Azaradan
King's Chambers
"It's been a long time since we drank together like this," King Bukka said, lifting his cup for the third refill of the night. "The kingdom has kept me busy, and you, my friend, have been swallowed by the army."
He and General Qin were alone.
The king had sent the maids outside himself. He knew how far their conversations sometimes went, how ugly and careless truth could become after enough wine. Some of the maids serving his chambers were too young for that kind of talk. Too young, really, to be serving there at all.
Qin still had half a glass in front of him.
He had barely touched it.
His calmness was unusual. The clock inside him was ticking louder now than any pleasure in the room. Friendship had begun to feel like a burden, and burdens were things he had already started cutting away.
"The coronation day is approaching," Qin said. "I overheard the Ministry of Internal Affairs discussing it."
Bukka nodded.
"Yes. The only thing left is for my son to choose a crown princess. We cannot crown him king without a wife beside him. He asked for a few days." The king smiled faintly. "I suspect he already has someone in mind."
Qin's side smile hid nothing kind.
"I thought the elders were meant to handle such matters. Choosing a queen requires wisdom. Young men choose with their eyes. They see beauty, not danger. And one foolish woman is enough to destroy a kingdom."
The king listened.
There was a seriousness to Qin's words that did not feel unusual to him. This was, to Bukka, only his old friend worrying for Azaradan.
"Nothing you've said is new to me," Bukka admitted. "I've thought of it too. But something tells me to trust my son."
"No, Bukka," Qin said more sharply. "This is not about trust. This is about the kingdom."
The king leaned back slightly.
"This afternoon I was speaking with the Minister of War," Qin continued, lowering his voice. "He brought disturbing news."
"What kind of news?"
"The Thunder Tribe has been sending its most beautiful girls into Azaradan disguised as traders. Their purpose is obvious. They mean to capture our men, bind themselves to our homes, and rot us from the inside."
Bukka's expression darkened.
Qin pressed on.
"They already know about the coronation. What if one of them seduces the prince?"
"My son is smart."
"But he's still a man."
That sentence sat in the room like a knife.
"Smart or not, he should not choose for himself," Qin said. "Let the elders find him a queen. Let wisdom protect what youth cannot."
Bukka emptied his cup, then sat upright.
When he looked at Qin again, the softness was gone from his face.
"Qin," he said, "I was there when the queen gave birth to my son. I held her hand while I watched her die."
The room quieted.
"Before she closed her eyes, she whispered something to me. She said, 'He is your son. He is only you, made younger.'"
Bukka's gaze did not leave Qin's face.
"And ever since, whenever I look at Buk, I see myself again. A better version, perhaps. There are choices I was too afraid to make that I watch him make without trembling."
He leaned forward.
"I would be the greatest fool in Azaradan if I said I did not trust my own son."
Qin's jaw tightened.
"All I'm saying is that he—"
"My son will marry the woman he chooses," Bukka cut in. "I will crown her princess and accept her as queen, no matter where she comes from. I trust my son. That is final."
Silence followed.
Long.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Neither man looked away.
Neither man bent.
At last Qin rose and bowed.
Bukka did not move a muscle in return.
Qin straightened, realized he would get nothing more from the king, and walked calmly from the chambers.
...
By the time Qin reached the hill road overlooking the palace, his fury had grown teeth.
He stopped halfway and turned back.
From that distance, the palace looked small enough to fit between his fingers.
His mouth curved slowly into a cold smirk.
"It exhausted me," he murmured, "pretending to cherish that friendship all these years."
He raised his hand as if measuring the palace between thumb and forefinger.
"It is time I show you who I am, my friend."
The last of his patience dried to dust.
His elimination game was ready to begin.
...
Present
Far-Bridge — Evening
Ukraine woke with a start.
For one blank second, he didn't know where he was.
Then the room arranged itself in his memory—the sofa, the house, the impossible fact that he had fallen asleep in Kro's living room like a child left out after a long day.
He sat up quickly.
The couch opposite him was empty.
No Kro.
No blanket.
No pillow.
The room felt too quiet.
He yawned hard and stretched until his shoulders cracked.
Kro appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing the same blazer dress as earlier, now hidden under an apron. She had heard him wake.
"Finally," she said. "Someone is alive."
Ukraine rubbed at his eyes.
"How long was I asleep?"
"I have no idea," Kro said. "I only woke up myself about twenty minutes ago."
Then, with almost shocking normalcy:
"Do you want chicken soup?"
