(For the trope mashup ask meme, prompted by anonymous: Kisuke/Erich/Alexis — 24: Soulmate AU, 67: Character in Peril)

Erich is born with a thin band of indistinct leaves around his right wrist, a sign that his soulmate is older than him, though no one knows by how much. It causes a stir – he’s the Clan Heir and some things just aren’t usual – but the gossip fades before he’s even old enough to be aware of it.

(Three months after he’s born, a second band of leaves appears around his left wrist.)

(When he and Alexis are placed together a month later, his second band begins to grow and so does one of her marks. It’s all the confirmation their families need, and a contract is drawn up immediately.)

(The fact that both of them have a second soulmate is… quietly forgotten by everyone but them.)

(Not everyone meets all their soulmates, after all.)

***

Erich rubs a thumb over the band of leaves around his right wrist, feeling the tiny prickles of awareness coming and going. He can only sense anything when he focuses on the connection, on the person the deep green leaves represent, which is… probably for the best. He knows what the rest of the clan feels about him having an older soulmate, and it’s… best to just not rock the boat.

“Figure anything else out?” Alexis asks as she drapes across his back and nuzzles into his neck.

“No.” He sighs and lets his hand drop away, leaning back into Alexis’ warmth. He should be content with what he has, with the soulmate right next to him, but…

He feels unbalanced.

There’s a tree growing up his left arm, a sapling oak that will one day reach his shoulder and spread across his back and chest. It’s warm and strong and solid, it’s everything that Alexis is to him–

And it leaves his right side feeling cold, feeling too light. It’s strange. Soulmate marks have no more physical weight than a tattoo, and don’t actually influence their spiritual powers, but he can’t help the feeling that there’s something missing.

He could reach out through the mark using his spiritual powers, could pull the other person towards them, but… what right does he have to influence someone he doesn’t even know?

(There are more stories of influence gone wrong than Erich can count.)

(He’d rather not add to that number.)

“We’ll meet them someday,” Alexis murmurs, wrapping her hand around his wrist, covering the mark. “We just have to keep our eyes open and our senses sharp.”

Erich hums in agreement.

He’s not so sure she’s right, but… maybe. Maybe someday she will be.

(If the world is kind…)

***

He joins the military when he comes of age.

It’s expected of him, being the heir of a noble lineage, a lineage steeped in war and loyal service to the Emperor. What’s more, he’s good at it. At the tactics, the strategy, the logistics… everything that makes a good officer, he either excels at or practices until he excels at. He has a long way to go before he reaches the sort of rank expected of him based on his lineage, but… he’s young and the current Generals are old. He has time.

(Maybe this is where he’ll meet their second.)

(Maybe they’re hidden somewhere in the ranks above him.)

(He’ll do his best to befriend those he can.)

***

War breaks out.

The Generals are demoted. New Generals promoted.

He gets promoted to an aide’s position.

(Young and outspoken and sharp, they all acknowledge.)

(And still they ignore his warnings about a certain, too-young mage…)

Erich knows that he can no longer protest Degurechaff’s rank or position. She’s won too many friends, proven herself too useful, and right now the Empire needs monsters like her in order to survive.

He’s not blind.

He just… wishes it didn’t have to be that way.

(He still hasn’t met his second soulmate.)

(Sometimes… sometimes he thinks they feel sad…)

(If only he could help…)

***

Everything seems so… hopeful. They’ve broken the Republic’s command structure, conquered their capital, and now… and now…

They’ve won, haven’t they?

Except Degurechaff doesn’t think so. She lays out her reasoning with cold, ruthless words that strike a chord in his soul.

(Man is an irrational beast.)

(Man is an emotional beast, with pride and spite and determination at their core.)

He takes a drag of his cigarette and scrambles for the words he knows he’ll never find in an attempt to reassure her that she’s wrong.

An aide interrupts them before he can try.

(He wonders if his soulmate would agree with the enemy.)

