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Chapter Text

This is a story of a boy who would one day become King…

On a large plain of land, torn up and muddy, stood a young figure with golden coloured hair, that shone in the emerging sun. He stood tall and proud, exuding an undeniable confidence. A large, navy-blue flag adorned with a spade, waved in the wind behind him.

The young man wore a long blue coat on his broad shoulders which swayed elegantly in the wind. In one hand, he languidly threw and caught a spade-shaped pocket watch, again and again, the gold glinting with each rotation. In front of him, stood an army that vastly outnumbered the one behind him.

A young soldier ran up to the man, his face pale with dread. “Sire! Their forces vastly exceed our own! What do we do?”

The confident man smirked, caught his watch for the last time and gripped it tightly. “What are you talking about?,” he asked calmly. With his other hand, he swung his sword towards the heavens, and while holding it there, he spoke with a booming voice of conviction that resonated in the nervous men behind him, “We’re going to win and protect our Kingdom! Just who the hell do they think I am?!”

The men behind him smiled with renewed vigor and gave a cheer of support, raising their swords and weapons as they did so.

The man, with sky-blue eyes that sparkled with determination and energy behind silver, half-rimmed glasses, grinned at his comrades. Before turning back to frown challengingly at the barrier that stood before him.

♤

A young boy, no more than fourteen, with sky blue eyes, stood up and wiped the sweat off his brow as he looked at the small, seeded field before him.

Day after day, he would plant these seeds and tend to them, but nothing ever grew. The ground was dry and infertile. If he was lucky, one or two things might grow for a time, but never long enough to be a sustainable food source.

“Alfred!”

The boy turned his head at his name, his wheat-coloured hair tossed at the movement. He walked over to the grumpy and gruff-looking man that had called him. The man was lazily leaning on the field's fence as he scratched his stubbly chin.

“Good job today. Here’s your food tokens.” The man dropped a couple of small wooden slabs into Alfred’s hand, “I must say you’re quite the hard worker compared to the others.”

Alfred smiled at him, “Thank you, Sir."

The other boys, who had also been tending to the field, sneered at Alfred in envy. The boy seemed to be gifted with more stamina and strength than was typical of someone his age, and so he often got his work done sooner than them. Every day Alfred would feel their scathing glares, and every time he hurried away, not wanting to be in their hostile line of sight any longer.

Alfred slipped off his grubby gloves as he exited the farm, if you could call it that, and looked up at the tall, grey walls that towered above and surrounded his small village. Every day he would wonder what it was like outside those walls, having spent most of his short life behind them. He was soon distracted from his thoughts as a gaggle of giggling young girls proceeded to walk past him.

“Ew, it’s Alfred, that farm boy.”

“He's so grimy and gross.”

“After working in the dirt all day, what can you expect?”

The girls snickered between themselves, making no effort to hide their cruel words and glances towards Alfred.

Alfred looked down at his clothing, which consisted of only a worn, faded blue jacket with missing buttons, leaving it permanently open, and a pair of slightly too big, stained brown shorts which were being held up by a makeshift belt of a band. On his feet, he wore rough brown boots which may also have been a size too big.

Alfred frowned. Of course he was dirty, it only made sense with the toiling work he did. It didn't help that if the other boys were close enough they would kick dirt at him. He lifted his head to explain to the girls. “I-”

“I bet he smells of sweat too.”

“Come on, he’s looking at us. If we’re not careful, he’ll make us dirty too!”

The girls squealed at the thought and ran away, laughing.

Alfred dropped his head as he began to walk again. The cowlick at the front of his hair sagged forwards and bobbed along with his monotonous movements. Not looking where he was going, he soon bumped into someone.

“You should walk with your head held up high, Alfred!,” came a loud voice.

Alfred looked up at the person he had bumped into. He was an older teenager, with striking white hair and sharp, plum coloured eyes. He wore a pair of white trousers tucked into black, laced boots, held up with a worn, black belt. He refused to wear a shirt in order to, as he described it, not hide his ‘awesome’ muscles, and had bandages on his wrists that Alfred had never seen removed.

The teen looked down at Alfred with an encouraging smile on his face. Alfred didn't feel like matching his energy though, and only stared back at him. “Oh, Gilbert.”

Gilbert pursed his lips. “Don’t call me that! Call me 'bro', or something more awesome!"

Alfred shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away, “Well, we’re not brothers, so…”

Gilbert gave him a strong whack on the back, making Alfred hiss in pain and jolt upright. “It’s not about blood! We’re soul brothers! I looked after you and Matthew, didn’t I?,” Gilbert said before swinging an arm around Alfred's neck, “And don’t worry about what those ugly girls say.”

Alfred's eyebrows raised up a fraction, and he glanced away.

Gilbert then came back round to Alfred's front and bent down to him. “Also, you left this at home.” The teenager clipped a gold, spade shaped pocket watch to Alfred’s flimsy jacket, and handed it over to him. Gilbert then looked over Alfred and nodded to himself with a smile. “You need to wear it more often, it looks good on you, Kid.”

Alfred pressed his lips to the side as he looked down at the oversized watch in his palm. It had been given to him by his father when he was a young child. Alfed slipped it into his jacket pocket and the two began to walk together.

Gilbert slung an arm around his younger friend again. “Alfred, one day you are going to do something great! Change things! I can just feel it! The fact you have that watch and that fancy spade on your hand, signifies how awesome of a man you're going to be!”

Alfred looked at the dark blue Spade mark on his hand. Every Spadian had one somewhere on their body. It looked much like a tattoo. However, having been one of the future royals for the Spade kingdom, the King to be precise, his was much bigger and grander than usual. It had an intricate swirl pattern in its design that matched the serpentine clockhands of his watch, and a bold italic ‘K’ was in the centre of it.

Every kingdom’s royal family (Diamonds, Hearts, and Clubs) was composed of a King, Queen, and Jack, with the kingdom’s people having the respective symbol of the kingdom they belonged to. Though, in Club conquered Spades, the royal Spadinan symbols meant nothing now.

“How exactly am I going to be ‘awesome’?” Alfred said, rocking his head and mimicking GIlbert's voice in a mocking tone.

Gilbert grandly swept his hand across the sky, “I have it all figured out! Don’t ask questions!”

“Meaning that you don’t know,” Alfred stated in a dull tone, unmoved by Gilbert's passionate claims.

Gilbert ignored him and continued, “The first thing you should do is quit that boring farm job! Nothing ever grows anyway. Probably because of those damn walls blocking out all the sunlight,” he growled.

Gilbert sure did hate those walls. Though, Alfred sure did wish he could go outside them too.

“Well today, things are going to change.”

Alfred finally turned his head to look at the other teenager. “Huh?”

“We’re going to break out of these walls!”

“Break out? How?!”

Gilbert pulled Alfred closer to him. “Well, you see, once those Clubmen come to hand out the rations at sunset, we’ll make a break for it!” Gilbert swung his fist up. “Today’s the day we’re gonna get outside those walls! You, me, and Matthew. We’ll try and get the rest of the village to follow my lead too!”

Alfred grimaced at the words. “Gil, are you sure that’s a good idea? It's never worked before.”

“I’m sure they’ll soon come round to my way of thinking,” Gilbert grinned.

Alfred still didn't agree with the older boy, but couldn’t help and smile a little at his unshakable optimism.

As the two got back to their shared house, Gilbert entered with a loud, “Hey Matthew!”

The house was small, and in its simple kitchen there was a boy frying some eggs in a small, oily saucepan on a rusting stove. At Gilbert's call, he turned to the two entrants with a warm smile, holding a wooden, chipping spatula in his hand. “Welcome home!,” he greeted, his voice soft and airy.

This was Matthew, Alfred's brother by birth. Although he was his brother's twin, Matthew's hair was more grown out, and his eyes were the colour of violets rather than of bluebells. His skin was lighter than his sun-kissed brother’s, and was as soft as a peach. He had noticeably less muscle definition compared to him as well.

Like Alfred though, he wore a faded blue jacket missing most of its buttons, (though it seemed to be of a more purplish hue than Alfred's), and a pair of slightly too big, brown shorts and boots, though he had managed to keep them significantly cleaner than his brother.

As sunset approached, people had begun to gather at the village square. One path led to the large guarded doors that served as the only exit and entrance to the village.

Gilbert made his way to the centre of the crowd in a confident gait. He was holding a sword over his shoulder and was now wearing a red cape, which almost matched the colour of his eyes.

Alfred and Matthew followed behind him, but looked around anxiously at the looks of disdain being thrown their way. Matthew had a brown, tattered rucksack on his back, packed with essentials, in case they did actually manage to escape. It was a pack that had been ready for a long time.

“Gilbert, don’t be an idiot!,” Matthew pleaded hushedly, “Every time you try this, and every time you just end up beaten and locked up! Or we have to bail you out!”

Gilbert winked back at Matthew, “Today’s going to be different, you’ll see.”

Matthew kept his worried eyes on Gilbert as he gave a silent sigh of defeat, knowing there was nothing he could say to make Gilbert see sense.

Gilbert stepped up onto the small levitated platform in the centre of the square. “Listen up, everyone!”

