39. Make War, Not Love

                                    

                                          
TW: Blood, violence
"Your Majesty?"
Ayato looked up from the documents in front of him and heaved a sigh. "Yes?"
Kazuha glanced down at his shifting feet, nervous. It'd been a few days since they'd finally gotten the location of the hostages, and they'd been sending in patrols non-stop. The fortress— for there could be no better word to describe such a place —was a ruin tucked in the forests of Inazuma, extending out onto the coasts. It was named Fort Mumei in the records, notorious for being elusive. 
Surrounded by rocks, it was nigh impossible to get close enough to launch some sort of attack from the water. The land side was no better due to its heavily guarded condition. Thick forest provided coverage for the enemy whilst also slowing down anyone who tried to get closer to the stone ruins. All attempts at rescue had failed so far. 
"Failed again?" Ayato asked, not bothering to cling to any more hope. The first five attempts had disappointed him enough. 
Kazuha nodded solemnly, weaving his fingers together. His eyes widened as Ayato muttered something obscene under his breath, but he said nothing against it.
"We've tried sneaking in, but obviously, that doesn't work," said the king, more to himself than anything. "What about a direct attack?" 
"Our manpower is dwindling from these failed attacks. Currently, we may not be able to launch a full-on invasion," replied Kazuha, a regretful expression on his face.
Ayato frowned, tapping a pen on the table distractedly. He'd been receiving an increasing number of anonymous threats. The treasure hoarders were getting as impatient as he.
"You're dismissed, Captain," he told Kazuha, shaking his head. 
Had he been paying more attention, he would've noticed the person entering the room as the captain left, but he was too lost in his thoughts. Indeed, he only noticed the presence of another when said person placed a gloved hand on the table. 
As Ayato looked up, a deep voice spoke, the power it exuded sending a slight shiver down his spine.
"I have a proposition."
༺❊ꕥ❊༻
It was too silent today.
The past few days had been chaos, evident from the disheveled state Childe was in whenever he came in to bring her her measly rations. She'd pried enough to find out that attacks were being launched on wherever she was being held, which brought her some solace. Hopefully, it meant her attempts at communication were successful and that they managed to brand Sara as a traitor in time.
It still shook her a little when she thought of it all. Everything that they'd gone through together, was any of it real? Did anything matter? All the memories she had once treasured, what did they mean now? All of it felt surreal, as if she was a ghost possessing her own body. The days since the truth had landed on her lap were a blur, merging into one mess of entangled thoughts.
Childe hadn't visited her yet, and though she did not have any way of telling the time, something felt off. The routine had surely been interrupted; she was almost certain of it. As she paced the cell, time seemed to twist. At this point, she could no longer tell if her thoughts were rapid-fire, occurring in only a span of a minute, or that time was the quick one. Perhaps it was both, perhaps it was neither, it was an enigma impossible to decipher. 
Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted the loop of Kanari's unrelentless pacing. She held her breath, pausing. A hundred thousand possible scenarios flashed through her mind, each one more morbid than the next.