Ukraine blinked.
Then his face lit up.
"Hell, yes."
He followed her into the kitchen.
The smell hit him first—rich, savory, comforting in a way that made his stomach clench with sudden hunger. Two bowls were already waiting on the table, spoons beside them, as though Kro had known he would wake exactly when he did.
Ukraine sat obediently.
Kro stirred the soup with a quiet rhythm.
"I always have soup after midday naps," she said. "Or when I'm hungover. It makes me feel human again."
Ukraine laughed softly.
"I always go right back to sleep after my naps. So yes, I guess that makes us different."
"It does."
She turned off the heat and carried the pot to the center of the table.
Inside was a whole chicken, cooked until tender enough to fall apart.
"Do you trust my hands?" she asked.
Ukraine didn't hesitate.
"I do."
"Good."
Without so much as a wince, Kro reached in, gripped one of the hot chicken thighs, and tore it free in a single motion. Steam rose off it. She dropped it into his bowl, then poured soup over it. She served herself the same way.
Ukraine stared.
The heat should have burned her. It clearly had not.
He looked at her like she had just broken another law of nature in front of him.
Kro noticed.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
Ukraine swallowed.
"May I ask you something?"
She nodded.
He took a breath.
"What exactly did you do in the past for you to be this perfect in the present?"
The spoon slipped from Kro's hand.
It hit the table with a sharp metallic sound.
She had heard those words before.
The exact words.
Spoken long ago.
Spoken by someone unforgettable.
Ukraine saw the reaction in her face and knew he had touched something private. Wanting to fix it somehow, he rushed to fill the silence.
"It's just… this is the first time a woman has done something like this for me. I grew up without a mother. I heard mine died giving birth to me."
That only made things worse.
The confusion that flashed through Kro was immediate and raw.
The same sentence.
The same story.
The same feeling.
She rose suddenly and moved toward him.
"I need to look for something."
Before Ukraine could ask what, Kro was already beside him, gently turning his head to one side, then the other, her trembling hands searching the line of his neck with increasing desperation.
Ukraine froze.
Her fingers were warm.
Shaking.
"Kro… what are you doing?"
"Where is it?" she whispered.
"Where is what?"
"The scar."
He frowned.
"What?"
"Have you ever had a scar here? On your neck? A birthmark maybe? Anything?"
Ukraine shook his head slowly.
"No. I've never had a scar on my neck."
He caught both her wrists then, gently, trying to steady her.
"Kro. Calm down. We're both confused."
That seemed to reach her at last.
She exhaled sharply.
"Okay."
Ukraine let go of her hands.
Kro pulled away and began pacing the kitchen, one hand dragging through her hair as if trying to untangle the thoughts there.
Ukraine stayed seated, too unsure to follow, too worried to ignore.
Then her phone rang.
Kro grabbed it almost immediately, grateful for the interruption.
"Yes, Leo?"
"We're on our way," Leo said from the car.
"We?"
"I'm with Sue and Zoe."
Kro's pacing stopped.
"Are you close?"
"Ten minutes."
"Okay."
She hung up and looked at Ukraine.
He still looked deeply shaken, confused, worried in a way that would have touched her if she had room left inside herself for one more emotion.
"I have visitors coming," she said. "You need to go."
Ukraine stood.
"Okay. But are you alright?"
Kro's face softened only a little.
"No. I'm not. But I will be."
She drew in a breath.
"Please forget what just happened. I'm sorry. I lost control."
Ukraine shook his head.
"Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."
That made her chest tighten.
"I'll see you Monday, boss," he said quietly.
Kro gave him a small smile and watched him leave.
The ache in her chest only deepened after the door closed behind him.
...
Fifteen Minutes Later
Sue sat with Zoe on her lap, thanking Kro with tears still drying on her cheeks.
Leo was there too.
The conversation should have been warm. It should have been enough.
But Kro's mind remained stubbornly fifteen minutes behind, caught in the kitchen with Ukraine's voice, his words, his mother, the missing scar.
Leo noticed instantly.
Sue did not.
"I want to thank you properly," Sue said. "For everything. I'm the happiest person alive today, and it's because of you."
Kro looked at Zoe, then at Sue.
"You're welcome."
Then she added, "But I still don't think Zoe is safe with you."
That snapped everyone's attention to her.
Sue blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean your mother-in-law will come for her the moment she realizes Zoe is gone. Your house is the first place she'll go."
