Erich wakes to a hand in his hair and ripples of warmth coursing through his body. He wakes to lethargy and contentment and safety, to the urge to close his eyes and rest, to trust, and it’s all he can do to fight past the unnatural desire and lift a hand to grab—

A hand lifts from his shoulders. Catches his own. Tangles their fingers together and squeezes reassurance-care-loyalty—

The warmth fades.

He’s cold. He’s cold and he aches and a whine crawls from his throat before he can swallow it back and—

“Shh, shh, I’m here. I’m here.”

Their tangled hands settle on his stomach. Power sinks deep into his body, it’s warm it’s warm it’s warm and—

“Ah. Let’s fix that, hm?”

He falls asleep with a hand in his hair and loyalty settling deep into his bones.

(He sleeps better than he deserves.)

***

He sits up with a groan the next morning, burying his face in his hands and listening to the bone-deep thrum of reassurance-trust-loyalty that he can’t push aside. His stomach doesn’t hurt for the first time in years and the whole thing is just a step away from absurd—

“Another visit last night, sir?”

“Soulmates are a hassle,” he declares before he can censor himself, and is rewarded with the sound of Degurechaff choking as she tries to bite back her laughter. He straightens with a sigh and gestures towards his bag, murmuring his thanks as she passes it over and then turns away to give him the illusion of privacy.

Erich shrugs his jacket off and tugs his undershirt over his head, rolling it up as he turns his attention to his right arm. Bark covers his entire lower arm and much of his upper arm, the tree tall and strong and bold despite being nothing but a tiny bracelet of leaves a few days before. Already its branches are reaching across his chest, growing closer to Alexis’ proud oak that dominates his left side.

He… still doesn’t know what tree it is, he realizes as he traces a branch and smooths his thumb across the leaves.

(He doesn’t know what mark the stranger has left across his body and it…)

(It leaves him floundering and uneasy.)

Degurechaff moves, her clothes rustling as she takes slow, careful steps towards him; they’re walking a fine line between impropriety and friendship, blurred by the situation they’re in and the trouble that Erich’s unknown soulmate has brought them, but… he can’t find it in himself to shoo her away the way he should.

(She’s the only ranking officer besides himself left.)

(She’s the only one who knows his mark grew so suddenly…)

Slender, calloused fingers touch his shoulder-blade and trace a shape across his skin. The unexpected touch makes him twitch, shoulder curling in, and she snatches her hand away like she’s been burned.

“Sorry, sir,” she says as she edges back, putting a bit more space between them. “Forgot myself for a moment.” She hums, the noise soft and thoughtful, and says, “I think, sir, that we can expect much more of this to come.”

“What leads you to believe that?”

“Because your soulmate’s mark is a plum tree, sir, and it’s starting to bloom.”

He stills at her words, then twists around in an attempt to see his back. It doesn’t work, of course, but she politely doesn’t laugh at him, just takes his hand and guides his fingers to rest on the same spot she touched before. The skin feels no different — it never feels different, he knows this — but… he trusts her.

He trusts her word and he trusts her judgment and that means he has a blooming plum tree across his skin.

(Oh, this is going to be trouble…)

***

He forces himself to go about his day, to lead his men and do his best without hesitation or second guessing.

He leads them through the forest and marks their next target and ignores the steady thrum of loyalty in his bones.

(It’s so deep he can barely sense it, so deep that it colors everything he says-thinks-does—)

(Who can feel such deep, abiding loyalty to a man he’s never met?!)

***

It’s late in the evening when Degurechaff appears at his side, her lips pinched into a thin line and her eyes sharp with concern. She says nothing but it’s clear she wants to speak with him in private.

He excuses himself from the last minute planning and follows her to the edge of camp and then beyond, into the too-quiet forest towards the enemy camp.

(If he didn’t trust her with his life…)

She beckons him up a slope and they climb in silence until they reach the top and the lookout’s post that’s been created.

“It’s still happening,” Serebryakov whispers as they crawl up to her side, passing a pair of binoculars over to Degurechaff.

Degurechaff grunts and peers down at the camp below them for a moment, then grimaces and passes Erich the binoculars. “Take a look, sir.”