(He wonders if his soulmate is the enemy…)

(And then he sets his thoughts aside and soldiers on.)

***

The war continues without respite.

***

Erich ducks out of the command tent and strides away, temper strained to the breaking point and exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He should go back, should continue to try and plan, but…

(They’re losing the war.)

(They’re losing the war and all anyone can do is argue about useless things.)

He undoes his sleeves enough to press his hand against Alexis’ mark, drawing strength from her presence, then runs a thumb over the band of leaves around his other wrist. A frission of sharp focus-determination-worry spikes through his senses as he touches it, and he frowns at the mark; their soulmate has been paying more attention to the mark than usual, emotions coming through clearer and more intent than ever before.

Whoever it is, they’re getting tired of waiting.

He… doesn’t know what to think about that.

A piercing, terrifying whistle reaches his ears–

He’s– they’re all– danger!

“Sir!”

Erich rips at his soulmates’ strength. Raises a barrier. Throws his arms across his face and braces–

The shockwave hurls him into a stack of crates.

Pain!

His ribs–

The barrier holds. Diverts the explosion around and over–

“Sir! Can you hear me?”

“I’ll live,” he forces out, batting aside Degurechaff’s small hands and pushing himself upright. He hisses as his ribs move, his entire left side sharp-bright-piercing agony, and tries to focus past the pain. The camp is in ruins, soldiers and staff running around like headless chickens–

The command tent is gone.

He stares at the crater, mind blank except for the hysterical that’s one way to stop the arguments that keeps cycling.

(He’ll regret it later.)

(When the shock has passed and he has time to process, he’ll regret with his entire soul and mourn and press on because what else is there for him to do?)

(He is now the irrational beast he once abhorred.)

“Keep telling yourself that, sir. Let me get you stable at least before you start trying to fix this mess,” Degurechaff announces as she rocks back on her heels and grabs hold of her computation orb. Arrays ripple into being around her, then fade away as power courses into his body.

He can feel his ribs snap back into place, feel the magic bracing them in position, and takes a careful, still-painful breath. It’s… better. Easier.

(He remembers a time when Degurechaff’s strength was only dedicated to destruction.)

(Sometimes he wishes that were still the case.)

“There. I’m not a medic, but that should keep you from puncturing a lung.” She stands up and turns to survey the destruction, giving him a chance to struggle to his feet without being watched. It’s the sort of absent kindness that she’s so good at, the willing blind eye to other people’s problems that can seem cruel but he’s learned to appreciate.

She’s still the monster he’s feared for years, but…

Maybe not as monstrous as he’d once thought.

(Poorly socialized, far too intelligent, and thrown into a war before she even hit double digits in age.)

(Maybe it’s no surprise she came across as monstrous.)

“Your orders, sir?” Degurechaff asks once he’s on his feet, partially turning back to him. She pauses then, ice blue eyes landing on his right arm and widening, and says, “Ah… and perhaps you should get a spare jacket soon.”

Erich frowns and glances down, wondering what had caught her attention. She’d seen his unbalanced soulmarks before and never commented on them, so what–

His sleeves are in tatters.

There’s a tree climbing up his right arm.

There is a tree climbing up his right arm.

He flexes his right hand. Watches the skin and the mark move. Tries to understand–

“It’s not mine, sir,” Degurechaff tells him immediately when he finally tears his gaze from the suddenly-grown mark. She unbuttons the cuffs of both sleeves and shows him her bare wrists; while certainly not the only place marks can appear, he’s read her file often enough to know she doesn’t have any marks and that this display is more for his peace of mind than anything.

Her lack of a mark is one more oddity about her in a pile of oddities but… certainly not the strangest. Not everyone has a soulmate.

“I didn’t think it was,” he answers absently, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. “Whoever this is, they’re older than me.”

