, more open, with houses that were larger and neater than most of the Iron district, but not by much. The road was a little wider here, and Lovino enjoyed a view of part of the Iron district, stretched out below on the other side of the river. From a distance, the place looked even more depressing: masses of crooked houses packed together, no grand buildings breaking the skyline.

Alfred chewed his lip. “So, who told you about it?”

Francis flicked his ear. “I swear to fuck if you don’t shut up, you’re going to work instead.”

Lovino turned a corner and the cafe came into view. He shushed the group and crossed the square. Certain they were alone, he slipped inside. 

There was welcome shade in the cafe, empty except for Heracles, watching them from the counter and seemingly stunned at the numbers. Lovino gave a nod, and the group waited at a table to make sure no one else came in. Eventually, Heracles jerked his head towards the back room. He led them down to the cellar in silence, and even Alfred seemed to get the idea. Through the trapdoor, down into darkness and along the corridor to the main hall they went. Inside, fewer than ten people sat and stood talking in groups.

“Wait here for Sadik,” said Heracles, “he’ll want to talk to the new people.” He turned and left without another word.

Xavier waved them over. “You made it!” He was leaning on the stage at the back of the room, where the others soon joined him. Xavier’s cousin was with him, with his golden tan, goofy grin, full nose and mop of curly hair. Lovino hadn’t seen him in a while, remembering an awkward, lanky teen. Now he was toned and curved and surprisingly handsome. He didn’t bother with the buttons of his floral shirt, apparently, tucking it into his shorts, and the style looked good on him. “You remember Antonio, right?”

Lovino nodded. “So, you dragged your family into this too?” It was as good a place as any to start.

Xavier laughed. “Toni wouldn’t shut up about the whole thing. Had to bring him or he’d tell my parents.” He shoved him. “Fucking narc.”

“It’s my job to keep you out of trouble,” said Antonio. Lovino remembered him being a bit overbearing, strict, even, with Xavier. Strange, really, he seemed so laid-back normally.

“By getting in trouble with me?” Xavier scoffed. "João is gonna be here too. He just had work today."

“Of course I'm getting into trouble;” Antonio pulled Francis into a firm hug. “Good to see you!”

“Likewise,” Francis kissed both his cheeks, “nice to know I’m in trusted company. Feels a little safer with you around.”

“Not many people,” Céline commented, glancing around. There was Tino, and Lovino recognised his two friends from the rally with him, huddled together in the corner. To save a repeat of the previous day, he'd warned the others that Tino would be there. Kiku and Arthur were in deep conversation, looking over papers at the table. At the other end of the stage, two very strange men sat talking intensely. One looked a little like a rat, the other looked like a depressed pile of ash. 

“Hey, it’s a start,” said Alfred. “We’ve nearly doubled it.” Other people had noticed too, and were staring at them with interest. Lovino wasn’t sure what to make of the attention. But he was proud of himself. Who else here had recruited 4 other people?

“What happens next?” asked Céline.

“It’s sorta like an interview,” Antonio explained, “Sadik just asks you about your motivations, and what you can do to help. Nothing too scary.” He looked at her. “Let me guess. Gilbert?” She nodded. “Yes, of course, it was part of the reason I wanted to join, why I insisted;” Antonio gave a sigh. “He was a good friend. I’m so, so sorry for your loss.” His smile was back before a melancholy look could even settle. “I know you will make his death mean something,” he kissed her hand, stooping down to reach her.

“Thank you, Antonio. I will.”

“Lovino!” Antonio finally turned to him, “it’s been too long! Look how much you’ve grown!” He ruffled his hair. 

“Hey, watch it!” He gently held him back. “Personal space, my friend.”

“Course, course! Sorry.”

“Well, you two seem to have spirit!” Sadik strode into the room, holding the door to a side room open for two people Lovino didn’t recognise. “I like that, Logan, Hunapo. I hope you’ll make me proud, here.”

“Oh we will,” said the taller one, an absolute tank of a man with messy hair and a cocky grin. Logan, apparently. He looked like a Logan.

“You’ve made a good choice,” said a smaller, scruffy mess of curled hair. Hunapo. Both names weren't that familiar.

“I hope I have,” Sadik nudged them, “not that we can afford to be fussy.”

“That why you signed me up?” asked Rat-man, through a mouthful of beans. He was sat cross-legged on the stage, a can balanced on one pointy knee.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but…” Sadik noticed the new arrivals. “Hey, Lovino, right? Who are all these people?”

“Relatives,” he said in a small voice. Sadik intimidated him, and, for some reason, he felt desperate not to let him down. Maybe it was because he reminded him of Grandpa Janus? 

“Well done lad!” Sadik boomed, hands on his hips, “you must have some way with words!” And just like praise from Grandpa Janus, Lovino found himself elated that he’d made Sadik proud. He wanted to do more, earn more validation.

Francis whistled. “So you’re Sadik Adnan? Your reputation precedes you.”

Sadik laughed. “Already?”

“Well, I remember hearing about what happened last time. Never got involved,” he coughed, “might’ve been for the best.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. Things will go better, though. I’m older, and hopefully a little wiser now. But I can’t do it alone.” He motioned to the side room. “Please, step into my office, and we can talk more.”

When the Bonnefoys followed him inside, Antonio turned back to Lovino and Xavier. “So, Lovi, I hear you finished school too. Look at the pair of you! All grown up!”

“Yeah, a grown-up adult, so roll back on the patronising.”

Antonio laughed. “Alright. I'm still older, though. I want a bit of respect.”

“Because you came out the pussy, like, two years before me?”

“Let’s not talk about my mum like that.”

“I’d like to meet your mum one day. Can you introduce us?”

“Toni’d like to meet his dad one day,” muttered Xavier, crackling at his own joke. Antonio didn’t look so impressed.

“You can be quiet!”

“His birth certificate has a question mark under “father’s name”. I’ve seen it.”

“Stop telling people that or I’ll punch you in the tit!”

Lovino burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, Toni, my dad walked out too. Who needs the rat bastards? Better off without them.”

Xavier looked between them. “How the fuck do you keep losing dads? This is the last outpost of humanity, and there’s a giant wall around the city. They can’t have gone far, guys. Find the fuckers!”

Even Antonio had to laugh at that. Lovino leaned against the stage. “Xavi, if it was that easy, Grandpa would’ve tracked the sonnovabitch down and throttled him.” His earliest memory was Grandpa Janus pacing the main room and loudly planning to do such a thing. Ah, childhood memories.

Xavier nudged Antonio. “Maybe you should speak to Janus; he's fathered half the city, at least."

"I don't like this game anymore," said Lovino. He didn't know why, but it was really important to him that he wasn't related to Antonio.

"Speaking of Lovino’s family, they seem nice!” Xavier peered over at Sadik’s office.

“They’re alright, I guess. Céline’s my favourite.”

“They’re hot.”

“I hate you so much.”

Xavier burst out laughing. “I love you too.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Antonio rubbed Lovino’s shoulder, “you’re not so bad to look at yourself.”

Lovino looked at him. “Is this a joke or-?”

“No! I swear-”

“Good. Because I know I’m hot, and you should know too. And you’re…” he blushed, “you’re kinda okay too, but don’t go on about it.”

“Aww, thank you!”

“I wish someone would tell me I’m hot,” said Xavier whistfully.

“You’re hot, now lemme motorboat you.” Lovino buried his face in Xavier’s chest and blew a raspberry. Xavier almost passed out from laughing. 

“Finally, things are getting interesting!” called Rat Man.

“What’s getting interesting, Alin?” Sadik stepped out of his office, followed by the Bonnefoys. Lovino pulled away from Xavier’s chest, looking a little sheepish.

Alin shrugged, licking sauce off a bean with his pointy tongue. “I just thought we were all about to touch on each other.”

Sadik looked at him. No one said anything for a long moment. “We’re not going to do that.”

“Then what was the point in joining up here?”

Sadik ignored him, instead addressing the group as a whole. “Anyway, it’s nice to see our numbers rising. We’re starting to establish links with the remnants of the old guard, and finding new faces willing to hear us out. Of course, we have a long way to go, and we’ll need a way of getting our message across without incriminating ourselves.” He clapped his hands, “but today, we’ll just focus on educating you all, and starting you on some basic weapons training. Tino here is going to teach you to hold a gun, and fire it straight.”

Lovino and Xavier exchanged looks of glee.

Up at the top of the city, on Rex Hill, sat the Palace, whose walls were hugged by the river on three sides. The fourth stretched out in front of the Golden Square, now empty of subjects. Inside the walls were the gardens, with winding paths touring through meticulously cared-for flowers. Water from the river fed into the gardens, creating a lush oasis in the centre of the arid city. The palace itself towered over everything, even allowing the residents to catch a glimpse of the desert beyond the city walls. The music room was near the centre of the palace, with thick walls and high windows kept close to keep the room’s secrets. There were a variety of instruments, kept polished by one of the servants. There was also a fat sofa, near the grand piano at the centre of the room.

