Chapter Text
The Kingdom of Morrígan is as ancient as the bricks on the pavements of Rome; for millennia, the realm has endured the symphony among the three kingdoms of Tellūs. Gradually, that symphony began to fade. Two of the four kingdoms collapsed, and the peace that remains between Morrígan and the Kingdom of Sutekh is thinner than a silk thread. In Tellūs, peace has reigned since its genesis. Peace is the foundation that has sustained the four spirits and allowed them to coexist. At least, that is what Charles has learned over the years.
There has to be peace, perpetually.
Charles is a very energetic child; he runs around like a wild breeze that cannot be contained. He is the only heir to the Kingdom of Morrígan. In his childish mind, that means he always has to be the king in his banter with Max. Max is two years older than the prince. In reality, he seems infinitely older. His father is one of the king’s most loyal knights, and from birth, Max was trained to protect Charles at any cost.
None of these responsibilities are known to the children. While they play tag in the throne room, the breeze rushes past their faces, freedom pulses through their veins, and all duties are set aside. They have been best friends since birth. If Max tries to remember the past, Charles is there—and vice versa. One of their best memories together is from when they were about six years old.
They were on a highland, a place full of flowers that smelled wonderful. While running, Charles fell to the ground and hurt his knee. The tears came desperately, leaving his chest and reaching Max’s ears like a tsunami.
— Hey, Charlie, don’t cry, please. Everything will be okay. — Max didn’t know how to react, but he could feel his best friend’s distress.
— It hurts a lot, Maxie — the little pout he made when he was being dramatic was always adorable in Max’s eyes.
— Don’t worry. Nothing is going to hurt you while I’m here, Charlie — the promise Max made echoed through the years of their lives. A promise made in Tellūs is a promise fulfilled. The spirit of Morrígan takes promises as the foundation of its creation. Failing to keep one is a direct disrespect to the spirit.
Max kissed Charles’s knee as part of his promise, and the play continued as if nothing had happened. Charles had always loved the freedom he felt when running. Back at the palace that day, Charles told everyone that Max had saved him from a terrible fall—without knowing those words would seal Max’s fate forever. They played in the throne room every day. That was Max’s favorite game. He didn’t know why, but he loved Charles’s smile when he sat on his father’s throne.
The years passed, and some things never changed. When they were eight and ten years old, the highland was theirs again. Running as if there were no tomorrow. The laughter they shared would remain in their minds forever.
— Maxie, what do you think about being a king? — Charles was curious by nature. Exploration was part of his daily life.
— What do you mean, Charlie? I’m just a commoner — Max couldn’t understand what went through Charles’s mind, but he tried his best.
— What do you think about being a king with me? It will be boring without you to play with. If you became a king with me, neither of us would be bored or alone. I feel alone in all those classes my dad makes me take — Charles’s questions always stopped making sense after the second word.
His dad always said he had his head in the clouds.
— Charlie, to become a king, we would have to get married and do all those disgusting things, like kissing each other. — Max had never liked physical touch, and his father wasn’t the kind of man to teach him about love.
— Ew, I don’t want to kiss you. I just want you to become a king with me. Is that asking too much? — Charles looked at Max with shining eyes full of hope. — You wouldn’t leave me alone when I become king, right?
Those words were vulnerable and full of meaning, though neither of them could understand it yet.
— I would never leave you alone, Charlie — Max always said that, but in that moment, the sentence carried a deeper weight. And the game continued as if nothing had happened.
Max began learning how to use a sword before he even learned how to speak. He learned to wield a blade before he learned how to walk. He was taught that under no circumstances should he go anywhere without his sword. A knight without a sword is not a man—it is just a boy, or so they said. At ten years old, he was the best swordsman in the kingdom, but he had never touched a book in his life. Education was reserved for high society, and even though his father was a knight, it was still out of reach.
Charles already knew how to speak three languages; after all, he would be the next king. A kingdom where education is not accessible beyond the upper classes is doomed to failure and ruin. Charles should not be in battle; he should avoid it, so he had never touched a sword. Before he even knew who he was, books upon books had been placed in front of him. One day, Max was keeping Charles company during his Latin class, and his curiosity about how a quill worked led them to a great discovery.