The villagers turned to him with a groan, “Here he goes again.”

“Every time he does this.”

“How annoying...”

Alfred and Matthew moved themselves to the front of the crowd.

Gilbert pointed to the sky with a grin, his cape waving behind him. "Spadians! Aren’t you tired of seeing the same patch of sky? Don’t you want to see the sky beyond these walls? Today’s the day we can do that! We can get back our freedom, and the kingdom of Spades!”

When the leader of the village saw the ruckus Gilbert was making, he growled under his breath, “That damn boy.” The balding man was a head shorter than most of the men in the village, and had greying hair. The remainder of which he had tried to style upwards in the front, in an effort to convince everyone it was a fashion choice. He began marching over to Gilbert angrily, gesturing to two men to follow him.

“Aren’t you sick of being ruled by those Clubmen, who decide how much we eat?! They cage us up, and hide us behind these walls like we’re some lowly animals who aren’t even worthy of being seen! That’s no way to live!”

Alfred's hands clenched as he listened to Gilbert’s words about the Clubmen. The people who had killed his parents and controlled them all.

It was 10 years ago that Spades was invaded by Clubs. The day Alfred and Matthew lost their parents, the King and Queen of Spades. The twins had somehow managed to escape, pocket watch in hand, Alfred's mark covered. However, being so young and alone, it wasn’t long before they were found and rounded up with some other Spadians, and taken to the walled village they now called home.

Although they called it a ‘village’, it was really more of a controlled compound, with basic lodgings and simple necessities to sustain life. When they took over, Clubs had decreed that all Spadians be taken to these small, newly built, vastly distanced compounds, leaving all towns and cities in the kingdom empty and lifeless. This was done to control and divide Spadian population, so as to stunt any troublesome revolutions.

Clubmen workers, soldiers, and sentries were now the only people outside compound walls, and they were gradually stripping Spades’ land of its resources. With how big Clubs’ land was already, (they had the biggest landmass of the 4 kingdoms), there was no necessity for their people to move in just yet, and Spades had a much warmer climate to what most people in Clubs liked or were used to.

It was within a wheeled cage that took them to their new home that Alfred and Matthew met Gilbert. Although only 3 years older than them, he took the small boys in and looked after them like any older brother would. Despite how brash he seemed, the role seemed to come naturally to him...

“Today we can change our pathetic lives! We can fight! Who’s with me?!”

“GILBERT!”

Gilbert crossed his arms when he saw the village leader stomping over. He clicked his tongue as the man reached him, “What is it, old man? You’re interrupting my manly and awesome speech!”

The man's face boiled red. “Get down now and shut up!,” he growled, “The Clubmen will soon be here! Do you want to get us all in trouble?! Because of your selfishness the whole village will suffer!”

Angry noises of agreement came from the crowd. A small rock was thrown at the back of Gilbert’s head, making him stumble off the platform. He winced and rubbed where the stone had hit.

“Don’t you ever learn your lesson?!” The village leader put his hands on his hips like a scolding mother. “You’re going in the stocks once again, Gilbert. No food.” The man nodded his head forward and the two villagers he had brought over with him stepped towards Gilbert. They took Gilbert’s wrists and tied them together, and then took his sword.

Alfred and Matthew gasped and ran up to Gilbert and the village leader. “Wait! Please don’t put him in there again!,” Matthew pleaded.

The village leader glanced down at the two fretting boys, and a sly smirk slowly stretched across his face. He crossed his arms, “Hmm, I suppose I can forgive him, if he gets on his knees and says he’s sorry.”

The twins instantly turned to Gilbert. “Gilbert…,” Alfred implored, his voice catching, his eyes wide and pleading.

Gilbert stood tall and unmoving. His hands were clenched in tight fists as he scowled at the tauntingly smirking village leader. His intense gaze didn't waver.

Matthew raised his clenched hands as he stepped forward. “Gil!” he said loudly, desperation straining his voice.

“I’m sorry, Alfred, Matthew,” Gilbert finally replied, his voice firm. “But a man does not run away from his beliefs.”

Matthew's hands dropped instantly, and Alfred's tense shoulders sagged in defeat.

The village leader's lips upturned, “Hmph, stupid brat.”

Then, the large doors that lead outside the village walls began to open, stealing everyone's attention.

“We’ll deal with this later…,” the village leader said, before moving away from the trio.

From the walled entrance of the village came a small procession of green clothed soldiers holding spears. They were followed by a large wagon being pulled by two horses. The village people, including the village leader, looked at the food-filled wagon hungrily. However, they would probably not even receive a quarter of what was in there.

As the wagon came to a stop and the Clubmen barked orders for people to queue for their rations, Alfred and Matthew exchanged a quick look. In that silent glance, the same plan ignited. They gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod to each other.

Slowly, they edged behind the two guards flanking Gilbert. They crouched low, not quite daring to breathe, their fingers scrambling across the rough earth until each brother found a decent-sized rock. Then, they suddenly sprung up, and struck the back of the men's heads with the rocks, hard, knocking them out. The men dropped to the ground like sacks of feed. The twins immediately scrambled to free Gilbert from his bonds.

“Nice one, boys!” Gilbert hissed, already scooping up his sword. The familiar weight of the hilt settled firmly in his palm as he gave the blade a quick, lethal twirl. “Let’s get out of here!”

Finally letting Gilbert’s confidence and optimism infect him, Alfred grinned, “Yeah!”

Meanwhile, Matthew's agreement was more muted. He offered a simple nod and a small, strained smile. "Y-Yes," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly.

Gilbert readied his sword and charged with a shout. Alfred followed him, doing the same, minus a weapon. While Matthew ran behind the both of them, not nearly being quite as loud.

The shouts made everyone's head turn. A wave of gasps and yelps ripped through the crowd as they parted. The boys shot through the resulting gap, speeding past the wagon.

As soon as the two Clubmen giving out rations noticed the boys running towards the open exit, they chased after them, dropping the food in their hands. “Hey! Stop, in the name of Clubs!,” one shouted, raising his fist.

Three soldiers blocked the trio's way. They didn't attack, but instead flickered their eyes between each other, the spears in their hands wavering with unpreparedness.

“Get out of the way!” Gilbert demanded, as he swung his sword with an impressive force, and knocked all the men off their feet, clearing a path for him and the twins.

“Woah! That was awesome, Gil!” Alfred shouted, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. His eyes shone with pure, unadulterated admiration for the older teen.

While continuing to run, Gilbert looked back at Alfred with a grin and gave him a thumbs up.

Matthew gasped when he saw what lay in Gilbert's path. Gilbert, still facing his brother, was running straight towards a snickering soldier and his raised spear.

“GIL!” Matthew screeched, pointing ahead.

Gilbert spun his head back round and saw the rapidly nearing spear ahead of him. His lips stretched back from his teeth, as he tried to stop dead. He had no time to divert his course.

“GIL!” Alfred screamed.

At that moment, a flash of electric blue burst out from Alfred’s jacket pocket, enveloping him. The next thing the boy knew, he was no longer running, but standing directly in front of Gilbert, driving a sword down that cleaved the enemy’s spear in half. The Clubman staggered and fell at the sudden, unexpected force.

A collective gasp died on every throat. For a long moment, the entire area was frozen, locked in silent disbelief at the impossible move.

The struck down Clubman hastily got to his knees, his face pale with fright. “H-How… How did you do that?!,” he asked shakily.

Alfred himself was at a loss of what had just occurred. He couldn't remember even moving to where he currently was. Alfred looked at the glowing blue sword in his hands, and then to the blue glow still emanating from his pocket.

“F-Forget that! Just get them!” A Clubman yelled from behind, making the other soldiers around them animate. They hesitated and stumbled from what had just happened, but were soon running in pursuit of the three escapists again.

Matthew was jolted out of his stupor by a loud creaking. Two soldiers by the village’s wide-open doors were struggling to close them. The doors were massive and heavy, and shutting them was taking precious time.

“Gil! Alfred! We have to go now!” Matthew shouted, his eyes darting between the slowly closing doors and the Clubmen charging up behind them. Seeing Gilbert and Alfred still transfixed by what had just happened, Matthew lunged forward and pulled them both toward the doors with him.

Jarred by Matthew's pull, Alfred and Gilbert finally snapped back to their senses and bolted toward the closing doors with him, both taking out any pursuing soldiers that had caught up.

Gilbert cursed under his breath. They were moving too slowly, constantly stalled by the pursuing soldiers. They wouldn't make it. “Alfred! Whatever you just did, do it again!”

“But I don’t know what I just did! Or how I did it!” Alfred looked down at his sword; it wasn’t glowing anymore.

“Don’t think! Just do it!”

Alfred closed his eyes, forcing his mind back to the sensations he had felt earlier. He slashed his sword out in a chaotic act of pure instinct. This time, there was no blue light, but a sudden, pressurized gust of wind that raced through the air from the blade. The gust split, slamming the two soldiers struggling with the doors flat against the stone walls. They slid down into crumpled, groaning heaps.

“Woo! Nice one, Alfred!,” Gilbert roared, not stopping his sprint.

Alfred grinned– a brief flash of triumph– and kept running.