Roderich ignored everything around him and focused only on the keys in front of his eyes. He played with all his might, played for his anger, played for his hatred, love, everything that pulsed through his body. Yes, music was illegal but Roderich relished in breaking his own rules. After all, who was going to stop him? Roderich played on, letting the music vibrate through him, words he didn’t know how to express, words that didn’t exist. It was a song his mother wrote, before the madness took her.

He finished his piece and turned his attention to Érzsebét, his Empress, his Queen, who was sprawled out on the sofa in a light, lacy dress. Her hair was splayed everywhere, thick and curly. She stood up, clapping and running over to him. ‘“Brilliant, darling, just marvellous!” They shared a kiss.

“Thank you, dear.” He held her gently, running his fingers through her hair. He’d often heard this absurd rumour he was evil. That he was a monster incapable of love. People had the gall to scream it at him, the worst last words he could think of. Was there not something more productive to say at a time like that? It wasn’t true, anyway. If he wasn’t capable of love, then what did he feel for Érzsebét? For their son? It was simple, really. But still, they said he was evil and a curse on the world. The thought made him shake with a malicious, uncontrollable rage.

“Roddy,” said Érzsebét, gently, but firmly, “you’re squeezing me.”

“Érzsebét! Oh, I’m so sorry!” He pulled away. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head. “You know I could never hurt you. I’d sooner die.”

Érzsebét smirked. “Oh, I know. Like you could, anyway.” Neither could, and neither had ever. Érzsebét was loyal to her Emperor, and Roderich worshipped Érzsebét in return. Not only did he love her, but he owed his life to her.

They’d met when they were seven years old, already betrothed and destined to rule. She was the daughter of a noble, chosen as a suitable match for Roderich, despite her unruly nature. Roderich had already developed a reputation of being a selfish and downright cruel child. He was, but not around Érzsebét. He shared his toys with her, and followed her around as she plotted out adventures for them both. When it came to play fights, she refused to let him win, and Roderich didn’t throw tantrums over losing, instead begging her to teach him to be stronger.

And then it happened. The incident. They were ten, going for a cycle through the palace gardens. He remembered the scent of the plants, the pollen in his hair and the breeze. He remembered Érzsebét’s embroidered shirt and the mud on her boots. He remembered her laugh, and how he’d push his glasses up his nose before explaining the different species of flower. He even picked a large, pink one to put in her hair. 

The two took a break under the shade of a tree, and it happened. Érzsebét was looking off in the distance, while Roderich leaned against the trunk catching his breath. Out of the blue, Érzsebét tackled him, launching them both into the flower bed as the ground erupted. Gunshots rained down on them, some dangerously near their mark, but the children were hidden in the bushes. Roderich wanted to cry out, but Érzsebét covered his mouth. He remembered being paralysed, time standing still until the palace guards arrived and returned fire on the assassin. 

Yes, it had been an assassin; not a professional, most likely, just someone who wanted to leave the empire without an heir, someone with a grudge against the royals. Roderich had never left the palace walls since. It had taken years to build up the courage to go in the gardens, only when security had been tightened and the wall was heavily guarded. Whilst he wouldn’t control Érzsebét, he had suggested she do the same once they were married, and she agreed. Franz had been forbidden from leaving the palace.

After another assassin was more successful in killing his father, Roderich had ascended the throne a hurricane of grief and any hope that he would be a more benevolent ruler soon squashed. 

“Roddy, come back to me,” Érzsebét stroked his cheek, “you’re far away.”

Roderich shook himself. “Sorry, sorry.” 

The doors flung open as General Zwingli marched in. “Sir-”

Roderich slammed his hand on the piano. “How many times do I have to warn you about knocking?” He thundered, “the music room is private!”

General Zwingli didn’t appear disturbed. “I understand, but this is urgent. A small council is being summoned.”

“I see.” Roderich glanced at Érzsebét, who gave a nod. “We will go to the board room immediately.” They left the music room, following Zwingli through airy hallways, past the portraits of the five previous Emperors and platinum columns between arches looking down on the gardens.

“Where is my son?” Roderich spoke in a low voice, “does this concern him?”

“He is in the company of Lady Biedermann,” Zwingli replied, “perfectly safe. No, this is a greater problem, and affects us all.”

Roderich wrinkled his nose, “there is nothing greater than the prince. But the situation sounds grave indeed.”

“‘Tis, I’m afraid.” Zwingli rounded a corner and opened the door to the board room, a pair of servants holding it for the royal couple. The council members summoned were sat at one end of a heavy table, only three: Feilks, Arjun and Yao, whose job was to advise him and keep him informed on the goings-on of the city he refused to set foot in.

Roderich made his way to the end of the table, sitting on a simple throne while Érzsebét and Zwingli took their seats. “So,” he began, “what have you got to tell me? What was so important I had to be summoned like some butler? I’m assuming, by your small numbers, it’s to be kept on a need-to-know basis.” He slipped a hand into his robes, where he kept a tiny pistol. Just in case. He didn’t want history repeating itself.

“For now,” began Yao, “we need to plan carefully before this gets out. And who knows who we can trust anymore.” 

Roderich looked at Yao. If he was forced to distrust his council, both men knew who would be the first to go. “So, what’s going on?”

“The news that… well…” Feliks avoided his glare.

“Spit it out.”

“An undercover officer claims to have spotted notorious criminal Sadik Adnan wandering the Iron District last night. If he’s re-entered the city, this could spell bad news for us.”

Roderich scratched his chin. “Sadik Adnan? Why should that name bother me?”

“He was one of the last people sent into exile,” said Yao. "Oğuzhan's son."

“And he’s still alive?” Roderich glared at Zwingli. 

Zwingli waved a hand. “The exile programme was run by Väinämöinen. It was a soft option that let people slip through. That was why I replaced it. Besides, having suspect individuals in the city is a far more efficient method of keeping track of them.”

“But how did he re-enter the city?”

“No one knows,” said Feliks.

“Is he alone?”

“Possibly. But he’d have had allies inside the city. Someone must've helped him.”

Roderich snarled. “And do we know what his motives are?”

“No,” said Arjun, “but, we can guess what might happen, if he’s planning to carry on his father’s legacy…”

“Well, find him!” Roderich smacked his hand on the table, “find him, and all his associates! Hunt him down until there’s nowhere left to run! And let it be known that, if anyone is caught harbouring or collaborating with him, they will face the death penalty.”

“So we let the news get out?” asked Zwingli, “to the citizens?”

“Yes. We need the whole city on our side. Put a price on his head, and people will give us information. And I want crackdowns, too. Implement a curfew for a week, conduct raids on any possible allies.”

Zwingli nodded. “I’ll pull up a list of persons of interest. Anyone known to the law.”

“Good man.” Roderich stood up. “I want him dead by the end of the week.” He left the room.

Érzsebét got up. “Do what you can,” she told everyone, “and don’t let us down.” She followed her husband out.

The council sat in stunned silence, then Zwingli spoke. “Well, you heard the emperor. Feliks, I want a broadcast drafted for this evening and sent to City Radio. Yao, contact Mr Honda and get wanted posters ready for tomorrow. Send them to Arjun for printing. I want this man found!” 

Everyone nodded and scrambled up. The meeting was over, and they all had work to do. Leaving Zwingli to organise the raids, Feliks strode down the hall to one of the offices. Yao paused for a moment, then started making his way outside. 

“Hey, Yao!” Arjun quickly caught up with him. “Want to walk home together?”

“Might as well,” Yao gave a polite smile. He and Arjun were… well, they’d known each other a long time. Perhaps too long. He was fond of Arjun, Yao supposed, most of the time.

“And you’re busy tonight, then?”

“Yes. You heard.”

“Well, if we’re both on poster duty, we might as well visit Mr Honda together, right? I’ve yet to see the man at work myself.”

“Of course,” Yao held the front door open for him, nodding to the guards swarming the place. “The man’s exceptional; you’ll be in for a treat.”

Chapter Text

Tino was quite aware that this was a room mostly full of strangers with no military training. There were only so many weapons stockpiled in the headquarters, and he wasn’t going to waste bullets on people who didn’t know how to use them. Luckily, he had a small collection of dummy bullets he used to teach his boys gun safety. And the stockpile would grow. He still had some army connections, people he knew would sneak more weapons to him, just a few, barely noticeable in the big picture.

Tino paced the room, full of wooden crates, a table of weapons, and a handful of makeshift targets. “Now, I’m not letting you fucks near the real deal until I can trust you not to shoot your own dicks off,” he began; “there’ll be plenty of time for danger, when the whole city is searching for you and you’re fighting soldiers ten-to-one. No point killing yourselves by accident before that. We’ll be practising with these while you get the hang of gun safety and aiming.” He showed off the dummy bullets.

“And our budget’s next to nothing?” asked Alin.

“That too. No use wasting real bullets on target practice. Not to mention, it’s stupid and dangerous.” He surveyed the little group. There was Alin, of course, and Tsvetan. Lovino and Xavier were listening with childish awe, next to Antonio, Alfred and Matthew. Céline was standing on a crate so she could actually see what was happening. Gunner, Vidar and Francis seemed to be the most focused here. 

“Now, I know this is a strange place to start,” Tino continued, “especially when we’re talking about weapons made to kill, but I’m serious when I say safety is key here, and I will say it over and over again until it’s beaten into you. If I have to literally beat it into you, then I will. How can you call yourselves an army when all you’re shooting is each other, right?” A few people nodded. 