Sue's face fell.
"I can't hide Zoe forever," she said. "She knows all my friends. She knows where my sister lives. I don't know where else to take her."
Kro answered immediately.
"She can stay here."
Sue stared.
"No. You've already done too much. I can't burden you with my daughter too."
"I'm fine with it."
Kro's tone made it clear that was not an offer meant to be refused.
"And frankly, I'm your best option."
Sue looked helplessly at Leo.
He nodded once.
"You won't be cut off from her," Kro added. "You can come here whenever you want. Sleep over if you need to. I just want both of you safe."
Then she looked at Sue directly.
"So. Is that a yes or no?"
Sue swallowed.
"Yes."
"Good."
Kro rose.
"Come on. Let me show you the room she'll use."
Sue stood with Zoe in her arms, and the three of them headed upstairs, leaving Leo alone in the sitting room.
After a while, boredom nudged him toward the kitchen.
That was when he saw them.
Two bowls of soup.
One untouched.
Leo's eyes narrowed.
Someone had been there.
Someone who had not merely dropped in, but stayed long enough for Kro to cook.
When Kro came back downstairs and found him studying the bowls, she knew at once what he had discovered.
"Yes," she said before he could ask. "I had a guest."
Leo turned.
"I know. The guest left without touching the soup."
"I asked him to leave."
They sat.
There was no use pretending this was an ordinary conversation now.
Leo looked at her carefully.
"Who was it?"
Kro hesitated.
Then answered.
"Ukraine. My former PA."
Leo sat back.
"Why was he here? Did you ask him to come?"
"No. He came by himself."
That only increased his concern.
"So why do you look like this?"
Kro leaned back in her chair.
Trying to explain what had happened felt pointless. Leo wouldn't understand the force of it, not fully.
Still, he waited.
And when she kept quiet too long, disappointment crept into his face.
"You're not going to tell me?"
"Don't be dramatic."
"I'm not dramatic," Leo muttered. "I just want to know why you look sad."
That made something in Kro soften.
She lowered her gaze.
"Ukraine…" she began, then stopped.
Leo's expression sharpened.
"What about him?"
Kro's voice grew quieter.
"He sounded exactly like him."
Leo didn't need clarification.
"Buk?"
Kro nodded.
"Was it really him?" Leo asked.
She shook her head.
"I don't think so. He had no scar on his neck."
Leo sighed.
"Then it isn't him."
Kro gave a sad half-laugh.
"Maybe I wanted it to be."
There it was.
The truth beneath all the confusion.
"Maybe this cold heart of mine never let him go after all these years," she said. "I never thought I'd get emotional from hearing one sentence."
Her voice trembled at the edges.
"I guess everything he ever said is still in me."
Leo leaned forward.
"So what now? Do you bury it and move on?"
Kro looked at the untouched soup.
"I was too confused in the moment to realize how happy I was to hear it again." She paused. "And after the clairvoyant's words… I don't think this is just coincidence."
Leo's worry deepened.
"You think part of him is connected to your past?"
Kro shut her eyes briefly.
"I don't know anymore."
And that uncertainty frightened Leo more than certainty would have.
...
Ssota
Night
Ukraine stepped into his room already half-dead with exhaustion.
He tossed his car keys onto the table and headed for the bed, needing nothing but a shower and unconsciousness.
Then he saw her.
Vida sat on his bed with all the calm in the world, the old photograph of Kro resting in her hands.
The same photograph he had left on the pillow.
Ukraine stopped so abruptly it hurt.
"Grandma! What are you doing here?"
Vida smiled.
"I'm fine, thank you."
The sarcasm in her voice was as smooth as silk.
"What is it? Do you need something?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm here to collect every bit of information you've gathered on Kro. I trust the file is at least half full by now."
Ukraine's mouth went dry.
"What?"
Vida lifted the photograph slightly.
"It seems you've been giving this mission your full attention. I'm impressed."
He stared.
"You've been staring at this photo for quite some time, haven't you? Of course you have. But that wasn't enough for you. You even spent your Sunday with her."
Her smile sharpened.
"How responsible."
Now he understood.
He had been watched too.
"Grandma, let me explain—"
"No."
Her tone cut him cleanly.
"I am not your grandmother right now."
She set the photograph down carefully beside her.
Then she looked up at him with the full weight of command in her eyes.
"I am Vida, the head of this mission."
And for the first time that night, Ukraine felt true fear.
***