The trio finally ran out the doors and into the surrounding woodland. ​They kept running until they had lost their pursuers. When they finally decided they were far enough and alone, they slowly came to a stop. They panted in exertion and bore their weight on their knees.

Gilbert swung an arm around Alfred’s shoulders and ruffled his hair. “Oi! Little man, what was that?! That was awesome!”

Alfred straightened himself up and looked at the sword in his hand, noticing the intricately patterned Spade at the top of its hilt. “I-I don’t know. I just saw you in danger and thought about how I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Matthew walked quietly over to them. “How did you move like that? You were like a flash of light,” he said, carefully bending down to look at the sword closely.

“I don’t know…” Alfred repeated. Then, he fished out his watch from his jacket pocket. “This was glowing too.” Suddenly, a blinding blue flash of light came from the watch, forcing the trio to shut their eyes. When they opened them again, the sword in Alfred's hand was gone.

Matthew's breath hitched. He carefully took the pocket watch from his brother as if it was made of some volatile substance. He held it up to examine it more closely, twisting and turning it in his hands. “Is the watch like some sort of sheath, maybe?”

Gilbert put a hand on his chin, mimicking deep thought for a moment before grinning and patting Alfred’s back. “Well, it’s a cool power! We can use it again to defeat the Clubmen!”

Matthew looked to his twin. “Maybe it has something to do with you being the future King of Spades?”

Gilbert nodded, pointed at Matthew and told Alfred, “Mhm. That’s got to be it.”

Alfred recoiled from the words. “But I’m not the future King anymore! Clubs are in charge!”

“Then you'll just have to take them out,” Gilbert replied.

Alfred paled. “How?! I-I can’t do that! I’m only a kid! I wouldn’t even make a good K-”

“ALFRED!”

Gilbert’s sudden shout made the boy snap to attention and instantly shut his mouth.

Gilbert pointed at him. “You’ve got to believe in yourself more. Just like I believe in you. If I say you can do it, then you can do it!”

Alfred ducked his head at the scolding, slowly nodding as he looked at Gilbert.

“Besides, who said you would be alone?” Gilbert grinned, leaning on his sword.

Matthew took Alfred's cold hand in his warm one, and placed the spade pocket watch back in his brother's palm, before guiding his fingers to close around it. He then joined Gilbert's side and beamed at his brother.

Alfred couldn't help but smile back at the two. He looked down at the watch that dwarfed his hand. Maybe with this power, they did have a chance. However, Alfred still thought Gilbert would be the better King. He had the confidence and resolve which Alfred only wished he possessed.

Gilbert put his arms around Alfred's and Matthew's shoulders and looked up at the sky with them. “We did it boys,” he said, “This is the outside world.”

Sometime later, they had found a small clearing on a cliff, and decided to camp there for the night. The view from the cliff was breathtaking: the rolling, promising lands of Spades fading into the orange sky.

Matthew was coming back with some extra firewood when he spotted his brother and Gilbert sleeping peacefully against their backpack. It was no wonder the two were exhausted. Alfred was leaning up against Gilbert’s chest, and Gilbert's arm was lazily wrapped around Alfred.

The sight brought a warm smile to Matthew’s face. Gilbert and Alfred shared a close bond; Matthew adored Gilbert just as much, though his affection felt heavier and more complicated than Alfred’s idolisation. Matthew gazed at the casual way Gilbert's arm rested over Alfred, a familiar pang of warmth and longing settling in his chest.

Matthew put the firewood he had collected down with a sigh, and smiled up at the clear, now starry sky above him, wondering what awaited them.

Chapter Text

It was the following day. Gilbert woke from his sleep and stretched out his limbs.

"Morning!" Matthew called cheerfully, not looking up from his tinkering—the soft rasp of a knife against wood the only sound.

Gilbert yawned and glanced over at him, “How do you wake up so early?" He gently eased the still-sleeping Alfred off his chest and onto the cool grass before standing. Seeing Matthew hunched over a pile of sticks and string, Gilbert walked over, his curiosity piqued. "What are you making?" he asked, leaning down for a better look.

Matthew flinched slightly, instantly aware of their close proximity—his cheek was barely an inch from Gilbert’s. He quickly lifted the finished items, focusing on them instead: a knobbly but painstakingly shaved makeshift bow, and a few fletched arrows made from thin sticks and fallen feathers. "A bow… and some arrows," he offered. "What do you think?" 

“Kesese,” Gilbert chuckled in his own unique way, leaning back to appraise the craftsmanship. “It’s very you, Matthew. Quiet, precise, and looks harmless—until it hits you.”

“What does that mean?” Matthew chuckled, trying to hide a blush that was creeping up his neck as he looked away and ran a finger self-consciously over a feather fletching.

Gilbert grinned. "It means it's a good weapon for you – suits your whole… vibe."

Matthew smiled, unable to hide his delight. "Well, thank you, Gil."

Gilbert’s stomach rumbled violently; the trio hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and they hadn't packed any food. Matthew couldn't hide the small, delighted smirk that crossed his face.

"Hungry, Gil?" Matthew teased gently.

"Just... the awesome sound of victory planning," Gilbert grumbled, giving his stomach a rueful rub before forcing a laugh. "Just a bit..."

Matthew stood up with his newly made bow in hand. “Well, I'm heading out to hunt now. We need to secure rations and water before we move, while it's still safe. Mind keeping me company?” he asked, smiling sweetly.

"Alright," Gilbert agreed, his stomach making another weak protest. "Someone's got to make sure you don't miss."

Matthew’s face lit up at the answer, and his smile lingered. His pleasure only faltered when he watched Gilbert walk over to where Alfred lay sleeping and nudge him awake gently with his boot. 

“Oi Alfred, let’s go. We’re going hunting."

Alfred woke up slowly with a groan and sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Huh?”

​Matthew hurried over, his manner perhaps a touch too bright. “A-A-Actually Gil, I was thinking maybe Alfred could man the camp!” Matthew suggested with an earnest smile.

Gilbert picked up his sword and tilted his head at Matthew, looking at him as if he had just told him the sky was red. “But what if the Clubmen attack while we’re gone?” He gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white for a moment before he let out a short, eager laugh. “I’m sure Alfred could handle himself, but I want to get in on that action too!”

“O-Oh, right...” Matthew said, his eyes darting away to fix instead on a nearby patch of grass. The corners of his mouth felt tight as he kept his smile fixed.

Alfred looked between his brother and Gilbert. He shifted uncomfortably before asking, “Um, are you sure you want me to tag along?”

Matthew glanced at his brother with a small, strained smile. “You could help get water, I guess…”

The three of them soon found a small river. The water flowed gently, weaving between smooth stones and tangled reeds. Matthew and Gilbert lay low in the tall grass near the riverbank, eyes scanning the opposite side for any signs of wildlife. The air was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird.

Gilbert, resting his chin on his hand, looked bored—he’d been hoping for more action. 

Matthew had spotted a stray rabbit rustling through the long grass, and steadily aimed his arrow at the creature. With his breath steady and his eyes locked on the rabbit, he slowly drew his bowstring back. The wood of his bow creaked faintly under the strain.

The rabbit twitched its ears, sensing something—but it was too late.

Matthew released. The arrow sliced through the air and struck with a sharp thunk, burying itself deep in the rabbit’s neck. The animal collapsed instantly. 

Gilbert whistled, impressed with the shot. “That was good!”

Matthew smiled at the praise. “Want to try?”

Gilbert’s eyes lit up, and his voice rose with enthusiasm. “Seriously? Awesome!”

Matthew nodded and handed him the bow, offering tips on how to hold and aim it properly. His voice was quiet and patient.

Meanwhile, Alfred was filling jars they had packed, with water from the river, and watching the pair from a distance. He noticed how Matthew seemed to glow as he coached Gilbert, his posture relaxed and his tone warm. 

Alfred’s brow narrowed slightly as he wondered why Matthew insisted he be the one to collect the water. Then he recalled all the little ways and excuses Matthew had used back in their village to spend time alone with Gilbert. They were never harsh or dismissive plots—just small, thoughtful ways to be near him.

But Gilbert, oblivious as ever, never seemed to notice, and Matthew’s subtle plans rarely worked.

Alfred didn’t mind his brother’s attempts though. Matthew was never unkind about them, and seeing his twin happy brought Alfred genuine joy.

Still, a quiet ache did remain. Matthew never gave Alfred a reason, never said anything. Alfred had his suspicions for Matthew's behaviour, but he didn’t want to assume. He wanted Matthew to come to him—when he was ready.

Gilbert’s eyes were locked on a heron standing motionless at the river’s opposite edge. The bird’s long neck shifted slightly. He drew the bowstring back, muscles taut, breath held. The tension snapped as he released. 

The arrow cut through the air and struck the heron square in the chest. It let out a sharp cry and collapsed in the shallows. 

A grin spread across Gilbert’s face. “Got it!” he said, voice sharp with triumph.

Matthew blinked, visibly impressed the older teen had landed the shot on his first try. “Wow,” he said, before glancing at Gilbert with a smile that held a quiet warmth, “that was amazing, Gil.”