“Am I talking to corpses here?” Tino raised his voice, “you will answer with a “yes sir” so I can make sure you’re paying attention.”

“Yes sir.”

“Louder!”

“Yes sir!”

“Say it like you mean it!” he thundered.

“Yes sir!” Lovino’s mouth was raw from shouting.

“I’m almost impressed. Moving on, there are a few basic rules. One: keep your hand away from the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. Accidents happen. Two: do not point your gun at anyone or anything you’re not planning to shoot. For the most part, that means keeping it pointed at the floor. We have to train in a confined space, so we don’t want bullets bouncing off the walls. Three: know what you’re shooting at, what you might hit, and what’s behind the thing you’re shooting at. And, most importantly, four: these rules apply to all guns, whether loaded or not. Assume they are, and check if they are before doing anything else with a gun, even if you’re certain it’s unloaded. Am I being clear?” 

“Yes sir,” came a chorus of voices, and Lovino, eager to please, gave a salute.

“At ease, Vargas,” said Tino, amused. Lovino put his hand down with a blush. Tino gestured to a crate behind him. “Most of our weapons are these revolvers. They’re also a very simple gun to use, perfect for beginners like you. I want you all to know how these work. I want you to be able to assemble, disassemble, load, empty this thing as easy as breathing. If you master the revolver, I can train you to fire something more powerful.”

Lovino nodded. It’d be great if he was a natural at this. He’d never been top of the class in anything. Not a troublemaker either, just generally unremarkable. But he wanted to be the best here, and have Tino shower him with compliments and have Xavier and Antonio think he was the coolest thing.

He blinked. Wait, since when did he care about Antonio thinking he was cool?

Tino picked up one of the guns. “Now, this is a standard army revolver. It fires six shots, then you need to reload. This fat bit is the chamber, it’s where the bullets go,” he added, with a slightly patronising tone. “This button here, behind the chamber on the left hand side of the gun, opens the chamber.” He demonstrated. “When loading your gun, point it downwards. And if you want to empty your gun, tip your bullets out like so.” He emptied the bullets onto the table. “If you haven’t fired yet, empty the bullets into your other hand if you have one. If you’ve fired, and want to remove the empty shells, let them fall onto the floor. They’ll be too hot to hold.”

Lovino followed it all, hanging on to Tino’s every word. He had seen guns before, used by the police and army, and he’d always considered them something to avoid. The idea of using one himself, having that amount of power, it was electrifying. He wouldn’t be some little bug to be terrorised and pushed around. 

“Now, Gunner here is gonna help me demonstrate how to hold the gun with two hands. I can fire one-handed, because I’m cool and put in the extra practice, but for you able-bodied people, two hands is easier.”

“Do a lot of things one-handed, Tino?” Gunner made a wanking gesture before taking the gun. Tino just stared at him. “I mean, I know you do everything one-handed, but…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“Gunner?”

“Tino?”

“Gunner.”

“Sorry. Yes, sir?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Tino explained how to hold the gun, and Lovino probably remembered half of it. He didn’t feel so brave thinking about how he wasn’t going to be instantly amazing at firing guns. He was going to look stupid in front of everyone.

“Everyone grab some safety goggles, and I’ll show you how to shoot.” Tino nodded at a box of goggles and Gunner started handing them out to everyone. “Yes, in a real life situation, you probably won’t have safety equipment, but let’s keep you alive until then.”

“So what you’re saying,” said Tsvetan, “is that we need a rich sugar daddy to buy us weapons and armour?”

“Yes. Do you know one?”

“Do I look like I know any rich people?”

“No, useless bastard.”

Satisfied that everyone was wearing their goggles, Tino put on ear-protectors and stepped up to the target: a pillow on a stick, with a poster of the Emperor stapled on. He fired all 6 rounds in quick succession, leaving a trail of holes from Roderich’s torso to his forehead. Even though everyone else was standing back, the gunshots were deafening, and Lovino was relieved to see he wasn’t the only person who jumped. Antonio covered his ears, shaking. Céline fell off her crate. Tino unloaded the empty shells and carefully set the gun down. 

“Now, who wants to try first?”

Alfred’s hand immediately shot up. “Me, sir! Can I go first, pretty please?”

Tino smiled. “Well, since you asked so politely.”

Alfred punched the air and bounded up next to Tino. He took the gun, and immediately looked down the barrel. Tino snatched the gun back. 

“Never do that again!”

“Oh, right, sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Tino gave him a look of disgust. “If I give this back do you promise to think?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tino tentatively handed him back the revolver. “Keep the barrel pointed down until you are ready to aim at the target here.” He gestured to the one he’d just fired at. “Hand off the trigger.”

Alfred nodded and took aim. Tino adjusted his arms slightly. “How does the gun feel in your hands?”

“Heavy. Very heavy.”

“Good.” He handed Alfred the headphones. “Put these on and fire.”

Alfred took aim again and fired twice. The first shot missed, but the second grazed the target. 

Tino whistled. "Not bad, private."

"Thank you, sir!" Alfred beamed at him, waving the gun about absent-mindedly. 

As quickly as it appeared, the smile fell from Tino's face. He snatched the revolver back and hit Alfred with it. The boy doubled over, clutching his head. “If I see your hand on the trigger when you’re not about to shoot one more time,” he screamed, “I’ll buttfuck you with a rifle!”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” mumbled Alfred. 

Tino hit him again. “Be horny in your own time, private!” He smacked the back of Alfred’s head, with a hand, this time.

"Sorry, sir."

He turned away from Alfred. “I’m going to set up a shooting range, and we’ll work in small groups taking turns. Gunner, could you help me get everything ready?”

Lovino aimed at the target once more and fired, missing it by inches. He groaned in frustration, punching the sandbag barricade he was crouching behind. 

“Hey, you’re getting close,” said Antonio, aiming at the next target over. The two lay side-by-side, amongst five others currently shooting. So far only Hunapo and Alfred had hit a target.

“You’re getting close,” Lovino grumbled, “give me some space.” When Antonio wiggled away, Lovino took aim and fired again. He missed. “Would’ve been nice to have been naturally talented at something. But I’m shit at shooting, just like everything else in life.” He let himself wallow in pity for a few moments more. 

“Ah, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Antonio ruffled his hair. “We can’t all be perfect; it’s just a burden I have to bear.”

Lovino glared at him. “You’re full of shit, man.”

Tino’s face appeared between them. “Less talking, more shooting! Believe me when I say you will master this weapon or else.” He pulled himself up to his full height and resumed his pacing.

Lovino looked at his revolver. When Alfred had called the thing heavy, Lovino had assumed he’d just been talking literally. Now the thought of what it could do to someone, a tiny lump of metal, it was weighing on him. “I don’t like this,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I can kill someone.” The excitement was wearing off fast. Being in a rebel army, using a gun, it all seemed fun in his little fantasies, but could he actually shoot someone? Would he have to?

Antonio squeezed his shoulder. “Me neither. I guess it’s something we’ll have to prepare ourselves for.”

Lovino made a face.

“You’ll have to make your peace with it. As will I, and Xavier. And everyone here.” He turned back to his target and fired. He hit what was supposed to be the target’s stomach, and Antonio gave a whoop. Lovino clapped, seething.

“Same time tomorrow, boys,” Sadik called as everyone began filing out of the main hall. “From now on, we might just have to stick to weekends for these kinds of meetings. If you have time during the weekdays, then feel free to come in and read up on some political theory. We're getting the library back in working order.”

“That’s cool,” Lovino whined to Xavier, “I didn’t care about my weekends anyway.”

“There is literally no difference between a weekend and weekday for us,” Xavier pointed out.

“Wait, so do we have to come in every day then?”

“Nah, they’ll understand that we need to look for jobs.” Xavier walked into the corridor. "Man, I hope we get to explore this place some more. To think its been under our feet this whole time."

Sadik watched everyone leave, one by one, until only Tino remained, a duffle bag by his feet. Sadik nodded at him. "You looking after your privates, Väinämöinen?"

"Oh I've given them a good pounding, Adnan."

Sadik boomed out a laugh. Tino joined in, slightly less enthusiastically.

“Look, I heard you have a kid.”

Sadik studied Tino’s face, checking for- well, he didn’t know what. Intent? He didn’t like the question. “Who wants to know?”

“Me, but I just want to know if you’d like some clothes for him.” He reached into his bag and brought out a small pile of children’s t-shirts and shorts. “These are some my boys grew out of. I hope he likes blue.”

“Oh,” Sadik took the clothes with trembling hands. “Wow. Thank you. That’s- wow. You didn’t have to do this.”

Tino waved his hand. “Think nothing of it. You’ve given me a second chance, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Would he like some toys too?” 

“I don’t know.” Kuzey had had toys growing up: pebbles, sticks, sand to draw in. Would he know what to do with real toys? “Do you have any spare?”

“A few. And some kids books, if he wants.”

If he can read, Sadik inferred. “He would.” He’d taught the boy what he could, in the shade of boulders and ravines, drawing letters in the dirt.

“I’ll see what I can find,” said Tino.