— What do you mean you don’t know how to use a quill? That’s so basic — in Charles’s mind, inequality between them did not exist.
— Well, I don’t know. Simple as that. They never taught me how to use this thing — Max said, troubled by his own ignorance. How could he answer Charles’s questions if he didn’t know everything?
— How do you write your name? — the doubt in Charles’s mind was enormous. How could someone write if they didn’t know how to use a quill?
— Hmm... I don’t know how to write, Charlie — the blush rising to Max’s cheeks was a clear sign of his shame. He looked vulnerable in a way Charles had never seen before.
Charles froze at those words; the idea that his best friend couldn’t write hit him like a bullet to the chest. In his childish mind, everyone knew how to write, and discovering that one of the most important people in his life didn’t know devastated him.
But besides being energetic, Charles had always been deeply compassionate toward others, and it would never cross his mind to leave his friend in that situation.
— How about I teach you how to write? — Charles felt nervous without really knowing why. Maybe it was the fear of Max refusing. He wouldn’t be able to live knowing he hadn’t done anything to help someone.
— I don’t want to bother you, Charlie. And what could I do to make up for the effort? Nothing — Max couldn’t handle the feeling that would take over him for making Charles work too hard.
Charles would be king. He was already a child far too busy with his royal duties.
— Please, Maxie, I want to help you, and you could help me learn how to use a sword, so we would both be learning something — it was practically impossible to say no to Charles’s shining eyes.
But there were still obstacles. It was forbidden for the prince to learn how to use any kind of weapon. He would have soldiers to protect him, so why teach him? That was how the king thought.
— But what if someone finds out, Charlie? They’ll punish us forever, and we’ll never see each other again — Max wasn’t afraid for himself, but for Charles. He didn’t deserve a lonely life, and Max wouldn’t let him do that to himself.
— We’ll figure that out later. Come here, I’ll teach you your name — Charles didn’t care. No punishment would be more painful than knowing his best friend didn’t even know his own name.
Carefully, Max sat beside Charles and waited for instructions. Charles picked up one of the quills and showed Max how to hold it properly.
— You place it between your fingers, like this. See? — Max’s first attempt was a complete failure; the quill spun between his fingers and fell to the ground. — Not like that. Like this. See?
Charles’s patience was endless; he picked the quill up from the ground and placed it back in Max’s hand, helping him position it correctly for writing. Then he guided the quill toward the inkpot and placed the tip on a piece of paper.
— You make this movement here. Right? — he guided Max’s hand across the page, and as the quill slid, Max could see his hand forming one of those symbols he had never understood. — This is the letter M, the first letter of your name.
The process repeated with the other two letters of Max’s name, and in the end, he could recognize the three letters: M, A, and X. Pride swelled in his chest, and the feeling of victory took over him. He knew his own name—something that had once seemed impossible. Charles let go of his hand so he could try on his own.
The letters were no longer beautiful; they were messy scribbles. But he didn’t care—beauty wasn’t his goal. They spent a good few minutes with Max practicing his handwriting while Charles helped him with every little detail.
— Now that I’ve taught you how to write your name, you’ll help me hold a sword. — Charles’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Max felt much more motivated to help his friend learn self-defense.
Max drew the sword from its sheath and placed the hilt in Charles’s hand. Then he stood behind him to adjust his posture.
— Always look forward, Charlie. That’s where your opponent will be. — Max wrapped his hand over Charles’s, holding the sword with him. — Always keep your weight on your supporting leg, and never hesitate. If you hesitate before attacking, you’ll give your opponent enough time to strike you.
Charles listened patiently, taking everything in as if his life depended on it. One day, it might. Max let go and stood in front of him.
— Now try to attack me, and remember what I taught you. — Seeing Max offer himself as a test subject made Charles uneasy. What if he hit him? What if he hurt him? What if he killed him? Charles couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways things could go wrong. — Stop overthinking, Charlie. Just fight. You won’t hurt me.
Max’s words encouraged him enough to try his first strike, but as he moved forward, he put his weight on the wrong leg and lost control. His body twisted, he lost his balance, and before he realized it, he was already on the ground without even getting close to Max. It was humiliating.