Gilbert’s grin widened, and his chest lifted with pride. “Of course it was,” he said, getting to his feet. “Now let’s go before something else steals my prize.”

Matthew followed, brushing the dirt from his clothes. His smile faded just slightly as he watched Gilbert stride ahead into the shallow, ankle-deep river. He felt a small twist in his gut—Gilbert hadn't even looked at him after his compliment.

As Matthew went to get the rabbit he shot, Gilbert went to retrieve his heron. He licked his lips hungrily when he found it, and picked it up by its legs. Water droplets dripped off its floppy body. As the bird's body slowly spun round, he frowned. There was another arrow embedded in its body. “Two?”

There was a splash in the water behind him. Gilbert immediately turned, taking a defensive stance. On the other side of the river, he noticed a smooth bow leaning against one of the trees that hadn’t been there before. He scanned the riverbank and the surrounding area carefully, his hand hovering over his sword's handle.

He failed to see the true threat looming behind him.

The air shrieked from behind. He pivoted just in time, blocking the descent of a long axe with his sheathed blade. The force still knocked him off-balance, and he had to jump back to the other side of the river to put distance between himself and his attacker.

“Hmm, I’m impressed,” the newcomer said with a grin, tossing his heavy axe over his shoulder with effortless ease.

Gilbert ignored the taunt, his eyes scanning the attacker. He wore a long, dark green double-breasted coat and tie and shiny black boots, but the formal cut was immediately undercut by a loud lime-colored shirt. Gilbert’s eyes flickered to the small green cap with the Club symbol holding down a mass of gravity-defying blonde hair on one side. All of it framed a pair of striking blue eyes. He looked to be Gilbert's age, give or take a year, but the arrogance radiating from him spoke of a man twice his seniority.

​Gilbert didn't lower his guard. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. This man was wearing the colors of Clubs, but he was no mere soldier. He was something else.

The blonde attacker expertly spun his axe into both hands. “Commander Mathias of the Spadian Eradication Forces,” he grinned.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, and snorted, a harsh, dismissive sound replacing his initial surprise. He cocked his head sharply to the side with open scorn. “Spadian Eradication Forces?”  The title was certainly dramatic. It was also ridiculous. Gilbert didn't underestimate the man's skill, but he found the pompous name utterly stupid. That arrogant title sparked a sudden heat tight in his chest. His eyes narrowed, and his chin lifted a defiant inch. He wanted to wipe the grin off the other man’s face. He shifted his grip on his sheathed sword as he took a half-step forward.

Mathias held up two fingers with a smug, condescending smile. “Here are two useful pieces of information for you.”

He snapped one finger down. “First, the Spadian Eradication Forces eradicate all Spadians who escape their compounds.”

His smile didn't waver as he snapped the second finger down. “Second, that bird is my kill and dinner. You will return it to me.” His hand fell to his hip, and he cocked his head to the side, matching Gilbert’s challenging posture. ​His blue eyes narrowed and fixed on Gilbert, daring him to refuse.

​Gilbert simply maintained his scornful pose; a faint, crooked smirk touched the corner of his lips, as though Mathias' words were an amusing but ultimately weak joke. 

He held up the bird. It turned slowly in his hand. “Oh, it is, is it? Gosh, I’m ever so sorry. I’ll return it right this minute—” He pushed the words out with heavy, false sincerity, then flashed a vicious grin. “Not!” Before Mathias could process the refusal, Gilbert launched himself into the long grass.

The Commander frowned and plunged into the tall, thick grass after him, yelling, “You’re not getting away!” He chased the sound of the vanished runner, but Gilbert had only run a few steps before pressing flat into the cover as Mathias ran past. The Commander stopped abruptly when he heard Gilbert’s voice from directly behind him.

“Who’s running? Don’t insult me!”

​Mathias spun around to see Gilbert drawing his sword from its sheath.

​“I never turn my back on an enemy!” Gilbert declared proudly.

Mathias grinned and gripped his axe tighter. “That bravado will get you killed, you know.”

​Gilbert exploded forward, closing the distance in a single stride and slashing his blade in an arc aimed at Mathias. Though the blow was fast, the blade only met air and carved a swath through the tall grass where Mathias had been standing.

The Commander, having simply leaned back and pivoted with casual speed, disappeared into the dense cover. Gilbert scowled in annoyance as he darted his eyes around the area.

Before Gilbert could fully correct his stance, the Clubman suddenly shot out from the side and began swinging his axe at the other teen repeatedly. Gilbert was forced to bring his sword up lightning-fast to block every swing. 

​​“You fight well, but you’re just an amateur!” Mathias taunted, and slammed a quick blow that grazed Gilbert’s exposed bicep when he'd left himself open. Gilbert hissed in pain. “Do you honestly think you’re a match for a trained soldier?!”

“Real men don’t think! They ACT!” Gilbert’s hand flashed to his side. He snatched a thin object from within his clothes, and slashed it up with sudden force. 

Mathias leaned back but felt a sudden sting cut his cheek. He followed through with a backflip, creating distance between them. 

“Damn, you managed to dodge it,” Gilbert said in annoyance, tossing aside the bloodied arrow that had been embedded in the bird earlier.

Mathias brushed his hand across the shallow cut on his cheek. “Impressive, you managed to injure me…” His smirk returned, but was now sharper, and colder. “But a sneak attack is a sneak attack. It’s only a surprise once.”

​Gilbert mirrored the smirk, his body tensing like a coiled spring. He didn't wait; he shifted his weight, sword held high and ready.

Mathias launched into a full charge, axe raised high. “IT'S OVER!” he roared.

“GIL!” 

A razor-thin slice of brilliant blue magic shot from the long grass, cutting the air between the two fighters. The flash forced Mathias to stagger back in surprise as the strike plowed into the dirt. Alfred clumsily tumbled out from the grass after, clutching his sword.

Gilbert immediately sheathed his weapon again. “Alfred! Nice save!”

"Heard the shouting," Alfred grunted, picking himself up from the ground.

Mathias didn't stay to talk. He jumped back and landed on a large, jutting rock, using his axe as a momentary rest. "That power...," he muttered, his eyes narrowed in thought. ​In a flash, he vaulted off the rock just as an arrow whistled where he'd been moments before, disappearing back into the thick grass.

Matthew, who had fired the shot from behind a tree trunk, was left staring at the empty rock. "He spotted me?" Matthew muttered. But it was impossible; Mathias hadn't even shifted his focus.

​Mathias ran through the grass, barely disturbing the stalks. "A rebel faction," he thought, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. Then, without warning, he halted, raised two fingers to his lips, and unleashed a sharp, penetrating whistle.

Alfred and Gilbert ran back to Matthew, both winded. Gilbert was still clutching his dead game and had also grabbed the bow Mathias had left. 

“Alfred! Gilbert! Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” Matthew asked urgently.

“No, we're fine. He’ll probably be back with friends. But we’ll take him on! Here—take this.” Gilbert tossed the better bow to Matthew.

​Matthew caught the bow, then immediately started running, following Gilbert's lead with Alfred. “What’s the plan when he comes back?” he asked, his voice tight with urgency.

“We fight him. What else?” Gilbert replied, leading both boys toward a more open area.

​Matthew sighed, the sound lost in his ragged breathing. 

“He seems pretty tough…” Alfred said, his voice laced with doubt. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Don’t let him scare you, Alfred. You’ve got your sword, and you’ve got your power!” Gilbert reassured, flashing a confident grin.

“Yeah, but-”

“Just follow my lead! I believe in you!” 

Gilbert's grin froze. At that moment, Mathias, flanked by four others, materialized in front of them, forcing the trio to skid to a halt.  The newcomers all wore similar clothes to Mathias: a uniform of green, white, and black, and each held a weapon ready.

Gilbert smiled, drew his sword, and stepped forward. “Let’s go." Gilbert pointed his blade at Mathias. “The awesome Gilbert of Team Spades is gonna take you on! You have been warned!"

“‘Team Spades’?” Mathias chortled condescendingly, jamming the metal end of his axe's handle into the ground and holding it more loosely, as if bored. He watched Gilbert stride towards him with a smirk and spared a fleeting, dismissive glance for Matthew and Alfred. They stood ready to fight, but the tremor in their stance and the frantic look in their eyes betrayed their early years. “We were called here because there were reports of Spadians who had escaped… Looks like we’ll have this wrapped up before dinner.”

​Gilbert stopped, nose-to-nose with Mathias. Their jaws clenched so tight that the muscles jumped in their cheeks. Both men were clearly restraining themselves from literally butting heads, their shoulders drawn up and rigid as they fought the urge to lean in further, each itching for the slightest excuse during their stare down. “You’re one cocky bastard, with your stupid little hat.”

Mathias’ head jerked back, his expression twisting into raw, white-hot contempt. “It’s not the place of some lowly Spadian to lecture me on my clothes!” he snapped, baring his teeth.

Gilbert snarled back. “You Clubmen sure are annoying!” He threw a punch at the axeman, but Mathias caught it easily in his palm.

“You conduct yourself well enough in person, but your fighting skills need improvement!” Mathias shoved Gilbert’s fist away and immediately drove a punch into his jaw, following it with a brutal kick to the stomach. Gilbert crashed to the ground.