“Thank you.” Sadik wanted to hug him. “This is all so much. Thank you.” He felt like an idiot, but it was all he could think to say.

Tino nodded, coughed and began to leave, then paused by the door. “Look, Adnan, I know what it’s like raising a child the world doesn’t want alive.” He left before Sadik could reply.

“Hey, kid,” Sadik pushed open the door to his and Kuzey’s room and set the clothes down on one of the unoccupied beds. “Presents.”

“Presents?” Kuzey looked at the clothes wearily. He'd spent the day in the room, eating and drinking whatever Kiku brought him, and napping. He didn't look so sickly now, to Sadik’s relief. When the boy had more strength, and was used to the bunker, Sadik would let him wander during the day. As it was, he tried to keep Kuzey out of sight of everyone, except Heracles and Kiku. 

"Yes. One of my men left you some clothes;" He lifted one of the shorts up to show him. Until now, Kuzey had been wearing a fresh shirt as a tunic. The boy climbed down from his bunk, wandered over and took one of the shirts in his hands.

“These are for me?” he asked in disbelief.

“All yours, yes.”

“I didn’t know they made clothes for kids.” He got changed into a shorts and t-shirt. “They fit really nice.” They didn’t, but at least they were made for someone around his size.

“You look like any other kid now,” Sadik grinned. “Everyone’s gone, by the way. When you’re done looking through your clothes, meet me in the canteen and we’ll have dinner.”

Kuzey nodded. “Thank you, dad.” Sadik hugged him and left him to it, wandering back along the corridors. He heard rustling from one of the storerooms, and poked his head in to find Alin and Tsvetan buried in boxes of books and maps. The pair grunted a greeting at him, and they carried on in silence for a few moments.

“Do you think you could take a look at some of these maps?” asked Alin. “I doubt they’re very accurate, but you’re the only person who’d know.” He passed a handful of ancient maps to Sadik, who shrugged.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to read these, and translate them to what I saw, but I’ll try.” He leafed through the maps. Some were political, showing the boundaries of countries long forgotten. Others were topographical, but full of rivers and forests where there were now desert. Sadik had had a good lay of the land out there, but the landmarks he’d used were personal: petrified tree stumps and rocks. During his years in exile, he always knew where the city was in relation to himself, but no one knew its exact location compared to old world maps.

"You can go home, you know?" He told them. "Not trying to kick you out, but you've worked pretty hard."

"Oh, we don't mind," said Tsvetan. "There's a lot here to inventory. We can stay late."

"Alin and Tsvetan might as well sleep here," added Alin slyly.

Sadik studied the pair of them. They were thin, their clothes almost as bad as his had been in the wilderness. "You don't want to go home, do you?"

Alin and Tsvetan exchanged glances. "We're Disgraced," Alin finally admitted. "No one would miss us if we disappeared down here."

"Do we disgust you?" Asked Tsvetan. He shrank into himself as he asked.

Sadik shook his head. "The class system is a load of nonsense. I assume you have your reasons for becoming Disgraced, and they were probably unfair."

Alin nodded, but didn't supply any information about their fall to the Disgraced. 

"Could we set ourselves up in one of the rooms?" Asked Tsvetan. "We don't have much, and we don't need much. No one would miss us up above. And if anything happened here, you'd have us to send messages, since we're not technically fugitives."

"No problem at all," said Sadik, "I'm sure we can give each other enough space."

"Thank you," said Alin, "and if Alin and Tsvetan were to have a change of clothes, no one would know we were even Disgraced. We could blend right in up above, if you need us."

Sadik nodded. "Why do you talk in third person?"

Alin fingered the edges of a cardboard box. "It reminds me that I am a person, that we are living people with names, and not some vermin to be shot at."

"I see." Sadik moved towards the doorway, "Well, carry on then. Let me know if you find anything."

When Lovino walked through his front door, he was surprised at how pleasant he found the company of his extended family. They could sympathise with the situation he was in, and they could share a laugh and a joke during the walk home. They didn’t talk openly, but he could tell they were bristling with excitement. He wished he could ask them how they felt about possibly using violence, but that would have to wait until tomorrow.

Xavier, Adriaan and Isabel lived in other parts of town, and they never walked home together. Lovino winced. Adriaan and Isabel must’ve wondered where he and Xavier had been all day. Had they spent the whole day by the river, waiting for them? No, Adriaan would know where they’d been. Would he be angry? Would he report them? Surely he wouldn’t do that to his friends, right? Lovino wondered what he’d do in the same situation and sighed, deciding to push the matter out of his mind and focus on preparing dinner. 

He filled a pot with water and pasta and set it to boil.

“Hey, boy,” Grandpa Janus strode into the kitchen. “How was your day?”

Exhausting? Stressful? “Fine,” Lovino turned his attention back to the boiling pot in front of him. Grandpa Janus didn’t reply, and when Lovino looked back up, he found the old man staring at him strangely. “What?”

“You weren’t… not after we talked about…”

“Of course not!” Lovino turned back to the pot. His skin crawled. He knew his grandpa didn’t believe him.

“I was helping him look for a job,” Francis came to his rescue. “And maybe something for myself. No luck, though.” No one was going to employ Francis. He was Disgraced in all but name.

Janus eyed his son suspiciously. “You make sure he finds something, okay? I want him safe.”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Francis promised. Lovino had no idea how he was planning to keep that promise. It seemed to satisfy Grandpa, though, who pulled the two of them into a crushing hug.

“Yeah, alright,” Lovino pushed him away. “I’m trying to cook here.”

Chapter Text

Shortly after the last stragglers had left the café, Yao and Arjun walked into the square. The two kept space between them, and didn’t look at each other. The sun had dipped below the wall by now, and the air was chilly. Yao was tired.

“I mean, he can’t exactly refuse,” he said, mouth dry and eyes heavy, “and we’ll have our designs by tomorrow if we pressure him enough, but I still feel bad.” He and Arjun wore civilian clothes, plain and inconspicuous. 

“Don’t,” said Arjun shortly, “you can’t afford to.” He opened the door to the café, holding it open for Yao.

“We’re closed,” called Heracles from behind the counter. The café was clean and empty, save for Heracles himself, washing the last of the dishes. The soft wooden floor was freshly swept, the tables spotless.

“That’s okay, we’re not here for food,” said Arjun breezily. “We want to see Mr Honda. Got an order for him, on behalf of the Emperor himself.”

Heracles stayed very still. His face twitched, like it was taking all his strength to keep it impassive. “I’ll go find him.”

Arjun eyed the glass display case of sandwiches and cakes. “Are these going to be thrown out now? Seems a waste.”

Heracles gave a little bow. “Help yourself, fellas.” He disappeared into the back. 

Arjun skipped behind the counter, wiggling his fingers. “Perks of the job.” He took a plate and piled cakes onto it.

Yao laughed. “I’ll have a chicken sandwich and some cherry buns.” Arjun handed him his order as Heracles returned with Kiku.

"Evening, gentlemen," said Kiku, as stiff and impassive as his husband. Yao paid no attention; he was used to it. Working for the emperor didn't exactly make them popular. 

Arjun waved a hand. “Ah, Mr Honda! We have business to discuss with you.”

“Business?”

Arjun and Yao sat at a table by the counter. Kiku joined them on the opposite side, but Heracles stayed standing. He leaned next to the till. “Yes, very grave business, I'm afraid, though not for your purse. We want at least a thousand posters, warning of a dangerous criminal in the city.” Yao produced a police sketch of Sadik Adnan, printed on thin metal. “I’m sure someone of your talents could produce what we need.”

Kiku looked at the sketch. His face gave nothing away, though a vein in his neck throbbed. “I’m retired,” he tried.

Yao scoffed. “You’re forty.”

“I have a “real” job now.”

"So, not retired, then? I can't imagine this dingy little tinderbox affords you a comfortable life." Yao arched an eyebrow. “You’re refusing the emperor’s orders? What he wishes, it is so. He creates our reality.” He was laying it on thick, but sometimes it was easier to throw your weight around and go home. Yao felt so sore.

“I am not refusing orders,” Kiku replied evenly, “I just don’t have the supplies.”

“We just want a design. Nothing too industrious.” 

Kiku nodded weakly. “I can get you a design.”

“By tomorrow morning, perhaps?” 

“I can try-”

“Try?”

“I can get it done.”

“Excellent!” Arjun stood and pulled out another sheet of metal. “Here are our requirements. I want the reward money - and the penalty for aiding Mr Adnan - prominent.”

“That can be arranged.” Kiku stared at the police sketch, his mind whirring with testing the limits of what he could get away with. Using the sketch as a base, he could build onto it something that barely resembled Sadik, but it would be a balancing game. He couldn’t make it look like he was incompetent, or deliberately hindering their investigation. “Why me, though?”

“You came specially recommended by Lieutenant Zwingli himself.”

Kiku’s eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t know my art was so highly regarded.” Or maybe the Lieutenant wanted to intimidate him and Heracles. They must know about Hera’s family; Heracles was Sadik’s brother-in-law! That would be some gamble, though. If Heracles was in contact with Sadik (which he was, but that was besides the point), why warn them? Was the man so arrogant as to assume he’d immediately corner Sadik in the city? Was it to get them to panic? 

