POV: Hikigaya Hachiman
Fire again.
It always started like this. A ripple through the outer gates, then the smoke twisting through the banners, until it reached the heart of the palace and set everything noble and important ablaze. By the time it got here, it wasn't just wood catching fire. It was bloodlines. Legacies. Names carefully written into history, now curling into ash.
And here I was.
Dragging a king through his own burning palace like a particularly well-dressed sack of potatoes.
"Let go of me," Zheng gritted out—the boy king of one of the largest kingdoms in China, though, frankly, not that much more powerful than me at this particular moment. "I can walk."
He could. Technically. If walking meant staggering five steps while dripping with the blood of the guards who'd turned on him minutes earlier. His robes were soaked in it—not his own, but theirs. A brutal, ugly reminder that loyalty was optional and treachery contagious. His personal guards had broken ranks without warning. Would've succeeded, too, if not for me—and the new boy.
Piao, I think. Just a kid. Fast with a blade. Too fast to be untrained. He was trailing behind us now, wide-eyed but not clueless. The resemblance to Zheng was uncanny—same face, same build, same haunted-royalty-core eyes. That was kind of the point. He was the palace's emergency backup Zheng, wheeled out in case something went horribly wrong. Which, in hindsight, was honestly very forward-thinking of them.
Problem was, they had planned for betrayal. They hadn't planned for this much betrayal. Like, "congrats, everyone stabbed you at once" levels of betrayal.
Now he wasn't walking like a decoy prince anymore. He was walking like a kid who knew exactly what he signed up for—and still couldn't believe it was happening. Brave, yes. But also visibly reconsidering every life choice that led him to "pretend to be royalty while real royalty bleeds on you." He looked like a guy watching his own funeral march in real time, except the guy in the coffin was somehow him, but also not, and also bleeding. Existential dread with a side of identity crisis. Still, he kept walking. Pretty rough first month on the job.
I didn't bother replying. Mostly because I was busy checking corners for rebels, and partly because I didn't want to waste breath on something we both knew was a lie.
Somewhere down the corridor, a scream cut off mid-note. A door shattered open behind us.
Zheng tensed.
"Second time I've had to carry you through a smoking building," I said, trying not to sound too annoyed. "Starting to think this is just your way of bonding."
We turned the corner into the eastern wing. Empty. For now.
The nobles had run. The guards had changed sides. The usual.
And Zhao Ji was... somewhere. That was the problem with her. Always unpredictable. Always elegant. Possibly orchestrating this entire collapse for the drama of it.
Wouldn't surprise me.
Zheng's breathing was shallower now. He leaned on me harder than he meant to, the smoke probably compromising his lungs more than he anticipated. I adjusted my grip without comment.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
His voice wasn't angry. Just... tired.
"I ask myself that every morning," I said.
We were almost there. The servant tunnel was behind a false wall at the end of the hall. Once we were in, I could get him out. Assuming the tunnel hadn't collapsed or been taken over by someone with a lot of knives and poor impulse control.
Getting out wasn't the problem.
Staying out was.
The door appeared, half-hidden behind a tattered curtain. I pulled it open and shoved Zheng inside. The darkness welcomed us like an old friend. Musty air. Water dripping. That lovely underground mildew scent that just screamed "royalty in hiding."
We moved slowly, boots slapping against wet stone. Piao followed behind, still quiet, still staring, as I hoped and prayed for Chang Wen Jun and his forces to still be on the other side.
"Do you regret it?" Zheng asked.
He didn't clarify. He didn't need to.
I knew exactly what he meant.
Regret meeting him. Regret staying. Regret getting involved in any of this mess.
Regret waking up one morning in a time and place I didn't belong, with no clue how I got here and no option to leave—and no one to share it with…. Yeah he probably did not mean that one, that would be nuts.
I thought about lying. But I was too tired, and he was too smart to believe it anyway.
"Yeah," I said. "Every day."
We kept walking.
The empire as I had known it for the last six years was dying behind us.
And I still wasn't sure if we were saving it... or just dragging its corpse a little further from the flames.