“Gil!” Matthew gasped, immediately drawing and aiming his bow at Mathias. “Alfred, I’ll cover you. Go!”

“Y-Yeah!” Alfred charged forward. He raised his sword, which was now glowing a faint blue, ready to strike. Suddenly, a concussive wave of energy slammed into him, stealing his breath. The force hurled him back, crashing into Matthew.

Matthew let out a sharp, choked yelp as Alfred's heavy, sudden weight slammed into him.

“Get back, Matthew!” Gilbert yelled, already struggling back to his feet.

​Alfred groaned, scrambling quickly off Matthew. He squinted at the point the force had originated, his vision still swimming, and saw a boy their age with dull, dark purple eyes. The boy stood with his hand still outstretched, holding a strange, green glowing book in the other. He wore a dark green waistcoat, beret, and gloves, with white trousers tucked into boots. Over the top, he wore a lighter green coat with cuffs, and a white cross-shaped clip was on one side of his hair.

Mathias threw out his arm, halting the magic user. “Wait, Lukas. I'll fight them first. I want a taste. None of you attack, until I give the signal.” 

Mathias' group nodded and stepped back, all except Lukas, who clicked his tongue in loud disapproval as he dropped his arm. “Show off…"

“Alfred! Let’s go!,” Gilbert shouted.

Alfred ran to his side, his sword immediately beginning to glow. “Got it!” 

The two charged forward together.

“Pathetic,” Mathias said amusedly. The Clubman dug his axe into the ground and used the butt of the long handle as a stand. The Axeman effortlessly balanced on the pole as the two Spadians charged past him, having committed too fully to the attack. He hopped down behind them.

Alfred, more agile than Gilbert, immediately spun and charged back at Mathias while the Clubman's back was turned. Mathias, however, anticipated the move, spinning just in time to side-kick the charging boy away the moment he closed the distance.

Mathias reacted instantly again. Realizing Gilbert had capitalized on the distraction and closed in from behind, he turned and dropped low just as Gilbert’s sword whistled overhead. He swept his leg wide, hooking Gilbert's ankle and sending him tumbling to the ground.

Mathias smirked down cockily at Gilbert. “I thought I told you. A sneak attack is a sneak attack..." He didn't finish the thought. As Gilbert struggled to push himself up from the dirt, Mathias snapped upright and drove a brutal punch into his stomach. “It’s only a surprise once!” The Clubman’s unnatural strength sent Gilbert careening into a large rock.

“Alfred! Gilbert!” Matthew cried out, charging forward. He was immediately blocked by a rather tall, intimidating figure pointing a sword directly at his chest. 

The man had light blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and glasses. He wore a formidable dark green uniform. A long, double-breasted coat covered a black shirt and tie, and he had black-gloved hands. The coat reached his tall black boots. Matching the coat, he wore a tall, hard, peaked cap that completed his rigid, intimidating silhouette.

​Mathias advanced slowly toward the spot where Gilbert lay, groaning and clutching his ribs. A cruel, sadistic grin stretched across his face as he raised his axe high over his shoulder. “It’s all over,” he declared, looking down at the defeated young man. “Now, die.” He swung the axe down in a final, vicious arc.

“GIL!” 

There was a flash of blue. No blood. No scream of pain. Gilbert had simply vanished, and Mathias’ axe was lodged only in the ground.

“What the hell?!” Mathias raged. 

The rest of his team had frozen. They stood statue-still, their mouths slightly agape, staring blankly at the empty space where Gilbert had been just a second ago. 

Mathias scanned the area, his cruel smirk dissolving into a frustrated frown when he couldn’t spot anyone—not even the archer boy who his comrade had been guarding. “They’ve mastered the art of running away I see…”

“Mathias, we’re being called back,” Lukas announced, sounding impatient.

Mathias yanked his axe out of the ground. He turned back to his group, shoulders slumping in exaggerated disappointment. “Fine,” he grumbled. “We’ll wrap this up tomorrow.”

Alfred, Gilbert, and Matthew were now hidden behind some bushes at a safe distance. Alfred had used his mysterious power to pull them out, travelling at a near-instant speed.

​“You could have seriously been killed, Gil!” Alfred exclaimed, the moment the Clubmen vanished from sight.

Matthew stood stiffly, still shaken. He nodded in silent agreement. 

Gilbert frowned at Alfred. “How long are you going to keep running?”

​Alfred tensed, his eyes dropping immediately to avoid Gilbert’s scathing gaze.

​“We finally got outside the walls. Now’s the time to cast off the boy you used to be, Alfred,” Gilbert finished quietly.

Once it was safe, the trio collected their game before returning back to their camp. They should have relocated to shake off Mathias and his team, but Gilbert, being Gilbert, had insisted on staying put to "be a man" and face them head-on. 

That evening, Matthew left to collect extra firewood. Alfred sat alone by the cliff edge, staring at his pocket watch. He gripped the watch tightly, the metal digging into his palm, as Gilbert’s piercing question echoed in his mind.

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek, furious with the cowardice that had made him flee instead of striking like Gilbert would have. 

​Gilbert came and sat down heavily beside him when he saw the boy hunched over, and gently ruffled his hair. “Apart from running away, you did good today, Alfred.”

Alfred continued to look at his reflection in the watch. “It’s hopeless… I can’t do this, Gilbert.”

“Come on. Whenever my ass is in trouble, you’re always the one who saves it,” Gilbert countered, his smile warm and genuine. “Thanks a lot.”

Alfred looked up at his mentor, a small smile tugging at his lips.

​Gilbert leaned back on his hands and looked up, observing the darkening sky as the first stars slowly emerged. “This sight is something else, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Alfred agreed quietly, looking up.

​“Seeing more of the starry sky every night is so much better than just one small patch above those dark, village walls,” Gilbert said, his voice gaining its usual enthusiasm. “Getting outside was definitely the right call.”

Alfred offered no reply, letting his gaze fall back to his watch. A crease formed between Gilbert's eyebrows at the lack of agreement. 

Matthew joined them from the darkness, appearing beside Gilbert. He tilted his head back, his hands linked behind his back. With a slow smile, he murmured, “the stars and moon do seem much more beautiful out here.”

​“Oh my!” A theatrical voice suddenly trilled from the trees behind them. 

​Alfred and Gilbert shot to their feet, instantly defensive. 

​A wavy blonde-haired man emerged, darting straight for Alfred. His gaze was fixed on the watch the boy was holding. He leaned in close, his interest avid. “What is this lovely little thing?”

Gilbert lifted an eyebrow at the odd man, “What the-”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you, I meant this watch,” interrupted smoothly, giving a playful wink.

Gilbert shuddered. “I don't care! Who are you, anyway?”

Francis crowded into Gilbert’s personal space, forcing him to lean back in unease. “King of Diamonds, but you can call me Francis. I can show you why they call me ‘King’ if you like,” he teased.

Gilbert visibly paled at the blonde's suggestion. He scrambled back several feet and drew his sword in one panicked motion.

Matthew went over to him and pushed his hands down. “Calm down, Gilbert.” He turned to Francis. “Please forgive our rudeness, your highness. But if you truly are the King of Diamonds, may I ask what you are doing out here?” Matthew asked, his gaze sweeping over the man's flamboyant wardrobe. 

Francis's attire certainly fit the Diamond suit perfectly. He wore a yellow, frilly tunic cinched with a yellow-gold belt, and a pair of dark orange, three-quarter balloon trousers layered over long cream hosiery. His brown shoes were surprisingly plain beneath it all.

Francis pulled up his sleeve and revealed the inside of his wrist: a large Diamond symbol with an intricate pattern and a clear ‘K’ in its centre. “You needn’t call me ‘highness’,” he announced dramatically, “Clubs have utterly ruined me. They ran me out of my own Kingdom.”

His expression darkened. “They invaded my palace, demanding I sign over access to our resources. When I refused, they gave me a simple ultimatum: do-or-die. It would be a waste of my beauty to die now, so I escaped using some stored magic and ended up here in Spades.”

“They’d be breaking a treaty we made if they took resources without my consent. Even the barbaric Clubs are faithful to their agreements, believe it or not,” he continued, holding his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “Though I assume they've already imprisoned my Queen and Jack, and are certainly out looking for me.”

Snapping his sword back into its sheath, Gilbert deadpanned with a snort, “So basically, you ran away.”

​Francis flashed a quick, brittle smile as his posture stiffened. He immediately waved a hand, forcing a light tone. “A-Anyway, I came up to you as this watch has me intrigued. It seems to be packing a lot of power from what I can sense… It is the King of Spades’ watch, non?”

“You know about it?” Alfred asked, clutching the watch tighter.

Francis swept his hand over his flamboyant chest in a proud gesture. “I am a royal and a King myself, am I not?” Francis leant in closer to Alfred with a sweet, compelling smile. “You’ll let me tag along for protection, won’t you, little one? I possess useful knowledge of the ancient legends and history surrounding the royals and that watch, information that will surely come in handy. And, of course, I have invaluable insight about Clubs.”

 “Such as?,” Gilbert demanded, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I won’t be revealing anything until you agree, non?” Francis sang, adding a sly tilt to his head.