Kiku’s first urge was to disappear into the cellar the moment he could and warn Sadik. It was probably on Hera’s mind too. Was that what they wanted? Were there soldiers outside waiting for them to give away the locations of their HQ?

Arjun clapped his hands together. “Well, I think that concludes our business here. Good day and see you tomorrow.”

“Good day,” said Kiku stiffly.

“Hey, you head on home,” Yao turned to Arjun, “I want to catch up with Kiku.” Kiku tried to keep his face blank. What now?

“Are you sure?” Arjun asked. “It’s a long way home, especially for a member of the royal court. It could be dangerous to walk alone."

“I’ll be fine. I just want to chat.”

Arjun nodded, then he turned to Heracles and Kiku. “You’re aware there’ll be a week-long curfew starting tonight, right?”

“We’ll try not to keep Mr Wang too long, then.”

“Oh, curfews are for those without access to the emperor,” Arjun waved a hand, “but regardless, keep safe, all of you.”

“You too,” Yao muttered. Then Arjun was gone. He turned back to Kiku. “Is there somewhere more private to talk?”

“We’re closed,” said Kiku, “that’s privacy enough. Do you wish for Heracles to leave?”

“No, I want to discuss something with both of you.” Yao then couldn’t find the words to do any discussing. “Is there a back room here?”

Heracles narrowed his eyes. “Yes, why?”

Paranoid, much? Did Heracles think Yao was looking for anything incriminating? Because he was. “Is there a place without windows?”

No one spoke for a long moment.

“Please,” Yao insisted.

Heracles looked to Kiku, who sighed. “Come with me.” He took Yao into the back room. The place was dark, crowded with boxes, but freshly swept. Kiku debated turning the light on, but when Heracles closed the door after him and plunged the room into black, he conceded and flicked the switch.

The single bulb flickered overhead. Yao looked around, and every glance sent Kiku’s heart rate spiking. Would he want to go into the cellar? “Lovely place,” said Yao.

“Cut the crap,” Heracles growled, “what do you want?”

“Just wondering if you’ve heard from Mr Adnan at all.”

Kiku was going to be sick. “If that’s what you wanted to know, then we could’ve told you out there: no, we haven’t heard anything.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe you.” Yao paced the room. Heracles began to sweat. The cellar was right there, and in that cellar was their headquarters. “I think you’ve had contact with him. Maybe you know where he is right now. You can tell me.”

“No we absolutely can’t. If there was anything suspicious going on - which there isn’t - then you’d go running back to your emperor with the good news.”

“I can see why you would think that, but no.” Yao paced the room. “I know what’s going on here, I’ve read your file, Heracles, last of your family. I’m surprised you’re not rotting amongst the Disgraced, but I suppose your spouse’s privilege keeps you safe.” He eyed Kiku. 

“He’s also an excellent cook,” said Heracles. “And yowls like a cat when I-”

“Please stop talking,” said Kiku and Yao at the same time.

Heracles cleared his throat. “Anyway, what my family did in the past is nothing to do with me. I live my own life, and completely disavow any attempts to-”

“Spare me,” Yao spat, “no one worth anything sees his family wiped out and doesn’t want revenge on the man who did it. How many did the emperor round up? Your mother, your brother, your sister. You’d have watched your mother die, and I hear Adnan has come back from exile alone.”

Heracles’s eyes fell to the floor. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything.

Kiku glared at Yao. “Fine. You want in? Meet us down by the docks at midnight.” 

Heracles looked at him in astonishment. “Are you sure that-”

“Come alone.” Kiku waved his husband away.

Elise sat in a tall armchair, embroidering a handkerchief in the shade of a potted plant. Opposite her, Prince Franz lay sprawled across a floral settee. The two were on the large, marble balcony leading from the Prince’s bedroom. The balcony was surrounded by bulletproof glass; it was the only way the emperor would allow his son to use the balcony.

They watched the last dregs of daylight disappearing behind the city walls. The palace gardens sat below them, in all their vibrant splendour. The gardens were Elise’s favourite place in the city, and having the privilege of exploring them whenever she wanted was almost worth being engaged since she was five.

“I’m bored,” drawled Franz, “entertain me.”

Elise raised an eyebrow. “We may be betrothed, My Prince, but that does not mean I will be at your beck and call. I have a present to finish, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to entertain yourself.” It was strange, being betrothed to the young prince. He was only eleven years old to her fourteen, and the difference in maturity was stark. Luckily, they wouldn’t be married until he was eighteen, and she didn’t have to bother with anything romantic until then. Right now, she was a glorified babysitter. 

Franz blinked. Normally, no one would talk to him like that, but his father had taught him to respect the women in his life: his mother and Elise. He sat up in his seat to watch her. “May I draw you as you work?” 

“That would be no problem at all, My Prince,” Elise looked up long enough to flash him a charming smile before returning to her embroidering.

“You are my future Empress,” Franz reminded her, “there is no need for such formalities. You may call me Franz, if you wish.”

“Thank you,” she faltered, “um, Franz.” She would probably go back to formalities by the next day.

They settled into silence, not uncomfortable, but not quite comfortable either. Franz’s pencil scratched away at the paper in his notebook; only the royal family could use paper, as they had the only trees. “May I ask what you’re creating?” he asked after a while.

“I’m making a handkerchief for my brother,” Elise explained. “I see him cry sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking. Don’t tell anyone I told you that, please.”

“Of course.” Franz leaned closer. “Does he like pretty pink flowers?”

“I think he could do with looking at something beautiful when he’s sad.”

“But just pink? Wouldn’t something more vibrant work better?” He looked down over the balcony. “We have such a rainbow down below.”

“Vash’s favourite colour is pink.”

“Lieutenant Zwingli? Father’s mad dog? His favourite colour is pink, of all things?”

“Yes.”

“Fascinating!” Franz wondered just what he could do with this information, gazing at the city beyond it from behind the bulletproof glass. He wondered what it would be like to walk outside, to meet his people. He was forbidden from leaving the palace, for the sake of his safety and Franz longed for the day that he would become Emperor and be free to go wherever he pleased. But that would only happen when his father left the world for good, something he feared more than any assassin. Franz sighed and turned back to his drawing.

“What do you want to do once you’re Emperor?” asked Elise.

Franz thought for a moment. He didn’t like thinking of his father being dead, but he had to plan for the future, right? He needed to be prepared to rule. “I suppose I’d make the palace bigger. I’ll add a few towers, maybe an observatory.”

“You think that’s possible?”

“Of course! I would be in charge of the world. No one could refuse me. Except you.”

“Anything else?”

“Go outside the palace,” he said in a small voice. 

“You wouldn’t be scared? Of assassins or hordes of angry commoners or anything?”

“I’ll be a kind emperor, and everyone will love me. Besides, you’ll be with me. You can show me all the places you go when you leave the palace.”

“And what are your plans for being a kind emperor?”

Franz moved closer, until he was sitting on the arm of Elise’s chair. “Well, first, I’ll close down the armaments factory. We have enough guns.”

“But then the people who work there will be unemployed.”

He thought about it. “We can replace it with a paint factory, and the workers can make paint.”

“What do you need so much paint for?”

“Painting things, obviously.”

“Ask a stupid question… what things?”

“Oh, everything! Walls, houses, streets, until the whole city is like a rainbow. And- and the people can paint whatever they want! And there’ll be flowers! I’ll give the people flowers to grow and plant, and they’ll be happy!”

“That could work.” Temporarily. Though more plants in the city could only be a positive.

“Then they’ll shower me in love and respect.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“One more thing,” he leaned forward and kissed her hand. “Marry you and make you my Empress.” Elise tried to ignore the crawling feeling across her skin.

Midnight drew nearer. Yao paced the docks just under the cafe. The docks were empty of sailors, river boats bobbing gently. The moon was full. 

There were some privileges that came with his job, many, in fact. One was that the curfew didn’t apply to him, as Arjun had boasted about. Of course, the police would ask questions if they saw Yao skulking around the docks. And if he was caught with Adnan’s men… 

But Kiku, Heracles, and Adnan himself were nowhere to be seen. No one else was here. Yao wondered who he should expect to meet. Unlikely to be Adnan, but maybe some lackey. But how would Yao know they weren’t an undercover cop? He sighed and got pacing. The river flowed on.

Midnight came and went. Not a soul in sight. Yao tried not to worry; they were probably just late. Or cautious. He’d been cautious too, making his way here with one eye over his shoulder and one eye in the shadows. 

Midnight became a memory, but still Yao waited. He sat on a barrel and began to panic. He was an idiot. No one was coming; Kiku had told Yao to wait here to placate him and get him out of his cafe. All he’d done was make himself suspicious. The emperor would know he’d been out at night for no good reason. 

Yao was going to die.

“You came alone.” 

Yao turned to find Kiku, standing on the stairs, his face buried under the hood of one of Heracles’s jackets. “Were you expecting an ambush?”

“Obviously.” Kiku looked at him curiously. “I’ve searched the area. No guards, no police, no soldiers. You really want in?”

Yao nodded. “More than anything.”