— It’s your first time; it’s okay to get it wrong. The first time I tried, I fell on top of a sack of flour with my sword. Flour went everywhere — Max was trying to cheer him up, and it was working.
Maybe his first attempt hadn’t been so bad after all.
A few years passed, and their friendship remained stronger than ever, but now layered with feelings neither of them could name. At fifteen and seventeen, their responsibilities felt heavier and more significant.
They had always been inseparable—before out of friendship, now out of duty. It was Max’s responsibility to protect Charles at any cost, even if it meant dying. At all times, he wore armor and kept his sword ready to be drawn.
That filled Charles with deep discomfort. Max’s eyes were the most beautiful thing ever created—a blue as deep as the midnight sky, full of meaning, shining like all the stars in the universe.
And with that armor, all that remained to comfort his poor heart was Max’s voice—a soothing melody like a cup of warm milk on a cold night.
Charles, too, was trapped in countless obligations as a prince. Classes filled his routine, and the only time he could truly be himself was with his father, Kimi, who tried to reserve time just for them.
Not that Charles didn’t love his father—he did. His other father, Sebastian, had died when he was very young, so Kimi was all the family he had. But he was so busy as king that sometimes he forgot about him. Charles understood that his father was trying to make up for lost time, but it wasn’t working very well. Their conversations were cold and emotionless, and his duties always pulled him away before they could finish.
In contrast, Max’s father didn’t even try. He knew his son had to become as strong as him and spared no effort. But in his twisted view, that meant beating his son until he became the best.
Max’s body looked like a canvas covered in bruises since childhood. The abuse wasn’t only physical but psychological; words pierced his skin like needles every time they were spoken.
Max learned from a young age where he belonged in the world, and rebellion would lead him nowhere. By sixteen, he was already enlisted in the army. He didn’t care about any of it. His father could hit him as much as he wanted—if Charles was okay, then so was he.
Now, as a teenager, he understood his feelings for Charles.
Love.
A feeling strictly forbidden between them. Max knew he shouldn’t feel it, but he couldn’t stop himself from falling more and more in love with the prince.
Charles was the most beautiful being to ever walk the earth, the closest thing to an angel. His emerald-green eyes, his angelic face—and not just his beauty, but everything that made Charles who he was: the pout during his dramatic moments, his competitive spirit, and the most beautiful and adorable smile ever seen.
Charles was perfection in Max’s eyes.
Charles knew he felt something different for Max, but he didn’t know what it was—like any teenager who doesn’t even understand themselves.
One of his best memories from that time was meeting new friends: Lando and George.
They were his attendants, but deep down, they were his friends—people he could trust with things he told no one else. Not secrets, but something deeper.
His feelings.
Another defining memory was when Max finished his first book. No personal achievement of Charles had ever felt as meaningful as that.
— Charlie, you won’t believe this — their conversations about it were always whispered, a carefully guarded secret. They were crouched in the castle pantry, eating grapes and sharing progress. — That book you lent me, I finally read it. Puss in Boots is really cool.
The excitement in his voice made Charles’s stomach flutter and his cheeks flush for no reason.
— I wish I had a cat that wore boots and fought with a sword. Instead, we just have old, fat Jimmy. The part where he fights the bandit was my favorite. It was so cool seeing his sword skills — Max didn’t know it was a children’s book, and Charles didn’t have the heart to tell him.
— Now that you finished one, I can lend you another to read while you’re on guard. — That was another thing that bothered him: Max standing outside his door most of the night.
How did he rest? He had tried explaining this to others, but no one listened. Which was concerning, since he would be king. Should people respect him? Or did he have to earn it? Philosophy lessons were confusing him.
— And you? Did you improve with the sword? — If Max hadn’t stopped learning to read, Charles hadn’t stopped learning self-defense. They both knew it was wrong, but what was the fun if it wasn’t forbidden?
— A lot. Yesterday I managed to hit someone moving. — He had almost killed Lando, who was already dramatic enough; after that, even more. Luckily, Lando didn’t mind and wouldn’t tell. If it were George, things would be different.
George practically carried a rulebook under his arm. He followed rules almost blindly. If he found out, he would report it—not out of malice, but because he thought it was right.
That was also the age when Max and Charles got into their first real trouble—thanks to George. Max was helping Charles skip one of his many classes, and they were heading to their beloved hill.