“You realize we’re out here to save Spades, not Diamonds, right?”

Francis pointed at Alfred's hand. “This boy is the future King of Spades, is he not? The way I see it, if I help you now, you will be obligated to help me one day get back to my Kingdom.” 

​He tapped his chin thoughtfully and smiled. “Also, I simply feel that if I come along with you I might see some spectacular things. Come on, I can’t let something this fascinating of an opportunity pass me by. So, what do you say?”

​Gilbert, Matthew, and Alfred exchanged charged glances. The three men held a quick, silent negotiation with their eyes before Matthew gave Francis a polite, decisive nod. “You can come with us,” he said simply. “It’s always useful to have more people in a group.”

Francis gave them all a wide, self-satisfied smile. “Merci, boys!”

Gilbert’s mouth was still drawn into a line, and his arms remained tightly crossed over his chest.

Matthew turned toward the campfire. “Alfred, could you help me get dinner started?” he suggested softly.

​“O-Okay,” Alfred replied, quickly moving to catch up with his brother, his curious eyes lingering on Francis for a moment longer as he moved.

Francis watched Alfred go, a soft smile on his lips. “What a fascinating boy…”

Gilbert scowled at him, “Keep your damned mitts off Alfred, got it?”

Francis slowly batted his eyes at Gilbert, his smile widening. “How about you then?”

Gilbert jerked back, widening the distance between them and drew his sword instantly. “No way in hell!”

Francis threw his head back and laughed, then gave a casual shrug. “I don’t care much for people who can’t take a joke.”

As the group sat down to eat their dinner a bit later on, Francis sighed happily, “I’m so glad I finally found some living people who aren’t from Clubs. The only other people I came across who weren't... were the dead.” He lifted a hand to his cheek. “Poor souls.”

“Pfft, dead people are pathetic,” Gilbert stated flatly, rolling his eyes.

Matthew frowned deeply at him. “Gilbert, there’s no telling when we’ll be the ones lying on the ground,” he chided gently.

“The answer is never! Our journey will continue until we reach the stars!” Gilbert said proudly, pointing dramatically to the starry sky.

Matthew shook his head slowly, looking down at his food. “I have no idea where that confidence of yours comes from…”

“For a man, what matters is deeds, not words!” Gilbert rambled on.

Matthew sighed wearily. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You’re all very amusing I must say,” Francis interjected, a genuine smile breaking through his typical composure.

Gilbert leapt to his feet, grabbing his cape. He flung it over his shoulders, and the fabric snapped in the rising wind, instantly commanding the attention of the three males. He crossed his arms over his chest, his grin full of confidence.

 “I meant what I said. No matter how unforgiving the road may be, we will fight our way through! Alfred with his power, and me with my awesomeness. We are Team Spades!”

Francis, Matthew, and Alfred felt a current of warmth flow through them. The weight of the day’s troubles seemed to lift entirely, replaced by a soaring sense of confidence. Gilbert seemed to have that effect on people, he made you feel like everything would be alright just by being near him. Alfred always wondered why Gilbert insisted he take the lead when Gilbert, reckless as he was, was the ideal leader already.

“‘Team Spades’?,” Francis repeated, a smirk playing on his lips.

“From now on, that’s what we’re called, and you’re part of it now, blondie. It’s a place for awesome people, with awesome souls!”

“‘Blondie?’” Francis mused, tilting his head. “I don’t quite follow your reasoning, but I would be absolutely honored.”

When the group was finally settling down for the night, Gilbert sat down beside Alfred, who was lying restlessly on the grass. He propped his arm up on his bent knee and spoke quietly, Alfred’s back towards him. “Alfred, why did you run?” 

Alfred flinched at the question and curled further in on himself. His gaze fixed only on the grassy ground beneath him. “I was scared. I just… wanted to run away,” he admitted. “Clubs have tough guys like that on their side, and the four of us can’t handle them by ourselves, Gilbert.” He tightened his hand in the grass, tearing a clump free from the roots. “I can’t bear the thought of dying. And I can’t bear the thought of watching you die either.”

Gilbert hummed softly, then abruptly sprang to his feet. He pointed down at Alfred, drawing the boy’s attention with a dramatic sweep of his hand. 

“Alfred Jones! I told you before, you are destined for greatness! You’re meant to become an awesome man and King who will free his people and change their lives. The power you have been given isn’t to be used for running away!”

Alfred sat himself up a bit. “But-”

“Tomorrow’s the final showdown. Get some sleep,” he stated with a firm, dismissive smile, before walking over to Matthew, who had been watching their conversation by the campfire. Francis, apparently for 'beauty purposes,' had already retired.

Still burdened by his shame, ​Alfred bowed his head in defeat, turned away from the two, and went to sleep.

​As Gilbert sat down, Matthew leaned towards him, his face etched with concern. “Gil, please be careful tomorrow. If you aren't, you could be killed for sure this time. I couldn’t stand that…” 

​Matthew paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You shouldn’t put so much faith in Alfred, either.” His gaze fell instantly, shame pressing down on him, the words bitter on his tongue. “He can’t handle it; he’s not the fighting type. He’ll do the same as he did today: he’ll run away.”

Gilbert listened to Matthew’s speech but couldn’t agree. “Alfred will pull through,” Gilbert stated simply.

​Matthew leaned closer, his voice tight with desperation. “How can you say that so confidently? Tell me why you have so much faith in him.”

Gilbert averted his eyes. “It’s hard to explain…”

“What do you mean by that?”

​Gilbert simply shook his head, his conviction bright. “I just know I’m right, okay? Spades needs a King, and Alfred has that potential. It's his birthright. He will become an awesome King.” He stood and beamed down at Matthew. “He just needs some help realizing it.”

​Gilbert then started to walk over to Alfred’s side of the camp, giving a quick wave. “Anyway, I’m getting some sleep. Night.”

Matthew raised his hand to stop him, but clenched it in midair instead. The hand he dropped felt empty, stinging with the knowledge that he couldn't touch or hold onto Gilbert's elusive confidence. He sighed. It was clear Gilbert was deliberately dodging any real explanation.

Matthew wished he could understand the source of that unshakeable faith. Gilbert seemed so far from his reach, separated by a wall of conviction that Matthew couldn't climb, no matter how close he stood.

Chapter Text

Cold morning air hung over the site of yesterday’s ambush. Knowing Mathias would return to finish what he started, Gilbert had led the group back—intent on meeting the enemy first.

He stood out in the open, his red cape snapping in the rising wind, arms crossed over his broad chest in an immovable stance of defiance. In a reckless show of absolute faith in Alfred—and a taunt to provoke Mathias into a one-sided fight—he had refused to bring his sword. His life now rested in Alfred’s hands.

Above, on the crest of a wooded hill, Matthew, Alfred, and Francis waited in hiding. From this vantage point, Matthew had clear firing lines for his new bow, and Alfred held the element of surprise.

Francis was leaning against a tree trunk, his eyes bright with fascinated anticipation—like a spectator at a play. 

Meanwhile, Alfred stood beside him, spine rigid with tension. A nervous knot tightened in his stomach. He gripped his spade-shaped watch so tightly in his pocket that the metal bit into his palm. It was warm and heavy—weighted with Gilbert’s trust. 

​A few minutes later, as the air grew still, the silence was broken by the crunch of heavy boots on damp earth. Mathias emerged from the treeline, flanked by his blonde haired team. They advanced in synchronized steps, halting a calculated distance from Gilbert.

Mathias grinned, throwing his axe lazily over his shoulder. "Of all the Spadians I've hunted, I'll admit—you're the first with the courage not to crawl away." His gaze then dropped to Gilbert’s empty hands. He squinted. “You came without your pathetic sword? Either you're the bravest man in Spades, or the dumbest. I'm betting on the latter.”

A short, sudden laugh burst from Gilbert. “I don't need my sword to take you down, you Clubman freak,” he boasted, his grin sharp. “Today, I've brought something much more awesome.”

From the hill, Matthew took a breath and loosed an arrow, the release silent and swift. The shaft sliced through the air with deadly speed, aimed straight for Mathias’s head. But the Commander didn't flinch. In a blur, his gloved hand shot out, snatching the arrow barely an inch from his face. He snapped it in half. 

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Mathias’s head snapped toward the wooded hill, his blue eyes narrowing. He scanned the dense foliage, but the archer remained concealed.

​Gilbert suddenly shot across the clearing, shouting a fierce battle cry, closing the distance while Mathias was focused on the hill. He drove a powerful punch toward the Commander. 

Mathias intercepted the fist mid-air, but the raw kinetic force of the attack still twisted his posture, forcing a harsh grunt of surprise from him. Mathias made an amused sound as he lifted his chin, “You never learn any new tricks?" He delivered a brutal side kick to Gilbert's exposed ribs. “Do you?!"

​Gilbert crashed into the ground with a pained gasp.

“GILBERT!” Matthew cried. He didn't wait; his fingers frantically nocked and loosed a second arrow. 

Mathias didn't look up, pivoting his axe's handle with a casual flick. The arrow struck one of the axe's metal blades with a loud clang, ricocheting harmlessly into the sky. 