“Fascinating. We should talk inside.” He took Yao’s hand and led him up the stairs. 

The moon shone brightly across the square outside Kiku’s café. The two men walked in silence. Below, the sound of the river would’ve normally soothed Yao, but he barely heard it now. 

Kiku unlocked the door to the café and ushered Yao inside. Heracles was pacing between the tables. When he saw Kiku, he rushed over, an unsaid question on his lips.

“He seems genuine,” Kiku told him, baffled. He turned to Yao. “We’re not letting you in on anything just yet, not until we can trust you, or you can give us some guarantee this isn’t some undercover operation.”

Yao bowed his head. “I understand. I want you to trust me, and I want to help you. Whatever you want, I’ll do.”

Kiku nodded and led him into the back room. “What can you tell us of what the palace knows?”

“Roderich wants Adnan caught within the week. There’ll be raids, arrests, questioning. Be prepared for that. I haven’t seen any lists of suspects, but I can think of a few names off the top of my head.”

“We will make preparations.” Kiku didn’t know why he was surprised. With Sadik back in the city, of course the finger of suspicion would land on his brother-in-law. Although his mind was already whirring with plans, he didn’t make them known to Yao.

The trapdoor in the cellar beneath them seemed to be burning. It was so wide, and obvious. Someone would leave HQ at the wrong time. The police would find it in no time and they’d all be killed. What would happen to Kuzey? He was only a boy! Would he be executed too, or just sent to the mines? 

“Sorry about the wanted posters,” Yao added, “Zwingli wanted you, and I can’t refuse an order.”

“I’ll manage,” said Kiku. He thought he would keel over from the stress, but kept it all inside. 

“Why on earth are you so desperate to turn against your emperor?” asked Heracles.

Yao bit the inside of his cheek. “He killed my parents.”

Heracles and Kiku exchanged a look. “How could we forget,” Kiku murmured. 

“I mean, I can’t hold killing my father against Roderich,” Yao shrugged, “Lord Wang killed Roderich’s father. I understand that kind of rage, no matter how justified my father was. I feel Roderich’s need for revenge, for punishment. I emphasise completely.” He made a pyramid with his fingers to stop himself from punching the wall.

“I’d say Lord Wang was very justified,” said Heracles. “That madman wouldn’t have stopped until he’d purged the entire city. Hundreds were put to death, tortured, thrown into exile, and only some of them guilty.” Kiku squeezed his hand. 

“From what I’ve heard, I agree. But they didn’t just execute my father, get it over and done with and let us move on, they had to give him a choice. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. My mother, or me and my siblings. One of us had to go. There was no third option either. Usually, Roderich lets you sacrifice yourself to save your loved ones - I think it's usually the desired outcome - but regicide was too great a crime. My father would die, but he could choose who joined him.”

“And he chose your mother,” Kiku finished for him.

“And I was left to raise my siblings, mourning my parents and not allowed to show it. I mean, any grief towards the emperor’s murderer, and I’d be dead too.”

Kiku could believe Yao’s story. Everyone knew Lord Wang had assassinated the previous emperor, and he could understand why Yao wanted revenge, but there was one last thing not adding up. “Why are you part of his inner circle, then?”

“He keeps me alive as a punishment.”

Kiku frowned. “Doesn’t he trust your counsel-”

Yao wrinkled his face in disgust. “I’m little more than a pet. I exist for him to humiliate, to remind him that my life is his. And,” he sighed, “I know that if there’s any smell of rebellion, I’ll be the first he will blame. He's waiting for it, keeping me under his thumb until then. I might as well give his paranoia some substance.”

Chapter Text

Sadik looked at his own wanted poster and snorted. Kiku had done a good job here. It looked like him, in everything but the details. The drawing made him look a lot more handsome than he was, with his years of starving in the wilderness. The shape of his nose aside, maybe he’d look like his poster with enough food and rest. 

If he lived that long.

Right now, Sadik was doubting he was smart enough to survive the week. They’d have more breathing space if he hadn’t gone to see Adriaan. Stupid Adriaan. Stupid, beautiful Adriaan. And stupid Sadik for taking such a risk. 

For the time being, he couldn’t so much as poke his head out HQ without jeopardising everything. Kiku and Heracles were expecting a raid. He, Alin and Tsvetan were on standby, and Kuzey was to stay far away from the entrance ladder. Most of the recruits were staying away, and under orders to only talk to people they could trust implicitly. Sadik buried his face in his hands; he hadn’t been able to sleep for the stress of it all. 

“Bossman,” Arthur poked his head into Sadik’s little office. It was a little bigger than a cupboard, with a desk and a couple of chairs. Sadik spent most of his time there, reading through his father’s old notes, books on strategy, and coming up with his own plans.

Sadik looked up. “Arthur?”

“Someone to see you.”

He gulped. He didn’t like people coming and going from HQ. It was probably best to shut everything down for a week or two, let the hunt die down. “A stranger?”

“I wouldn’t call him that.”

“Send him in,” he sighed, turning back to his notes.

“I’m not calling you “Bossman”, Sadik.”

Sadik’s head shot up. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was Adriaan. In a blink, Sadik had vaulted his desk and pulled Adriaan into a crushing hug. He still smelled of fresh earth and flowers. There was a hint of hair gel there too. “You’re here? You’re really here?”

“Against better judgement, most likely.” Adriaan sighed. “Ten years, I believed you were dead.”

“So that’s why you changed your mind? To see me?” Sadik’s eyes twinkled. 

Adriaan looked away, radiating self-consciousness. “It wouldn’t be the same without me, would it?”

Sadik smiled. “Now we can all finish what our parents started.”

Adriaan and Sadik’s parents had known each other a long time. Along with Heracles’s mother, they had built the HQ together, slowly over the years, accumulating allies and resources. Once they’d started mass-recruiting, making concrete plans for civil unrest, the resistance only lasted weeks before everything came crashing down. Someone ratted them out.

When their parents first started digging under the cafe, Adriaan and Sadik had been children. They’d been encouraged to stay out of things, for their own safety and the adults’. Sadik had jumped at the chance of becoming more involved once he was old enough. Adriaan kept his distance. He might have been a coward, or he might’ve been the smartest person in the city. Either way, Sadik had been sent to exile, and Adriaan got to live, minus a set of parents.

“I can’t talk Isabel out of getting involved,” Adriaan muttered, “but Luca is going nowhere near this place.”

“I understand.” Sadik blinked. “Wow, he was only a little boy last time I saw him.”

“It’ll be a while before you see him again.”

“I know. I’m an idiot. I’m guessing you’ve realised my little trip had thrown everything into jeopardy.”

“I’d heard something.” Adriaan crossed his arms. “Should I already be regretting this decision?”

“No, we just need to be careful,” Sadik clutched Adriaan’s hands, “go underground, practically disappear. Not you, I mean, but me. The organisation. It pains me to say, but you might need to avoid this place for a while. Don’t let them see you in the same place as Heracles.”

Adriaan took it all in, turning the information over in his head. “I think that’s another reason I want to help, in some strange way. I’m suspicious whether I’m here or not.”

“Even if you’d decided you never want to see me again, the police would still be at your house asking questions,” Sadik agreed, “just don’t give them any answers. Play as innocent as you’d been before I saw you.”

“I know,” Adriaan smiled wirily, “nothing gets past these lips.”

Lovino drummed his fingers on the table, staring absent-mindedly over at Francis. His uncle was leaning against the counter, in deep conversation with Heracles and Antonio. Xavier and Isabel sat opposite Lovino, drinking hot chocolate. 

Lovino hadn’t been able to believe his eyes when Isabel had shown up at HQ, and with her brother, no less. He wondered why he’d changed his mind. To pass the time, he brought it up.

“It didn’t take much, funny enough,” replied Isabel. “I asked him about it last night and he acted kinda strangely. I thought he was gonna get angry, but he said he’d been thinking about what Sadik had said. He said he wanted to see him again, even if it meant putting his life at risk.”

“And he let you join too?”

“I’m an adult; he can’t stop me,” Isabel grinned, “and he feared I’d start sneaking out behind his back.”

“So, are they…” Xavier let the question trail off.

“You know, I haven’t a clue,” Isabel admitted, stirring her hot chocolate and taking a sip. “Disgusting,” she muttered, setting it back down on its coaster. Lovino and Xavier both raised an eyebrow. “Not Sadik and Adriaan!” she cried, “my chocolate!” 

Lovino shook his head. “I can’t believe you. Homophobe.”

“Shut up, I’m literally bisexual.” Isabel leaned back in her seat. “Anyway, they've been friends since they were kids and used to spend all day hiding in Adriaan’s shed. They never did tell me what they do in there.”

“I think we all know what they were doing in there,” Lovino waggled his eyebrows.

“I hope you die. I hope you die right now.”

“Is that what you like thinking about?” asked Xavier, “you think about the boss going to town on Isabel’s brother? That what you’re into, you skinny little pervert?”

They were spared Lovino’s reply by Francis, who wandered over and gave a thumbs-up. “Well, that’s settled then. Welcome to the world of work.” Antonio and Heracles followed, and the three took their own seats at the table next to them. 