He accepts the binoculars with a quiet feeling of despair and brings them up, adjusting the focus until—

There’s a man stalking the camp, dressed in something that looks like a simple black overcoat with white diamonds along the hem, and with… a dressing robe underneath?

Erich frowns and zooms in further, mentally cursing the darkness and the distance and everything about this mess. It’s probable that he’s staring at his unknown soulmate and for the life of him he can’t get a clear impression of who the man is.

A blade flashes in the torchlight. Slides clean through an enemy soldier’s chest.

The man shoves the soldier from his blade. Tilts his head and meets Erich’s gaze and holds it for

one

infinite

moment—

“General Rerugen, sir?” Degurechaff whispers, nudging him with her shoulder. “Can you see what’s killing the enemy?”

Erich swallows as the man turns away, distinctive sword held easily at his side, and slowly lowers the binoculars from his eyes. Degurechaff’s words are like a leaden weight in his stomach, proof of the worst case scenario he’s ever dreamed of.

He’s soulmates with a Reaper.

“I’m not sure,” he prevaricates, unable to explain their inability to see the spirit currently murdering living soldiers without sounding like he’s taken leave of his senses.

The look Degurechaff sends him tells him she’s not buying it, and she deliberately taps her right hand against the ground where he can see. She grimaces when he reluctantly nods, heaving a sigh through her nose.

“Nothing for it, I suppose,” she says with reluctance, taking the binoculars back from Erich and passing them to Serebryakov. “Keep watch and let me know if something changes,” she orders as she starts wriggling backwards, leaving her adjutant to her watch.

Erich casts one final look at the dead men on the ground and follows her down the hill.

***

“Invisibility, sir?” Degurechaff asks with pointed idleness as they meander back to camp, both knowing a conversation needs to happen.

He hesitates then inclines his head, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Something of the sort,” he agrees.

“Never heard of a mage able to shield themselves from everyone but their own soulmate.” Never heard of a mage able to shield themselves from me, she leaves unstated.

“I suppose the Akitsushima Dominion has their own ways of doing things.”

Her gaze burns hot-sharp-thoughtful as they walk, but she says nothing more.

(He’s not so certain that’s a good thing…)

***

He wakes to a hand in his hair and a second on his chest, to power-comfort-sleep-sleep-sleep and—

He wrenches himself from his bedroll. Slams into the man’s chest. Sends them both tumbling to the ground and grips the man’s wrists. Pins the unknown to the ground—

“My, you’re certainly as feisty as I suspected,” the man says with a bright smile, letting whatever he was doing to Erich fade now that he’s been caught.

Erich swallows, throat suddenly dry as his senses roar back into focus.

The man is physical, his body lean and strong beneath Erich’s own. His breath is warm and his heartbeat steady and Erich—

Erich can’t unknow the truth.

He’s straddling a Reaper, no matter how physical the man may seem. He can sense the barest edge of spiritual powers, sense the distinctive twist of Reaper about the man and—

He’s being allowed to sense it.

“Hey now, hey, shh, it’s alright, it’s alright, you’re safe—”

He jerks away from the man — his soulmate! — and scrambles back, hand reaching for his pistol and—

“Leave,” a cold voice orders, even as a tiny fireball slams into the ground inches from the Reaper’s knees. “Next one’s setting that bleached blond head of yours alight, soulmate laws be damned.”

It startles the man, makes him jerk back, away from them, away from Erich, and then he’s gone. Vanished into the darkness between one breath and the next, movement too fast for even Erich’s trained senses to follow.

His disappearance is a relief.

(His disappearance is a disappointment.)

“Are you alright, sir?” Degurechaff asks as she stalks forward, sweeping the area the Reaper had been. She kneels briefly. Rises to her feet with a strange, striped hat in her hands, and—

Erich doesn’t know what expression is on her face. Knows only that it’s cold-sharp-contemplative and that a distant part of him feels sorry for the Reaper.

Degurechaff is not an enemy he would wish upon someone lightly.

“Sir,” she repeats, looking away from the hat and frowning at him.

