Turning Chapter 980

“Being alive is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? I spent the entire day yesterday wishing I could just sit beside you and watch you eat cake—and now, that dream has co true.”

Yuder was montarily at a loss for words. His chest tightened faintly, but he looked away as if nothing was wrong and replied evenly.

“...That’s what you were thinking during all of that?”

“What else could be more hopeful than that?”

Kishiar answered boldly.

Watching eat...? Yuder held back the retort. As ridiculous as it sounded, he could understand what kind of sentint had led to such a wish.

When all he could think about was surviving the coming disaster, everything had felt unbearably heavy. But the mont he thought of what he’d like to do afterward... it had all beco lighter. And none of those wishes had been grand.

Kishiar had been the one to teach him that. He’d once said that wanting to change the past and hoping to see the future could both be sources of strength to live in the present—but that the latter brought more joy. This seemingly offhanded comnt about watching him eat cake was, in a way, the embodint of that belief.

Who would ever guess that this simple wish—to sit side by side and share dessert—was a treasured hope for the man who once split the sea, who led everyone with an aura worthy of legend? Who would ever believe that Kishiar la Orr was such a person—other than Yuder Aile?

Yuder pressed his lips together, then spoke again.

“Still... don’t tell you were thinking that even underwater.”

“Why not? When I said ‘all day yesterday,’ that includes down there too.”

Yuder narrowed his eyes at the audacious reply.

“Commander, you really are...”

“I might look dashing and composed on the outside, but I’m actually a hopeless fool who can’t even separate work from personal feelings. Surprised?”

“That’s not what I ant.”

Kishiar’s eyes widened dramatically before he let his lashes flutter in mock sorrow.

“Huh? Are you saying I’m not good-looking? You used to say I had a really handso face, you know.”

“How did we get there? Don’t twist my words. I only denied the second part.”

“So... even in this state, I’m still handso in your eyes?”

“...”

Ah, so that was the point all along. Yuder looked at Kishiar’s face—the marks from where blades had grazed him, scattered like faint streaks across his skin.

The wounds weren’t deep, certainly nothing like the severe eye injury he’d hidden after the Hailstorm Day, but they were still marks. His usually flawless face now looked patchy and marred.

Of course. Even with divine power, he can’t heal himself. And Lusan is at the nearby temple, recovering his depleted energy...

Lusan had used his last drop of divine energy to heal their internal injuries, prioritizing their most critical needs. Healing two people at once—both inside and out—had been impossible. Kishiar had insisted that his own wounds were minor and asked that Yuder’s crushed arm be treated first. Whatever healing power remained went to those more gravely injured.

So of course the scars remained. Yuder knew that better than anyone. And how could he ever consider those marks “ugly”?

They both knew that the wounds would fade easily with care—or that Lusan would finish the job in a few days. The joking tone was obvious. Yet even knowing that, it was easy to wonder if there was so hidden insecurity behind the question.

eting Kishiar’s red gaze, Yuder removed his glove in one fluid motion and reached out. His fingertips brushed against Kishiar’s scarred cheek, and Kishiar flinched slightly. Yuder held his hand ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) there long enough to be sure it hadn’t hurt, then gently stroked the skin.

“These wounds were earned for a reason. So if anything, I feel respect for them—certainly not the opposite.”

“...”

“And even if they had no reason at all... I still wouldn’t care. Whether or not I think you’re handso isn’t tied to these. If I’d only been drawn in by your looks, we wouldn’t be in this kind of relationship now.”

He was often distracted by Kishiar’s beauty, yes—but that was just one part of what made Kishiar la Orr who he was. It wasn’t everything.

Yuder could only truly trust and face Kishiar once he’d seen things hidden behind that flawless smile—things he'd never known in his past life.

Scar or no scar. One eye or two. Even if nothing remained but his hands—Kishiar was still Kishiar.

Yuder’s thumb traced a long, shallow line across Kishiar’s cheek. His eyes followed, morizing every inch like soone trying to preserve the mory forever.

“If I know you, you’d usually say sothing like, ‘You’d better enjoy this scarred version of my face while you can—it won’t last long.’ I didn’t expect you to lack confidence.”

Kishiar, who’d been silently drinking in his words, finally blinked back into focus.

“...Is that how it sounded?”

“Didn’t it?”

A mont later, Kishiar lowered his head and burst into laughter.

“...You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

A flush colored his cheeks, and his red eyes sparkled like reflected light.

“I must’ve let myself get carried away by greed and playfulness. I said sothing foolish. I humbly ask your forgiveness.”

“Granted.”

“How rciful of you.”

Yuder Aile and rcy—anyone who heard that pairing might think it absurd. But even if they did, what did it matter? The opinions of others were aningless. What mattered to Yuder was the smile on the face before him.

Still laughing, Kishiar turned his face toward Yuder’s hand—and kissed it.

Then his lips moved lower, kissing Yuder’s fingertips, his knuckles, and finally his wrist.

Yuder’s bare hand was still covered in dark, thickened veins, a remnant of the power he had drained himself to wield. Hideous, one might say.

But Kishiar didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

If anyone should be called “a ss,” it’s probably ...

Kishiar had never once comnted on Yuder’s appearance, no matter how injured or battered he was. And yet, he worried about how he looked in Yuder’s eyes.

That rare flash of self-consciousness reminded Yuder—Kishiar la Orr was still a young man.

More precisely... a young man in love.

As he kissed Yuder’s wrist, Kishiar closed his eyes and murmured,

“...I must confess, I’ve always felt a kind of reverence for the scars left on this hand. So don’t worry about offering your bare hand. There’s no beauty greater than this one to .”

He knew exactly how hesitant Yuder was every ti he tried to reach out with his bare hand.

How could anyone not react to that face, that voice?

Just before Kishiar’s lips found his skin again, Yuder withdrew his hand.

And instead—leaned forward, pressing a deep kiss to Kishiar’s lips.

“......”

All the emotions he had pushed down during those two long, short days—between life and death—ca flooding up at once, setting his thoughts ablaze.

In that mont, just like when he looked out the window earlier, Yuder felt a visceral, irrefutable certainty.

I’m alive. I really lived through it. I survived.

Ah...

A tender shiver ran down his spine as he looked into the eyes right before him. Those eyes were still intact. Still open. Still beside him.

And that, above all, was a miracle.

Without breaking eye contact, Yuder let his fork fall onto the plate. The sharp clatter of tal against porcelain rang out—but neither of them looked away.

“...I think I’ve had enough cake.”

Short. Clear. Undeniable.

“Yeah.”

Normally, Kishiar would have added so teasing remark, maybe asked if he was sure. But not this ti.

What ca instead were lips—and hands.

As Yuder was pulled up and kissed again, he t that longing with equal fervor.

—

They returned to the bed they’d only recently left.

The bed creaked under the weight of two n, but neither cared. It wasn’t so much lying down as falling together—entwined, tangled.

The sheer curtain ant to block sunlight was knocked loose, hanging askew. The sheets twisted into a ssy heap beneath them.

Yuder lay half sideways, arms wrapped around Kishiar’s shoulders, legs curled around his waist. Their bodies pressed tightly together—heat, pulse, breath all mingled—as they shared the fire they had long held back.