“Hey, thanks,” said Lovino, trying to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Still, having a job made him less suspicious, and gave him one less thing to worry about. Working for Heracles Karpusi probably made him way more suspicious than he’d ever been, though. But, and this was a big one, it would give his grandpa some peace of mind, so long as he didn’t mention the name of his employer. 

It meant he could work with his friends, and he didn’t have the extra stress of balancing work and training. 

“You’ll have your trial run tomorrow. It’s part time work, and you won’t have more than two of you working at the same time. It’ll likely be half-days, too. The other half of the day will be… underground, if you catch your drift.”

“How could we not catch that drift?” Lovino snapped, “you want everyone catching your drifts? Even those dumb fucks they hire as police could catch your drifts.”

“What Lovino is non-subtly saying is: be more subtle,” added Xavier.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Francis. “Anyway, I put in a good word for you all. Heracles and I go way back.”

“By that, he means they had this competition back in the day to see who could sleep with the most people,” Antonio told them.

“Who won?” asked Isabel.

“Lovino’s grandad,” replied Xavier. 

Alin burst through the front door and ran straight towards them. “Raid! We’re being raided! The army is coming!”

The six people present burst into life. Alin ran through the back door just as Kiku appeared through it. Heracles looked paler than normal, but his face was blank. Antonio and Francis took up seats by the window, pretending to be a pair of customers.

“Kiku, hide the trapdoor,” said Heracles, voice impassive as ever. Kiku nodded and disappeared. Alin would’ve disappeared down the ladder by now, warning everyone underground not to come up. “Xavier, start on the washing up. You two, wipe the tables.” He passed cleaning cloths to Isabel and Lovino. Lovino wiped the tables they’d been sitting at, glad for something for his hands to do. “You’re going through training,” Heracles told them, firmly, “it’s your first day. And you don’t suspect a raid.”

Lovino kept his eyes away from the window, which helped him act convincingly startled when the door was thrown open and Lieutenant Zwingli burst through with a platoon of soldiers. Francis and Antonio kept their eyes down. Lovino tried to muster the courage to talk to the soldiers, but Isabel got there first.

“Table for… fifteen, then?” she asked brightly.

“No need.” Lieutenant Zwingli stepped forward. “We’re under orders from the Emperor himself to search these premises for signs of illegal or dangerous activity. Are you in charge here?”

“I am,” Heracles spoke up. Isabel stepped aside and got back to wiping. “Please, search away, gentlemen. I understand you’re here only to keep us safe.”

“Nice to see you’ve changed your tune,” Zwingli commented. With a wave of the hand, he ordered his men to begin searching the place. The soldiers spread out across the room. They upturned tables and chairs. Some went behind the counter to search the cupboards, shoving Xavier out of the way. Others marched upstairs and into the back room. A trickle of sweat ran down Lovino’s back. He hovered around Antonio and Francis, took their cups, and asked if they wanted anything else.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Francis smiled at him. The smile told Lovino to be brave. Lovino didn’t feel brave.

Zwingli remained standing before Heracles, trying his best to loom over the larger, taller man. “So, can you tell me the whereabouts of a certain Sadik Adnan?”

“I assume he’s dead in the desert somewhere,” replied Heracles, “or, I hope. Never liked the guy. Always thought he was a colossal cunt, to be frank.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? And, more importantly, do you think I think you’re that stupid? The posters are everywhere, it’s all over the news.”

“Maybe I am that stupid,” Heracles sighed, “I don’t know where he is, though.”

“Do you know anyone who would?” Zwingli pressed, “Has anyone been acting suspicious lately? It’s vital you come forward with anything you know. To keep even seemingly-innocuous information to yourself is treason.” Treason carried a heavy price.

“I know nothing.”

“Do you know if any of your family members are back in the city?”

“No. No one has sought me out, so I have to presume they’re dead.”

Zwingli leaned in close. “You may have no more biological family, but must I remind you that you have a husband. And a business made of flammable material.”

“I don’t know anything about Adnan,” Heracles insisted, impassively but firmly. "I would tell you if I did. He has not tried to contact me, so I don’t know where he is or what he’s planning.”

Zwingli glared at him. “Let’s see what your colleagues have to say on the subject.”

“Employees,” Heracles corrected, “they work for me, not with me.”

Zwingli ignored him, pointing his rifle at Lovino. “All of you, against the back wall now!”

Lovino hesitated, paralysed by the gun pointed at his chest. No one else moved. 

“Now!”

Lovino raised his hands, slowly, and made his way towards the wall. Isabel, Xavier and Kiku joined him. A pair of soldiers grabbed Heracles, keeping him in place. He glared at them, but didn’t react to seeing everyone lined up. Francis and Antonio hesitantly stood up, but didn’t move anywhere. 

Zwingli took slow, steady steps towards them. “What were you two doing patronising this place?”

“It’s cheap,” Francis tried.

“Are you sure you’re not here to meet associates?”

“Only my friend here,” he gestured at Antonio.

Zwingli sighed, “what about you? Have you anything to hide?”

Antonio laughed a high-pitched laugh, “I can’t keep a secret. Shame I don’t actually have any.”

Zwingli narrowed his eyes. “You think this is funny?”

Antonio’s smile fell. “No.”

“Names?”

“Antonio Fernández Carriedo.”

“Francis Bonnefoy.”

“Bonnefoy, huh? I’m familiar with your sister. Barely escaped execution for treason. I wonder if treason runs in the family. I wonder if you would escape execution so narrowly too.”

“My sister is an idiot,” said Francis, looking straight ahead, “her husband’s ideas were dangerous and he needed to be dealt with. I’ll be keeping my family in line from now on. You won’t have any more trouble from us.”

“Well, you seem smarter than your sister, at least.” He looked over the two, then their table. “I see you’re done here,” he told them pointedly, “if you’re no longer eating, why are you lingering?”

“We were just leaving,” Antonio backed away and walked out without another glance. Francis followed. Lovino didn’t want them to leave, but at least they were safe, he supposed. And, if they knew what was good for them, they’d go straight home and avoid the cafe.

Zwingli turned back to the four lined up by the wall. He marched over to Lovino; “you there. Name.”

“Lovino Vargas,” he stuttered, not looking the man in the eye.

“Vargas, huh? Well, do you have anything you’d like to tell me, or will we have to beat it out of you?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He’d said that too quickly, he knew it.

Zwingli spat. He stepped back and drove the butt of his rifle into Lovino’s stomach. Isabel screamed. Xavier swore. Lovino yelped and doubled over. He thought he would be sick. Pain swam through his body.

“Have I jogged your memory, yet?”

Lovino shook his head. The rifle came down on that and he fell to the floor.

“What about you, Karpusi?” Zwingli turned to him, “have you remembered anything yet?”

“There’s nothing to remember.”

Zwingli turned his rifle on Isabel. “What about you?”

Isabel quivered. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

He hit her. She cried out and it took all of Lovino’s strength not to fly at Zwingli. From the look of him, Xavier felt the same way.

“Name?” asked Zwingli.

“Isabel Morgens.”

“Morgens? This is some coincidence, Karpusi. We now have quite the collection of suspicious families here. Are you quite sure Adnan hasn’t been here?”

“I’m certain.”

“Because I’m going to ask this young man his name,” Zwingli pointed his gun at Xavier, “and if the surname that comes out of his mouth is the same as someone I’ve executed, my men will shoot everyone in this room. Now, what is your name?”

Xavier mumbled something. 

“Speak up.”

“Xavier Martinez Rodriguez.”

No one spoke. Zwingli looked at Xavier. Lovino thought his stomach would fall out of him. 

Eventually, Zwingli lowered his rifle. “It’s your lucky day. It seems questioning these children is pointless. Your husband, Karpusi, might prove more useful.”

“I’ve not had any contact with Sadik Adnan,” said Kiku, in the same flat tone so practised by any city resident expecting a questioning. “I wouldn’t dream of plotting against the Emperor.”

Zwingli snapped his fingers. Two soldiers grabbed Kiku’s arms. Lovino gasped as a third punched him in the stomach. Kiku grunted. Heracles twitched, but he didn’t try to stop it. Lovino was almost impressed.

The soldier landed punch after punch. Zwingli turned to Heracles. “This will all stop once you tell me what you know.”

The corner of Heracles’s mouth twitched and a vein throbbed in his forehead, but he didn’t say a word. No one said anything as the soldiers moved on to Kiku’s face. When Kiku couldn’t support himself, they let him fall and proceeded to kick his limp body. No one said anything. The only sounds were the dull thuds of boots against flesh. 

It could’ve been five minutes, it could’ve been an hour. Eventually, Zwingli’s men gave up and arrested Heracles. He was handcuffed and dragged away for further interrogation, leaving three stunned teens and a motionless Kiku. No one moved until the last soldier was long gone.

Isabel knelt down beside Kiku. “Are you still alive? Can you hear me? What can we do to help?”

“Sit me up,” came a faint, wet voice. The youngsters helped Kiku into a sitting position, leaning him against the wall. He was a mess. His bottom lip was starting to swell, and his eyes were bloodshot. Broken blood vessels painted his face red with blotches that would soon become bruises. “Looks worse than it is,” he mumbled. 

“That was awful.” Xavier sank into the nearest seat. 