“I’m… fine,” he finally forces out, running a hand through his hair and trying to ignore the trembling in his limbs. “He… caught me by surprise is all.”

Her frown twists into a scowl. “Something to do with our friend’s little invisibility trick, sir?”

He swallows and looks away, unable to force the words through the lump in his throat, unable to deflect when she’s staring at him with narrowed, icy eyes, unable to answer because his answer will never be accepted—

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted,” he answers automatically.

“You were interested in him until this evening when I showed you the camp,” she begins, stepping closer and dropping the Reaper’s hat on his bedroll. “Something about your ability to see his actions and our inability to do the same changed that. And that altercation a moment ago confirmed your suspicions.”

Erich tries to suppress a flinch. Fails. Forces himself to breathe through the uncertainty — the fear — that her words kindle until he can straighten up and meet her gaze at last. He’s still at a disadvantage, still sleep-ruffled and without his glasses and sitting while she stands before him but—

(She’s so small that he doesn’t have to look very far up even like this.)

(They’ve stolen so much from her—)

Her hand is held out towards him, his glasses held carefully between her fingers, and he accepts them with a quiet thanks.

It… helps.

She’s waiting. Patient like the predator she is. Patient like the trusted officer he’s known her to be.

(She’s passed every test Strategic Headquarters dealt her.)

(She’s held her tongue and kept their secrets and maybe, maybe he trusts her more than he ever thought, because—)

“This goes no further than the two of us,” he orders as he straightens the sleeves of his shirt and pulls his shoulders back and his chin up. “What I am about to tell you will seem fantastical, but I ask that you allow me to explain fully before you decide.”

“Understood, sir.”

He breathes out. Arranges his thoughts. Begins at the point he thinks she’ll understand best. “The power you and the world know as magic is a physical power, a power of the body. It exists, it can be measured and harnessed and quantified because it’s part of the natural world in the same way we are.

“It has an… alternate, shall we say. An equivalent power born of the soul, not of the body, and much less well known because of it. All beings have a soul but not all souls are powerful enough to be themselves and still have strength left over. My people simply call it ‘spiritual power’, and we keep our powers and what we can do to ourselves.”

Degurechaff’s eyes narrow thoughtfully at his words, her gaze weighted as she assesses him anew. “To not be exploited like we mages are, I assume.”

Erich purses his lips. “Yes and no,” he decides upon after a moment. “We can do things… very similar to mages at times — faster reflexes, stronger muscles, and so on — but it takes a toll on our bodies that magic doesn’t.”

“Because magic is physical like our bodies and this… spiritual power isn’t.”

“Yes. But there are other ways I can use it. The easiest of which…” He stretches out his senses, double checks that there are no Hollows nearby, and then—

Slams his strength down across Degurechaff’s shoulders.

(He needs her to know.)

(Needs her to understand the full horror of his power—)

She bends. Doesn’t kneel. Struggles to straighten up, panting with effort and determination and will—

Her soul sparks—

He cuts off his output before she can fully awaken, mentally cursing himself for the fool that he is because spiritual power is strength-will-self and if there has ever been someone possessed of any of that it’s Tanya von Degurechaff.

Degurechaff coughs and rubs at her chest, brows furrowing as she processes what just happened. There’s a dangerous edge to her gaze as she stares at him, but despite what he just forced upon her he… doesn’t think he’s actually her focus.

(It’s a bit of a relief, honestly.)

(That… could definitely have backfired on him.)

(Maybe discussing this in the middle of the night after being rattled by a Reaper soulmate isn’t the best idea…)

“That was… interesting, sir,” she settles on as she gets her breathing under control. “It felt like taking an artillery shell to the chest, except less… physical.”

Erich snorts and levels an exasperated look at her. “I wouldn’t know,” he drawls, “being a regular soldier instead of a mage and all.”

She cracks a smile at that, then glances down at the hat still resting on his bedroll. “Did your soulmate do something similar to the first camp?”

“Unlikely. What I just did was essentially targeted brute force, using the strength of my soul to overpower your own. Doing that for an entire camp…” Erich considers the logistics of the action and how much power it would have taken even assuming that every soldier was pure baseline, and shrugs. “It would have been the spiritual equivalent of your attacks that require a theatre-level warning.”