George went to call Charles and overheard their escape plan. For a prince, that was unacceptable. He ran to tell the king, and before they could leave the castle, they were already cornered.
From that day on, Max began to hate George, and vice versa. George believed Max was corrupting Charles, and Max believed George was imprisoning him. In a way, they were both right.
That was the first of many troubles they would get into together—and the most memorable, precisely because it was the first.
That was the first of many troubles they got into together—and the most memorable, precisely because it was the first.
They shared many other adventures, but the most remarkable was Max’s sixteenth birthday. A day they would never forget.
It was a calm, lazy Sunday morning. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and Charles was already awake. Everything had to be perfect that day. Birthdays were the most important days of all for Charles. Absolutely everything needed to be impeccable.
It didn’t have to be luxurious, but it had to be warm and sincere. And the hardest part was choosing a gift for Max. He already had everything money could buy, and his best friend was also a difficult person to please.
Charles could give him a golden sword. Max didn’t need a golden sword.
Or the finest and most beautiful shield of all. Max didn’t need that either.
Maybe a book. But if they were caught with it, the punishment would be far worse than the day they ran away.
It had to mean something. It had to come from the heart. And as he searched through his jewelry box, Charles found the perfect gift.
A necklace.
Not just any necklace, but one that completed the one Charles himself wore. The necklaces had been made for his parents, and Charles had worn his since birth. Kimi had never been very fond of necklaces.
When his father died, Kimi couldn’t bear the pain they brought and left both of them with Charles. And there it was—the perfect gift: two necklaces that completed each other and only revealed their secret when together. The same definition as his friendship with Max.
That Sunday afternoon, Charles gave the necklace to Max, and from that moment on, it became part of him. No one ever knew they shared that necklace. And that made it even more special—the secret that only the two of them shared.
Little by little, royal duties began to consume their friendship. It didn’t die, but it no longer had as much time to exist as before. The thought of protecting Charles began to overflow within Max. Everything he did was to protect.
Like a soldier, not like a friend.
And Charles’s new friendships, for some reason, didn’t sit well with Max. They caused him an overwhelming discomfort. His chest tightened, and his vision blurred slightly at the thought of being replaced by those intruders.
Jealousy.
Jealousy consumed Max from the inside. The thought of being cast aside by the person he believed in the most drove him to the edge of madness. And what bothered him most was knowing his jealousy was irrational. Max had no claim over Charles.
And he never would.
Max knew he needed to be as rational as possible. He was a knight, and even so, he couldn’t stop jealousy and love from intertwining within his soul.
Gradually, some interactions became too intimate. The nicknames were no longer well seen as they grew older. Only in the most private moments were they spoken, with the force of an earthquake.
Their friendship also wasn’t well regarded. A prince shouldn’t be friends with his knight. Only with his future spouse.
Charles hated conservatives. He believed the Kingdom of Morrígan was a progressive place, and that his only purpose wasn’t marriage.
His father wasn’t training him to be a husband, but a king. So why couldn’t he be friends with Max?
What had once been allowed became completely forbidden. Their friendship only existed when no one else was around.
Max understood that better than anyone.
— I don’t want you staining this family’s name — the blows didn’t hurt anymore, but the words still tore his soul apart. — You are not anyone’s friend. You are a knight, and you will learn your place.
After that day, Max no longer had control over his actions. He became a perfect mirror of his father.
Charles would be his only act of rebellion forever.
When Charles turned eighteen, their relationship changed more than he wished. The prince was now eligible to marry.
His father had given him full freedom to choose his partner. But Charles wanted Max. And he knew he couldn’t have him.
He finally understood his feelings for the royal guard—and realized he had understood them too late. Max was in love with someone else.
There was that beautiful village woman, Kelly—angelic, kind, and respectable.
And every time Max looked at her, his eyes shone with the intensity of a supernova.
— He loves someone else, Lando, what do I do now? Who am I supposed to marry? — Charles’s sadness could be felt in the very walls. The weather matched his emotions; a storm raged outside. — I’ll just marry anyone and be miserable for the rest of my life.
— Don’t say that, Charles. You’re not even sure he’s in love with her — Lando hated seeing his friend suffer over something he couldn’t control.