Something odd flickers in Degurechaff’s eyes, a glimmer of black humor that she doesn’t give voice to, before she coughs and pointedly looks away again. “Pretty sure what I’ve heard about those marks didn’t mention anything about them suddenly becoming gigantic like that, sir. So…”

“You’re right.” Erich rubs at his eyes then pulls his glasses from his face and untucks his shirt to find a clean patch he can polish the lenses on. There’s nothing really taboo about having the marks on display – hasn’t been for almost a century, really – but it’s still… uncomfortable. Especially with how suddenly his grew.

(How much strength had he pulled from his unknown soulmate?)

(How much danger had he put them in with his unthinking panic…?)

(And how much would they resent him for it…)

He settles his glasses back on his nose and straightens his posture, ignoring the spike of pain from his side and his ankle. There’s little he can do about his attire at the moment, less he can do about his health, nothing he can do about his soulmate, and right now–

“I want you and your battalion in the sky,” Erich orders as he scans the camp with a frown. “Find out where that came from and keep them from doing it again if you can.” He hesitates even as Degurechaff snaps a salute, her sharp gaze waiting-waiting-waiting and he– “Find us a way out. We can’t hold this point anymore.”

He gives in.

“Yes sir!”

It’s too little too late but…

Maybe he can save some of their men.

Maybe.

***

He wakes to hands on his chest and power flooding his body and warmth instead of pain and the wrist he grabs is large-strong-powerful, signature unlike any of his men and–

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He struggles against the compulsion to sleep, cracks his eyes open and stares up at a blurry figure kneeling over him in the dark–

“Rest. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

His soulmarks echo reassurance-love-protection and–

It’s too much for him to fight.

He falls back asleep to the steady murmur of an unknown but trusted voice.

(He sleeps better than he has in years.)

***

It feels like a strange dream when he next wakes, a desperate conjuration of his sleeping mind in search of comfort, but…

There are marks next to his bedroll where someone knelt and sitting up doesn’t make him cringe in agony.

(Someone healed him overnight and he really doubts it was any of their remaining medics.)

“Morning, sir,” Degurechaff says as she wanders over once he’s upright. Arrays are already lit around her, likely to bolster the patch-job she did on him the day before, and they fade as power settles across his body and sinks beneath his skin. “Let me just–” she pauses. Frowns. Shoots him a confused, concerned look. “Sir… my spell…”

“I know.” He tips his head towards the mark left by someone kneeling by his bedroll, then taps the fingers of his right hand against his thigh.

Degurechaff catches on immediately, gaze turning wary and lips pinching into a thin line. “Dangerous?”

“Almost certainly,” Erich agrees, remembering the hazy feeling of holding the man’s strong wrist. But there are rules about soulmates, outlined in treaties signed by all of Europe, and that makes the man’s actions legal no matter his nationality.

Whether the man decides to abide by all of those rules is another matter entirely.

(Not sticking around after he healed Erich is… troubling.)

(Why would he leave so soon after finding him?)

“I hate soulmate exceptions,” Degurechaff mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Apologies, sir, but they turn everything into a tangled mess.”

“Forgiven.“ He hesitates a moment, sweeping a look over their weary, almost-defeated men, and makes a decision he hopes he’s not going to regret. “Let’s keep this between us for now.”

“Understood, sir. Should I take a squad up to scout?”

“Do so. If you can see any anomalies, let me know.”

Degurechaff salutes and turns on her heel, already summoning Serebryakov to her side and working to find another mage-pair to fill out the scouting squad.

He leaves her to it.

(He trusts her.)

***

“Fairy 01 to Salamander 01.”

Erich holds out a hand to the supply sergeant to pause their conversation and straightens up, tapping the comm-piece he is wearing to active. “Salamander 01, go ahead.”

“You’re going to want to see this, sir. It’s… bring a squad and meet me at the pass we crossed yesterday.”