“Congratulations, children,” said Kiku, wiping his mouth, “you’re officially traitors.”

“No going back,” said Xavier quietly. “Fine by me.”

“Fucking hell, though,” Lovino tried to keep the trembling out of his voice, and failed. He leaned against the wall and let himself slide to the floor. His knees were too weak to walk anywhere. “Sorry you had to endure that, man. It wasn’t fun to watch. Can’t have been fun to go through.” His stomach and head throbbed, but he knew he’d gotten off lightly. 

“We were lucky,” Kiku mumbled. Despite everything, Lovino didn’t feel lucky.

Isabel stared at Kiku. “Your husband was arrested.”

“And I trust him to not give anything away. And, because of that, he’ll be returned to me.” Lovino wondered if he really believed that, or was putting on a brave face. Kiku was still shaking as he pulled himself up. “Let’s have some tea. Get calmed down.” He shuffled off towards the back room. “Let them leave the area. After that, the cafe’s closed. You might as well go home.”

Sadik’s boot crunched as it plunged into the gravel. The wind attacked his face, throwing sand into his eyes despite the mask he was wearing. The sun beat down on his back, burning his skin even through his clothes. His legs ached the higher he climbed the slippery, dune-like hill. His mouth was like sandpaper, and at times he couldn’t tell what was up and what was down.

He practically crawled over the top. He looked back down at the tiny, emaciated figure of Kuzey. He seemed to be making good progress, so Sadik turned around to scan the valley below for water or vegetation. Their supplies were running low; the bags slung over Sadik’s shoulders were getting light. There was no immediate sign of water, but there were shadows that might be vegetation. Vegetation could be a sign of groundwater, and shade. 

He rubbed his face as he considered his next move. Out of sheer desperation, he’d promised Kuzey that water was just beyond this hill. At best, it would be several hours before they got another drink.

“Dad!” called a tiny voice. Kuzey struggled with every step, barely upright. “My feet hurt!”

“I know, Little One.” He wanted to slide back down and help him. He wanted to pick Kuzey up, hold him close, and carry him to water. But Kuzey needed to learn to survive on his own. He needed the physical strength and endurance to get on with life, should anything happen to Sadik. He tried to ignore the cynical voice in the back of his head telling him a six-year-old would never have a hope of surviving on his own.

“I don’t want to walk anymore!”

“I know, my Star.” He waited, agonising all the while, for Kuzey to catch up. “Here, sit in the shade. Rest. It’s not too far now.”

Kuzey slid down into the shade of the hill. His eyelids were heavy and his lips were thick with dried, flaking skin. “My throat hurts,” he croaked.

“It’s downhill from here and there’s more shade.”

“Can I have some water?”

Sadik rummaged through his bags and checked their water bottles. All but one were empty, and there was only a mouthful left. He passed it to Kuzey. If he was wrong about the groundwater, they’d be dead in a few days. Kuzey sipped and savoured the water, letting it swish around his mouth before swallowing, like he’d been taught. A wet mouth would stop the thirst feeling so acute.

He let Kuzey rest for a few minutes, then pulled him up. They got walking again, ever so slightly refreshed. Downhill was faster, but less stable. Sadik never knew if each step would be on solid ground, or deep sand that would send him tumbling.

Halfway down, Kuzey piped up again. “I want to rest.”

“You can rest while I’m digging for water,” Sadik replied, keeping his eyes on his feet. 

“My legs hurt.”

“You’ll have more energy if you stop talking,” he called back.

“I want water.”

“We don’t have any,” he snapped. His own mouth was unbearably dry.

“But-”

“Shut up! Your mouth will dry out if you-”

There was the soft thump of something small hitting the ground, and a small body rolled past him. Kuzey came to a stop, half-covered in sand and unmoving. Irritation evaporated out of Sadik, like water in the desert.

“Kuzey!” he cried, collapsing and letting the sand carry him down to his son. “Kuzey, talk to me! You’ve made your point, okay? I’ll carry you the rest of the way!"

Kuzey didn’t respond. Grains of sand stuck to his lips and eyelashes. 

“No, please, wake up,” Sadik clutched the boy, holding him to his chest, “I’ll find you some water. Please! Wake up! Don’t leave me. You’re all I have left.”

Sadik awoke with a start. Kuzey was sitting on his desk, swinging his legs over the side and reading a children’s book. He looked completely different in his shorts and t-shirt. Sadik just watched him, breathing slowly in and out until his breath was synchronised with his son’s. It was just a dream. A vague memory. Kuzey was safe. Kuzey was here.

He couldn’t say he felt truly safe down here, but he felt a lot more secure than he’d been in exile. Even if sleep was a struggle, he could at least struggle in a comfy bed, with four walls to keep out the elements. 

He reached out and rubbed Kuzey’s back. Thanks to the generosity of the other rebels, Kuzey was well-fed for the first time in his life. He was already gaining weight and a roundness was appearing in his face for the first time since he was born. Sadik wrapped his arms around his son.

“Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” Kuzey looked at him with large, brown eyes, “but you have to promise you won’t leave me either.” He said it so sternly.

“I give you my word.”

They were interrupted by a sharp knock. “No word from up top. You might as well stop sleeping at your desk and go find a real bed.”

Sadik nodded. “What time is it?”

“Around 1am.”

Sadik bit back a string of curses. “Let’s get you to sleep, Little Man.”

Kuzey nodded and allowed Sadik to scoop him up. Adriaan followed them into the Meeting Room, then the hallway. 

“You know what this place needs? Brightening up. I’ll try to bring a tulip over.”

“I think it’d die without sunlight,” said Sadik.

“My tulips have never seen sunlight. They’ll be fine. I might have to move my farm down here anyway, especially if they’re going to raid our house.”

Sadik nodded. “If you can smuggle all those pots of plants into the cafe, go for it.”

“Might make the place more… you,” continued Adriaan, “right now, you look like you’re trying to become your father.”

“What’s a tulip?” asked Kuzey, struggling to keep his eyes open. 

Sadik shifted Kuzey’s weight in his arms. “You know plants? We saw them around sometimes. In the ground. Tulips are plants, but softer and smell nice and come in all these pretty colours.”

Kuzey turned his big, curious eyes on Adriaan. “I’d love to see one.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Adriaan wasn’t good with kids, but he liked flowers, and liked the idea of - at long last - sharing them with more people.

Kuzey managed a mumbled “thanks” before finally succumbing to sleep.

“You’ll understand where I’m coming from when I say this,” said Adriaan, “but keep Isabel out of trouble. Don’t send her on dangerous missions or anything. If it's dangerous, I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry I called you a coward,” Sadik replied; “you have my word I’ll do what I can to keep your family safe. I’m not sending any of those fresh-faced kids on dangerous missions. That’s for us with experience.”

“Don’t you go putting yourself in danger either,” Adriaan told him, “or it’ll all be for nothing.” He paused. “But, if it comes to that, I promise I’ll keep Kuzey safe.”

“Guys, I’m home!” Lovino had cleaned the blood out of his hair as best he could, but he still looked rough. There would be questions. Grandpa would want to know who his employer was, and why they were being raided. 

No one answered, which gave him more time to gather his thoughts. Could he get away with saying they were targeted at random?

He entered the main room, and a scene of destruction filled his vision before Francis was on him, squeezing the life out of him. His stomach exploded.

“You’re safe!” Francis cried. “Oh thank goodness!”

“What the hell happened here?” Lovino pushed him away. Nothing in the room had been left untouched. Books, ornaments, and tableware were strewn across the floor. Grandpa Janus was currently pushing an overturned shelving unit back against the wall. The sofa cushions were sliced open. Céline had produced a sewing kit in the hopes of dealing with them. Ludwig was huddled in the corner, neatly piling the books Feliciano and Sal were handing to him. Alfred and Matthew were righting the upturned dining table.

“Oh, you’re home,” said Janus nervously. If he noticed anything off with Lovino’s appearance, he didn’t comment on it. “How was your day?”

“You call this mess home?” Lovino didn’t even know where to start helping. “It looks like a bomb hit!”

“It’s not that bad,” Janus wasn’t looking at him now.

“I lost my shoe,” Feli tried, “and I couldn’t find it. You know how I get when I can’t find things.” There was an unspoken agreement to lie to him, and if Lovino wasn’t so tired, he’d have been enraged by that.

“No I don’t. You’re messy, but this looks like a police raid.” 

“It wasn’t,” said Janus, a little too quickly. 

“I’m not stupid,” Lovino glared at his Grandfather.

“They were here for me,” said Céline. “Just making sure I wasn’t following in Gilbert’s footsteps. I’m sorry I brought this on you all.”

That, at least, was plausible. Zwingli had made it clear Francis and Céline were on his shitlist. It was only once the house had been tidied, and Lovino had collapsed into the bed he now shared with Sal, that he let himself mull over the day’s events. He could no longer ignore that uneasy feeling that he’d been lied to since he was little. He wondered about his parents: his mother died of an illness when he was eight, and his father had walked out on him shortly after. 

He couldn’t remember much from that time, so had never questioned his Grandpa’s story. Now he was almost certain his mother, if she was alive, would support him irrevocably.