“So it’s loud and unmistakable for people who can sense it.”

“Not just people,” he says, needing her to understand the other reason that those with spiritual powers often kept to themselves. “Souls of those who die with regret don’t pass on. They linger where they die, unseen except by those who have spiritual powers, and if they linger long enough, their regret eats away their humanity until there’s nothing left. They become monsters we call Hollows, and their goal is to eat until the hole left by their regret is filled.”

Degurechaff stills, her pale eyes darting in the direction of the front, now abandoned but once a place of daily horrors. “The war…”

“Yes.” He’d numbed himself to the sight of twisted, regret-filled souls soon after it all began. There was nothing else he could do. “The number of regretful souls and newborn Hollows is… immense. And if I had used any amount of spiritual power around them, I would have been swarmed by enemies no one else could see.”

“Can’t you fight back?”

“I could. Ignoring how others would view my actions, I can and sometimes do fight back. My branch of spiritually active humans calls ourselves Quincy, and we once took upon ourselves the mandate of protecting humanity from beings that humanity could not see, like Hollows.”

“But you no longer do.”

Erich barks a laugh, tired-bitter-dark, and shakes his head. “When my grandparents were children, infants, a group of spiritually active souls crossed back over into our world and declared all Quincy anathema. They called us a danger to the balance of worlds, told us to cease our efforts to kill Hollows, and when we did not…”

“You were slaughtered,” Degurechaff finishes for him, expression doll-smooth and eyes glittering with… something. “Your soulmate is one of them. That’s why you’re afraid of him.”

He twitches at her leap in logic, which is clearly answer enough for her.

“Sir, with all due respect, the soulmate laws don’t apply here,” she says clearly, sharply, even as she clasps her hands behind her back and rocks up on her toes to gain an extra few millimeters of height. “Or rather, only certain ones do. He is a member of a belligerent force that has actively and with intent done harm to your people. Regardless of his current actions, his continued allegiance or connection to that force must be assessed before he’s allowed to further interact with you. And you are perfectly within your rights to repudiate him here and now.”

“I don’t think spirits quite care about living laws,” Erich says faintly, left hand moving to wrap around his right wrist. “Especially ones from the other side of the world.” Reassurance-trust-loyalty still thrums through his bones, relentless and unwavering and—

Maybe it’s just a trick, just a trap, just a way for a killer to get close to the survivors of the previous slaughter but—

What if it’s not?

Degurechaff sighs and turns on her heel, striding from his tent before he can say another word.

Erich groans and slumps forward as the flap closes behind her, pressing his face into his hands. Everything is a mess and now the only person who knows about that mess has decided she’s had enough—

“Don’t get too comfortable, sir,” Degurechaff announces as she ducks back in, her arms full of bedding. She tosses it down on the other side of tent and quickly neatens it out, then spins to fix him with a look. “Until we know his goals, we’ll be sharing a tent.”

“Colonel Degurechaff!” he barks in shock, stunned by her blatant flaunting of the rules.

“Too late to complain, sir,” she tells him with a tiny smirk. She drops to sit on her bedroll and unlaces her boots, pulling them off and setting them and her socks nearby. “I have already informed Visha that — as the only other ranking officer amongst our force and the one with the most current information — I will be bunking with you until you new soulmate problem is resolved.”

“You—!”

“Everyone saw your damn mark, sir. The only surprise is that your soulmate is nearby, and that vagueness sort of went to hell when two camps of enemy soldiers showed up mysteriously dead without any of us doing a damn thing.”

He gives up with another groan, pulling his glasses from his face and setting them aside before burying himself in his bedroll and folding his pillow over his face. There’s no way he’ll persuade her from her intended path now, not when she’s set her mind to standing between him and the Reaper.

Why she’s done so is a question he would like answers to, but… not tonight.

(He’s too shaken, too uncertain, to press for answers.)

(And… the sound of her steady breaths, the glittering feel of her partially-awoken soul…)

(Despite it all, it’s comforting.)

(How absurd…)