He frowns, fingers hovering over the send button and words tangled in his throat. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach, an echo of ‘you’re safe now’ in his head, and a sudden desire to bury his head in the sand and ignore everything Degurechaff is trying to show him.

But they can’t afford for him to do that.

“Roger, on my way,” he tells her, then taps his comm to passive and turns back to the sergeant. “We’ll continue this when I return.”

“Yes sir!”

It’s the work of moments to gather a squad of mission-ready men, and only a half hour’s march back to the pass they crossed in haste the night before.

Degurechaff is waiting for him there, her lips thin and her shoulders tensed; whatever she’s found, she’s worried about it, Erich decides, and it makes the sick feeling in his stomach only grow.

“We found the enemy camp,” she announces once they’ve gathered around her. “Serebryakov is standing watch and the other two are scouting. It’s just a quick hike through the trees.”

Erich frowns down at Degurechaff, ignoring the questioning murmurs of the five men he brought in favor of parsing her real message. She’s not worried about their proximity to the enemy camp, but something about the camp itself.

There are… very few things that could be, and he likes the thought of none of them.

“Lead the way,” he settles on instead of demanding answers, willing to go along with the secrecy for a bit longer. He has his own suspicions, after all, and she’s not the sort to lead him into an ambush without warning.

Degurechaff nods, turns, and marches off into the forest, leading them through a round-about path that brings them out on a small, forested hill overlooking what’s clearly the enemy camp.

Except…

Erich glances up. Spots the dot that’s likely Serebryakov out in the open, hovering in place without attracting any fire. Glances down at the camp below them, eerily silent and utterly still.

Slants a sideways look at Degurechaff in question.

She nods, once, then stands up from her crouch and hops down the hill and out into the open, gesturing for him to follow. “Best you see it up close, sir,” she murmurs as he drops to stand next to her.

“Is it as bad as I’m suspecting?” he asks quietly as they cross into the camp without a single bullet being fired at them or alarm beginning to ring. It’s like the place is deserted, instead of filled with an entire battalion of men.

Or, he acknowledges faintly as they reach the center of the camp and Degurechaff pulls him aside to a large tent, as if the entire battalion was murdered in their sleep.

“Everyone from the officers on down,” she says as Erich slips into the tent and kneels next to the first body. “The watchmen were taken out first, I suspect. At the very least, we haven’t found any sign of anyone being aware when they were taken out.”

Erich grimaces and reaches out to carefully tip the dead man’s head to one side, eyeing the deep, bloody slash that practically severed his head from his body.

The blade that did it was sharp, he decides as he rocks back on his heels and scans the area for any other clues. There’s nothing he can find, though, no clue as to what the killer wanted or where they’d come from; nothing disturbed, nothing taken, just a dead commander and his equally dead battalion.

(’You’re safe now.’)

(Fuck.)

“How–”

“Officers had their throats cut,” Degurechaff recites, her gaze fixed on the tent behind him. “Most of the men were stabbed. The watchmen appear to have been rendered unconscious somehow before they were killed. Sir…”

He takes a deep breath. Clenches his teeth. Presses a hand to his unknown soulmate’s mark and presses annoyance-frustration-thanks through the bond.

He has no doubt who took out an entire battalion overnight, and frankly he really doesn’t want to think on what it means.

“We’re raiding their supplies and moving on,” Erich decides as he shoves himself to his feet and moves to start rifling through the man’s papers for anything of value. The more information he can get on the current situation the safer they’ll all be.

“Yes sir, I’ll tell the men.”

Erich braces himself against the table the moment she leaves the tent, letting his head hang and shoulders slump. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what he should do.

(He’s a general in command of this border and with the freedom to decide his own actions.)

(He’s down to scattered units and a broken chain of command, every unit fighting for themselves with no hope of reinforcements.)

(Even with a murderous soulmate on his side… what hope do they have?)

(His homeland is shattering and there’s nothing he can do…)

(There’s nothing any of them can do.)

(Except survive.)