— Even if he wasn’t, we couldn’t be together. He’s my guard. — Charles felt defeated and knew he would have to accept whatever marriage was arranged.
Never, in his right mind, would he choose anyone but Max.
— Your destiny isn’t written, Charles. Give yourself the right to choose how to live your own life — George might hate Max, but he hated seeing his friend unhappy even more. He would break every rule to help him.
— How would I explain that to the kingdom? To the council? And worse, to my father? — Charles thought of every possible “what if.” — So I’d just say I fell in love with my guard? That would be a massive scandal.
But for Max, the situation was entirely different. Kelly wasn’t his romantic interest. She was his friend—a kind villager he met while patrolling, someone he could share his deepest thoughts with.
— These have been difficult days. Every day I feel further from Charles. We don’t even have five minutes together anymore — Max felt disappointed in himself. What kind of friend was he?
— Don’t be so hard on yourself, Max. You both have busy lives. Sometimes schedules just don’t match — Kelly always tried to lift him up. She was patient; not everyone could listen to Max talk about Charles.
— I feel like a war is coming. The council is losing control. The king is worried, and the army has started recruiting soldiers from the castle — Max couldn’t think about it without his heart racing and his breath faltering. Sometimes, he even cried.
Kelly said it was called anxiety.
Max was a soldier. If war came, he would be called—and likely die. Not because he doubted his skills, but because war was unpredictable.
Most soldiers died of hunger. And there was a difference between protecting someone from a possible threat and living every day under the constant threat of death.
— I hope you’re wrong — Kelly’s anguish was almost tangible. Her voice was barely a whisper, her hands trembling. She also had someone she cared about in the army.
That was another reason their bond was so strong. Both were living romances in their minds that could never happen. Kelly was in love with Daniil, a low-ranking soldier. And it was forbidden for active low-ranking soldiers to have relationships.
A measure to prevent widows.
They shared fears, jealousy, and admiration, strengthening their bond every day.
Little by little, Charles and Max were replacing each other. Their friendship faded, though they were still the most important people in each other’s lives. But now, that feeling was never spoken aloud.
One thing never changed.
The hill.
On that hill, secrets were shared, confusion confessed, and love only grew. But it was never spoken. Never.
The hill remained for them.
But they no longer remained for the hill.
Max began spending more time in the army, which only increased his worries about an imminent war.
Charles began spending more time with his father, gaining experience for the throne.
Little by little, their friendship kept fading. But the love remained.
Lando started seeing a villager named Oscar. They walked hand in hand all the time, kissed in the corridors, and exchanged sweet glances all day long.
Charles felt his stomach twist at the sight.
Jealousy. Pure jealousy.
He didn’t understand why he felt that way. He was happy for his friend and wanted the best for him. But watching another couple be happy while he was doomed to loneliness was unbearable.
— He’s so gentle with me, Charlie, so kind, he treats me so well — Lando’s eyes looked like hearts, so full of love.
— Don’t call me that — Charles’s tone was sharp and cold. Lando was talking about a love that worked and still used the nickname only Max used. It felt like an insult.
— What? What’s wrong, Charlie? — Lando didn’t understand the sadness tied to Max’s name.
— DON’T CALL ME THAT! You come here, you insult me with this ridiculous love, you humiliate me with your happiness, and you think you have the right to call me something I don’t want to hear! Get out! Don’t come back to my room ever again! — the scream came from deep within his chest.
He didn’t want to hurt Lando, but it was the breaking point of something he had been holding in for too long.
Lando left, startled, not understanding why something so simple caused so much pain.
The moment the door clicked shut, Charles broke.
Tears streamed down his face, his chest tightened, his vision blurred. His knees gave out, and he fell to the floor, unable to stand. He stayed there, crying over a love he could never have.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but he cried until he fell asleep.
When he woke up, it was night. The world spun, his chest still aching.
George knocked on the door, asking to come in. Charles refused. George insisted. Charles kept refusing until both were exhausted.
— Go away, Russell. Leave me alone — Charles didn’t even try to control his tone anymore.
— Just know that if you need me, I’ll always be here, okay? — George said before walking away.
That only made things worse.
Charles cried even harder. He could have everyone, but the one person he wanted wasn’t there.