Matthew's face was pale with shock. "He's too fast," he whispered, shaking his head.

Gilbert scrambled to his feet and charged again, staying low. But Mathias met the rush with a crushing, focused strike—a smashing fist straight atop Gilbert's head. Gilbert cried out, "Gah!", the sound choked, as he was slammed back down to the ground.

From the hill, Matthew let out a strained shriek at the sight of Gilbert taking such a heavy blow.

Francis’s amused façade cracked, his mouth tightening into a hard line at the sight of Gilbert taking such devastating, debilitating blows.

​Mathias looked down at the figure struggling in the dirt. "On your feet!" he commanded, giving Gilbert a quick, impatient kick. 

As Gilbert began to lift himself, fighting through the pain, Mathias watched with a cruel snicker. "You're not ready to die yet, are you?" he mocked, and immediately followed up with another hard kick.

Gilbert gasped, the sound choked with pain.

​Alfred's hand clamped onto his watch, trembling with shame and mounting terror. "I knew it... it’s hopeless," he muttered shakily.

Matthew’s head snapped toward Alfred, his violet eyes wide, reflecting sheer horror. A furious, silent tremor ran through his body.

“It’s no use… guys.” Alfred's voice was a trembling, barely audible whisper, his face clenched with tears of despair. “Let’s just give up, Gilbert!” he suddenly called to him. Luckily, the wind and the clamor below swallowed the sound, sparing them from the enemy's attention. Gilbert was still too consumed by his fight to have heard it.

​Rage and terror finally snapped Matthew's control. He grabbed his brother's shoulders with a desperate, surprising strength, his knuckles white as he shook Alfred hard, startling a cry from him.

​"Look at him, Alfred! Look!" Matthew choked out, his voice tight with the strain of holding back tears. "He keeps getting up! Again and again and again!"

​Alfred looked down to see Gilbert, despite clearly being in agony, attempting to rise yet again, the same fierce fire blazing in his eyes.

​"He'll do that until he dies—unless you go help him!" Matthew's voice broke completely. "Gilbert told me he believes in you. He's betting his life on it! You need to believe in him, Alfred! What are you going to do?!"

​Mathias watched Gilbert's struggle with theatrical boredom, leaning on his axe. "Oh, getting up again, are you?"

​Gilbert spat blood onto the dirt below him, a grim, defiant smirk twisting his battered face. "I can't afford to be taken down by the likes of you! Not today!" Ignoring the blinding agony, he hauled himself up for a final, desperate lunge, swinging another wide, predictable punch.

​Mathias simply grabbed Gilbert's lunging arm. He yanked it hard, spinning him around and slamming him face-first into the dirt. "I commend you on not knowing when to give up," he smirked, “It almost makes this fun.”

Gilbert strained to get up again, every tremor of his body betraying his pain.

Alfred's eyes were fixed on the agonizing sight. "I—" he started, his voice trapped by fear. He clamped his jaw tight. His shame gave way to a sudden, absolute resolve. He wouldn't run. He wouldn't let Gilbert die. He felt a familiar surge of power. The spade watch in his hand began to glow with an accelerating, pulsing blue light.

Mathias walked over to Gilbert. With a satisfied grin, he lifted his axe high above his shoulder. "This time, it really is over!"

Alfred's sword materialized, its blade now a brilliant streak of pure blue magic, glowing brighter than ever before. "I'LL FIGHT!" A powerful wave of pure blue energy exploded from Alfred, shaking the ground and whipping the nearby trees.

The blue power bursting from the hill bathed the clearing in blinding light and captured everyone's attention. Mathias's team staggered back a step, momentarily stunned by the raw magnitude of power erupting from the hill.

The tall soldier from yesterday narrowed his teal eyes behind his glasses. “...Strong,” he muttered, voice low and unreadable.

Another soldier blinked rapidly, shielding his iris blue eyes. “What is that?!” he gasped.

Lukas only tilted his head slightly, watching the light with a calm, analytical gaze. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he remained silent.

The youngest-looking among them—barely into his teens—crossed his arms, his purple eyes narrowed. “Tch.”

Before Mathias could process the sight, Alfred was gone from the hill. In a flash of blue light, he had tackled the Commander with the force of a battering ram. Mathias yelped as the surprise impact sent him tumbling, his axe skittering uselessly out of his grip.

Lukas's composure shattered with a visible jolt. A sharp sound escaped his throat as his eyes widened, tracking Mathias’s fall. His hand flexed out in a reflexive reach toward the Commander before his rigid control forced it back, clenched.

Alfred landed lightly on his feet. He immediately stepped between the recovering Gilbert and the dazed Commander, planting himself as a shield. He dropped Gilbert's forgotten sword—the one he'd refused to bring—directly in front of his friend.

Grinning through the blood dripping down his face, Gilbert asked, "What took you so long, hero? I was starting to think you'd let me die just to make a dramatic entrance."

Alfred was still trembling, his whole body taut with terror. His sword's glow seemed to flicker and fade indecisively—a visual mirror of his own wavering will. He forced the words past his tight throat. "I'm scared. I'm so scared I can't stand it!"

He inhaled sharply, his fearful eyes narrowing. His limbs stilled instantly as he planted his feet. Blue light ignited in his irises as his sword stabilized, glowing steady and strong. "But the thought of standing by and watching you die is even worse!"

Gilbert gave him a thumbs up, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the pain. "Awesomely put!" He pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp stab in his ribs, and planted himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Alfred, his sword held low and ready.

Mathias stood up with a groan, his eyes scanning the ground until they landed on his axe, lying a few feet away. He strode over and snatched it, gripping the handle tightly with a frustrated growl. Then, he twirled the weapon once and rested it on his shoulder as he turned back to the two.

Gilbert gave Alfred a sharp grin, still winded. “Now, it’s time to finish this.”

Alfred blinked. “How?”

“Idiot! You share your power with me, of course!”

Alfred tilted his head, still confused. “Share my power…?”

“‘Share power’?” Mathias chortled. “HA! Are you hearing this, guys?” He called over his shoulder.

Lukas remained silent, his brow furrowed in wary assessment of Gilbert's words. The two other soldiers exchanged a skeptical look. The tallest soldier, however, remained still, his expression unreadable.

On the hill, Matthew furrowed his brow, watching intently. He wasn’t sure if such a thing was even possible—but he’d seen stranger things in the last twenty-four hours.

Francis, arms crossed and unimpressed, gave a dismissive wave. “With those two? Forget about it. They’d probably explode.”

Alfred’s grip on his sword hilt tightened until his knuckles were white. “Is that even possible?”

“We’ll never know unless we try!” Gilbert flashed a grin, eyes gleaming with reckless confidence.

Mathias laughed loudly. “You’re stupid through and through, aren’t you?” He then spun his axe into both hands and charged at the two. “It’s about skill, not power!”

“Alfred! Gilbert!” Matthew shouted worriedly from the hill.

Mathias lunged, bringing his heavy axe down in a vicious overhead chop aimed at Alfred’s head with a grin. But the blow crashed against an invisible wall. A solid, shimmering disk of blue energy had instantly manifested between them. "What the—?!" Mathias bellowed in sheer bafflement.

A sudden, collective silence fell over the clearing as everyone's eyes fixed on the magical shield.

Alfred, who had flinched and squeezed his eyes shut in reflex, snapped them open. The incandescent blue light wasn't just on his sword; it surged like a living current from his blade to Gilbert’s, forming the impenetrable shield.

​"Gil! You were right—we did it!" Alfred grinned, his fear briefly vanishing. 

Gilbert returned the smile, his own expression shining with triumph. “Sure looks that way!”

Mathias jumped back, his brow furrowing and one eyebrow lifting sharply. “How could a mere Spadian do that?!” 

The shield shattered into a cloud of shimmering blue particles, which immediately condensed and surged back into the two boys, enveloping them in a brilliant, humming blue aura that rippled softly.

Gilbert's face shone with victory. “How do you like us now, Commander mini-hat?!” he taunted. Empowered by the blue aura, he lunged with blinding speed, materializing directly in front of Mathias. The attack caught the Commander entirely off-guard.

Mathias growled, "Go to hell!" He was forced to abandon his axe and counter with a swift, defensive punch instead. 

"No can do!" Gilbert growled back, matching the strike with his own fist.

Their fists crashed simultaneously into each other's cheekbones. The force of the blow should have sent Gilbert tumbling, but fueled by the blue power surrounding him, he stood his ground. Neither yielded; instead, they pressed their full weight into the deadlock, their eyes also locked, challenging the other to fall first.

“Remember this, mini-hat.” Gilbert snarled, as he strained against the deadlock. "True fighting isn't just skill—it's one awesome fighting spirit slamming into another!”

Mathias's frown deepened as he fought against Gilbert, his eyes narrowed. He couldn't fathom how this weakling was suddenly so capable. The mounting frustration of being matched in power sparked a powerful, foreign exhilaration deep within him—a feeling he had never known. 

With a final, guttural roar, Gilbert's force doubled, and he violently shoved Mathias away with his fist. The Commander, completely unprepared for the sheer, raw power, fell backward with a loud shout of disbelief, finally crashing hard onto the earth.

The other Clubmen were instantly paralyzed. They watched in stunned, silent disbelief as their Commander—the pillar of their strength—was defeated in a contest of brute force by the very person he had mocked and beaten bloody only moments before.

Gilbert stood over the defeated Commander, his blue aura blazing fiercely. “A combination of true fighting spirit is what sets a man’s soul on fire!” he shouted down, his voice ringing with pure confidence. "Just who the hell do you think I am?! I am the mighty Gilbert of Team Spades!” he exclaimed, grinning proudly down at his foe.

Mathias glared up from the ground, speechless with irritation, as he tried to push himself up with his hands.

Alfred felt sparks rush through his veins at Gilbert's words. He watched the soaring confidence Gilbert embodied in wide-eyed awe, a fierce new desire to match that spirit rising within him.

From the hillside vantage point, Francis leaned forward, utterly unimpressed by the boast. "How creative.”

Mathias snapped. He launched himself back to his feet, instantly grabbing his axe. Taking his defeat as a challenge, not a failure, he roared, “Seems I underestimated you, Spadian!” and swung his axe back in a wide, desperate arc. 

​Gilbert snarled. “I told you, the name’s GILBERT!” he screamed, launching himself to meet the blow. He didn't block; he slammed his glowing blade directly into the axe head. The raw, combined force was overwhelming, tearing the weapon clean from Mathias’s grip with a loud CLANG.

Mathias stumbled back several steps, his hands stinging from the loss of his weapon. His eyes were wide with true shock and disbelief. A single, burning question hammered through his mind: How could he suddenly be so powerful?!

Gilbert raised his sword, pointing the glowing tip at his disarmed enemy. “Now, face your defeat like a man! None of those dirty little tri—”

"Mathias!" Lukas's call was short and sharp. A vibrant stream of green magic suddenly erupted from his hand, creating an instantaneous, dense wall of smoke that swallowed the clearing whole and forced Gilbert to shield his eyes.

​Matthew gasped, breaking cover to dash toward Gilbert, with Francis close behind. He skidded to a halt with a yelp as a sudden beam of blue energy tore the smoke screen apart, blasting the ground where Mathias had stood and leaving a deep scorch mark. Matthew stared at the beam’s origin, Alfred's sword, the raw, volatile power his brother now commanded leaving him amazed.

As the smoke finished dissipating, the area was empty. The Clubmen were gone. Gilbert growled, his whole body tense and ready to chase. "Where’d you go, you son of a—?!”

“Hold up, Gil!” Alfred called, arriving alongside him. Matthew and Francis slowed to a worried halt behind them.

Gilbert turned to Alfred, his eyes narrowing in stubborn warning. “What is it?”

“You’re in bad shape. Chasing him would be a bad idea.”

“Alfred…” Gilbert warned, his voice a low, hard line.

Alfred met his stare, his gaze firm despite his pale face. “It’s not because I’m scared—well, I am—but that's not why. It’s because we can only win if we live to fight tomorrow's battles.”

Gilbert paused, the fighting tension leaving his shoulders. He looked at Alfred, a proud, genuine smile spreading across his battered face. He reached out and gently ruffled Alfred’s hair.

​They spent the next hour hunting and gathering food before returning to their camp for their final meal before moving on. A light, triumphant mood hung over the fire. Gilbert talked loudly and jovially, the conversation dominated, of course, by Gilbert relaying his awesome heroics of the battle in great detail. Francis listened with a dry, amused smile, tossing in sarcastic comments that Gilbert blissfully ignored.

​Alfred, meanwhile, was quiet and isolated. He sat alone, silently turning his spade-shaped watch over and over in his palm, lost in reflection over the power it now represented.

​"Maybe you two really are a good set of partners..." A quiet voice drifted through Alfred's thoughts. He turned to see Matthew settling down beside him, a gentle smile on his face. "You and Gilbert," Matthew clarified softly. 

Alfred's mouth curved into a genuine, soft smile. He looked down at the watch in his hand, contemplating the enormity of the compliment before meeting his twin's eye. "Thanks, Matt," he replied simply, the appreciation for his twin's belief clear in his voice.

Matthew avoided Alfred's gaze, looking instead at the embers of the fire. "And um... I'm really sorry," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I said some truly horrible things about you last night... things I didn't mean. But now," he looked back at Alfred, his violet eyes earnest, "now I know better.”

​Alfred was momentarily taken aback by the raw confession, but his genuine smile returned instantly, erasing the past. "That's okay, Mattie," he replied, his voice warm and soft.

The twins smiled affectionately at each other.

​“Ah! Before we leave this dreadful place,” Francis suddenly declared, interrupting the quiet meal with a sudden, loud flourish. “I have some truly interesting information!”

Matthew looked up at him. “Like what?”

Francis gave a smug, knowing smile. “That man you just faced—Mathias—and his little gang. I know a little bit of their background.”

Alfred leaned forward, his reflection instantly forgotten. “Background?”

"Like where they'd be based and who they are. As King, I made it my business to be educated on the biggest threats and most volatile groups in the Club territories.”

Gilbert jolted upright in annoyance, nearly knocking over his plate. “Huh?! Why didn’t you say something sooner?! Like when we told you about them last night! It might have helped us prepare more for the battle!” he cried.

Francis gave a dismissive shrug. “I didn’t know who you were talking about back then! You didn’t exactly give me any names,” Francis defended sharply with a huff. “But I can tell you this now: That group, the ‘Spadian Eradication Forces’, is a highly trained and elite set of fighters for Clubs. Mathias Køhler, Lukas Bondevik, Timo Väinämöinen, Berwald Oxenstierna, and Emil Steilsson. Though apart from Mathias and Lukas, I’m not sure which one is which.”

“Well, if we know where their base is... that gives us an advantage, right?” Matthew began tentatively, glancing between Francis and Alfred. “Maybe we could plan some kind of surprise attack?” 

Francis gave a quick, sharp nod of agreement.

Alfred however, instinctively drew back, his hands clamming up around the spade-watch in his hands. Their group was tiny—only four people—and the suggestion of assaulting an entire ‘Eradication Forces’ base with potentially unknown scores of Clubmen was terrifying. The memory of his earlier blind panic was still sharp, and the weight of their lives rested squarely on his new, unstable power.

“Oh! Awesome idea, Matthew! I like it!” Gilbert leaned over and enthusiastically pulled Matthew toward him in a one-armed squeeze. “Our first step in taking back Spades!” Gilbert cheered.

​Matthew beamed at the sudden, boisterous praise, his cheeks flushing a bright pink as he looked down, overwhelmed but happy with Gilbert’s close proximity.

​Having noticed Matthew's reaction, Francis smirked and leaned in close, his movements sly. Hiding his lips from Gilbert with his hand, he whispered teasingly into Matthew’s other ear, “I didn’t realize you were weak to his type~”

Matthew bloomed crimson in embarrassment, his gaze still fixed downward, as he offered no denial.

Francis only chuckled softly before straightening up, and watched Matthew with a knowing glance. He didn't need to say anything more.

Gilbert shoved himself to his feet in a single, decisive motion. His cape flapped at the sudden movement as he marched over to the cliff overlooking Spades. As he moved, a frayed scrap of scarlet fabric, damaged from the battle, ripped free and floated away.

Alfred followed him, and his gaze instantly tracked the falling fabric. He leapt up and snatched the red scrap out of the air above and, without a word, carefully knotted it around his coat-covered bicep like a band of commitment.

Gilbert put his hands on his hips and turned back to the three of them, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. “Well, team, let’s go!”

Matthew’s eyes flickered between the vast horizon ahead of them and the determined leader. “We’re really doing this?” he whispered.

Alfred pushed past his lingering fear and turned to Matthew. "Yeah," he answered, his voice firm and unwavering.

Matthew whipped his head back in surprise. He hadn’t expected his twin to be the first to endorse such a wild, dangerous plan.

Alfred gave his brother a reassuring smile and placed a hand to his chest. “I’ve got the power, Mattie. Even if I get scared—and I will—I’ll tough it out, and I won't let you guys down.” He nodded, his decision solidified, and walked over to join Gilbert’s side.

Gilbert slapped Alfred on the back, his grin wide and blinding. "Now that we’ll know exactly where their headquarters is, crushing that 'Eradication Force' is going to be the quickest job of our lives!”

​Matthew watched them, his earlier anxiety melting into a genuine, soft smile. He shook his head fondly. “That’s our beloved, crazy leader,” he murmured.

Francis slowly stroked his chin, his eyes thoughtful as he observed Alfred’s and Gilbert’s charged exchanges. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “they truly are special. It’s possible these boys might actually make a bigger change than we think.”

​“A bigger change like what?” Matthew asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Something, mon petit,” Francis said simply, offering a secretive smile and a gentle wink before joining Alfred and Gilbert.

Matthew blinked twice in genuine confusion, then walked to join them as they all looked out together at the wide expanse of the kingdom before them.

Gilbert thrust his fist high into the air. “Our enemy is Clubs! This time, we’re gonna attack them! Let's move!”

The three others—Alfred, Matthew, and Francis—cheered back, a sound of united purpose.