When he looked out the window, he felt betrayed all over again.
Max and Kelly, side by side, laughing.
Jealousy consumed him. Not just sadness—anger too.
His stomach twisted violently, and everything inside him came back up. He vomited out his anger, his sadness, his jealousy, his love.
A crack had formed in their relationship.
And nothing could fix it anymore.
Max had always told him he would never leave him alone.
Now he had never felt so alone.
Now Charles and Max were twenty-four and twenty-six, respectively, and everything had changed.
Their friendship was just a memory buried deep in their minds, reminding them of a distant past. The love only grew stronger with each passing moment.
And it remained the one secret they never shared.
A war was declared.
Kingdoms from outside Tellūs began attacking Morrígan by sea. The realm fell into chaos. Charles didn’t feel ready to face this as king.
Morrígan was prosperous and advanced, but the enemy’s technology surpassed theirs. The only thing still keeping the kingdom standing was the presence of the primordial spirit.
Villages were destroyed, people starving, chaos everywhere.
Charles felt like he was losing his mind. Watching his people suffer and being unable to help was one of the worst feelings he had ever experienced.
The worst was losing Max.
His chest still tightened remembering what they once were.
And now there was nothing left.
The worst part was seeing Max act as if nothing had happened. Watching him pass by like they hadn’t lost the most beautiful part of their lives hurt.
But Max’s mind was far more chaotic than Charles could imagine.
He knew he would be called to war. It was only a matter of time.
And he knew he wouldn’t survive.
He would die without ever telling the man he loved how much he meant to him.
His mind couldn’t process a world without Charles.
Imagining Charles living without him felt like a blade in his chest.
One he would have to pull out eventually.
He couldn’t live with it buried there just because it was easier.
He could already imagine his body lying on the ground, lifeless, covered in blood.
Dead only in body.
His soul had died the moment he let Charles slip through his fingers.
He had decided to confess.
Not because he was brave.
But because he couldn’t die letting Charles believe he had never loved him.
Max loved him completely.
He would move mountains and seas for him.
He would do the possible and the impossible for one chance.
And even then, he would deny himself that love just to protect him.
After everything he had done for Charles, he would allow himself one selfish act.
To think of himself.
Max believed that to be loved was to be seen.
And he had seen every version of Charles.
He remembered everything.
Every detail.
And now, finally, he would say it out loud.
Even if only to die in peace.
Speak… or die?
He would soon have his answer.
On a cold, rainy afternoon, a guard approached him.
— Your ship leaves at dawn tomorrow. Be at the harbor before sunrise.
That was the shortest death sentence he had ever heard.
He didn’t hesitate.
He went straight to Charles.
It was now or never.
The prince had no idea Max was enlisted. And that thought brought him a small, fragile comfort.
Max was safe.
The door burst open.
A breathless Max entered without permission.
And in that moment, Charles knew something was wrong.
Max never entered without asking.
He walked quickly toward him and held his face with both hands.
Panic was written all over his eyes.
— Charles, my love… I didn’t want to tell you like this. Maybe, in another life, I had the chance to say this sooner… and not condemn us.
Charles froze.
A loud ringing filled his ears.
— I love you. I love you so much, Charles Leclerc. Every part of you, I love with all my soul. You were sent from the heavens to me, like an angel. I love your emerald-green eyes, the little pout you make when you want something. I love your compassion, how deeply you care about others — tears streamed down both their faces. — And I’m sorry I never said it before.
He paused, breathing deeply.
— Know that I will think of you in every moment on that battlefield. I’ll carry a part of you with me in every second I’m away. I’ll think of you when I sleep and when I wake, and with the blessing of the spirits, I will win this war. For you.
Max was going to war.
No.
No, no, no.
NO.
Charles couldn’t react.
The love of his life stood before him, confessing everything—
and saying he might never come back.
A heavy silence fell between them.
Charles said nothing.
Max understood.
That silence was his answer.
Charles didn’t love him.
He was just a fool who thought he had a chance.
— Maybe in another life, it will be us, Charlie.
Max kissed his hand and walked away—
taking Charles’s heart with him.
— Hmmm... I don’t know how to write, Charlie — the blush spreading across Max’s cheeks was clear evidence of shame.