Chapter Text
Izuku wakes up dead.
That’s how it feels, anyway. Her head hurts. Her arms hurt. Pretty much everything hurts, actually, aside from one of her eyelashes because that’s the only part of her that isn’t broken. Clouds float lazily in the sky. A head pops into her field of vision. It seems worried, which is honestly understandable if Izuku looks even half as bad as she feels.
“Are you alright?” its owner says. She seems like a nice person. A middle-aged lady with a kindly face and a short, slightly chubby figure. Izuku likes her immediately. “Can you hear me, sweetheart? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Four,” says Izuku with some difficulty. The strange lady helps her sit up. Her world wobbles horribly for a second as she goes. “What happened? Where am I?”
“In the garden. You were climbing a statue and it fell on you.”
“Why was I climbing a statue?”
“I don’t know, dear. It’s one of your hobbies.”
Izuku rubs her head. She’s not bleeding, thankfully. “Thanks for helping me. What’s your name?”
The woman blinks, and then gasps. “You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
“Izuku,” says the woman in a horrified whisper. “Oh my god, you’ve hit your head. I’m Inko, remember? It’s me, your mother.”
Izuku stares at her. Inko doesn’t seem to be lying, not if the tears slowly welling up in her eyes are anything to go by. Izuku feels inexplicably bad. Partly from guilt, and partly from the severed stone torso slowly crushing her legs. “Nice to meet you?”
Inko wrings her hands. “Oh no, my baby doesn’t remember me. We have to get you to a healer!”
“I’m trapped. Maybe you should call for help,” Izuku says right before Inko heaves the piece of statue right off of her. It lands on the grass with a horrible thud and sends a small cloud of dust billowing skyward. Izuku’s jaw slackens. “Wow. Okay. Do you have superpowers?”
“You’re going to be alright,” Inko says and hauls Izuku to her feet with a strength that should not logically be present in a five foot one woman of middle age. The vertigo that comes with that is sudden and nauseating. Izuku tries not to topple over. “Your father has the best healer in the kingdom. You’ll have your memories back as soon as possible, I promise.”
“My father’s overseas,” Izuku says and passes out again.
She wakes up feeling marginally better, which is honestly a godsend.
Inko’s brought her to some sort of fancy bedroom. The walls are grey stone with arched, intricate windows, and all the furniture is made of dark wood. Oil lamps line the walls, stopping at the bookshelf that reaches floor to ceiling. Furs cover a lot of the stone floor. Most of the room is dominated by the bed, a ridiculous plush thing with gossamer curtains and too many pillows for practical use.
Her jaw feels tender and sore. Wincing, Izuku fights her way out from under the heavy duvet and heads for the vanity in the corner, sitting in the arm chair and squinting at her reflection in the perfectly polished mirror.
She has the wrong face.
“Oh my god,” she says, reaching up to touch her chin. She has freckles. A lot of them, all across her nose and cheeks and what she can see on her shoulders from the cut of her nightgown. She’s wearing a nightgown. She doesn’t own a nightgown. She barely owns pyjamas, because half the time she falls asleep at her desk reading comic books and never ends up brushing her teeth. Her eyes are big and green and unfamiliar, eyebrows obscured by fluffy dark hair that’s apparently never met a comb in its life.
It sticks up wildly under frantic fingers. “Whose body is this?” she says out loud in the cavernous bedroom, voice soft and high like a bell. “Where am I? Who am I?”
Her mirror image doesn’t answer. Izuku puts her head on the table and hyperventilates, perfumes and makeup assaulting her nostrils so that she has to breathe deeply through her mouth. “My name is Izuku,” she whispers to herself. “I’m Japanese, I’m in high school. I like video games and manga and katsudon.”
What’s katsudon? asks a voice in her brain.
“It’s,” Izuku starts and then stops. It’s something warm and comforting, but the memory comes to her only in fits and starts. It’s something her mother likes to make, that much she knows. Inko had said that she was her mother. But Inko doesn’t go with katsudon. Inko goes with flowing robes and courtiers and fine wine.
But somehow, she’s familiar. Her face and name don’t ring any bells but there’s a feeling of warmth that comes from her, a bone-deep awareness that being near Inko means good and home and safe. No distinct memories of her spring to mind. But Izuku hadn’t felt a twinge of fear waking up with a stranger beside her. Something in her had known Inko wasn’t a stranger. Like her head’s forgotten the details but the muscle memory of their relationship’s still there.
There’s someone else she used to call her mother, though. Izuku remembers her fairly clearly but the thought doesn’t produce a clear emotion like Inko does. She doesn’t miss her other mother. Doesn’t dislike her, or anything, but the idea of never seeing her again doesn’t hurt her like it should.
Bright lights. That’s something that comes to her in persistent flashes, shining behind her eyelids in a way that seems almost artificial. Twin beams. Crunching metal and hard gravel. Wailing sirens, fading consciousness, screaming. Her body had been soft and vulnerable. More so than the body she’s in right now, and she shudders because she’d felt the world dissolve around her and leave her floating.
“Did I die?” she says, screwing her eyes shut and trying to remember. She can’t be dead if she’s right here. But she hadn’t always been here, had she? Her life had been different. That much she’s sure of, because she remembers parts of it that are unfortunately kind of boring. Plain. Ordinary, just like anyone else, nothing like the opulent medieval-type lifestyle she seems to have going on now. But the memories are just that - memories. There are no feelings attached to them. It’s like she’s looking at her old life through somebody else’s eyes.
“I’m two people,” she says under her breath. No, that’s not quite right. She’s been two people. Has the brain of one person stuck in the body of another. And the last version of her, the body that belonged to this brain, had stopped existing. Been hit by a car. Then she’d woken up here, in a life that’s kind of but not really hers. Reincarnated, almost. Except instead of beginning a new life, she’s been stuck into a body already approaching adulthood.
Her chair scrapes across the floor as she stands up to explore. Izuku, says a diary on the huge desk. The room she’s in is hers.
Well. It’s not snooping if it’s got her name on it. Hands shaking, she opens it somewhere in the middle, squinting at the fiddly, cursive script. Father has introduced me to a suitor today, it says. His name is Shigaraki. His conquests in battle are impressive, but his countenance is displeasing to me. He wears the severed finger-bones of his enemies around his neck. Father informs me that our union would be well looked upon by our subjects.
“What the hell,” Izuku says, flipping frantically. A suitor? Finger-bones? She doesn’t think she’s ever used the word countenance before in a sentence. And she certainly doesn’t remember having any subjects, unless she’s been writing historical fan fiction in her free time.
The sentries bring word that Yagi grows more frail, says another entry. I wonder if father will act upon this. The old wounds still plague him, I think, even though he will not tell me so. I hope he challenges the coward Yagi to a fair fight. I would love to watch him enact his revenge, although perhaps I should not say such things out loud. Mother is too soft, in my opinion. She would rather we all live in peace. I, however, would like to taste bloodshed at least once in my life.
“Whoever used to own this body is a real peace of work,” Izuku mutters. But something in the passage catches her eye. Yagi. She’s heard that name before. The sound of it evokes thoughts of triumph and bravery and strength. Completely at odds with what’s written here, unless the diary refers to someone else with the same name.
“I know that’s supposed to be someone important,” she says to herself, running her hands through her hair and resting her elbows on the table. It’s someone with power. A man, tall and imposing but kind, well-loved by his people for his valour and justice and wit. A king. Not Izuku’s king, by the looks of it, but clearly the leader of a pretty big nation.
She flips back to the beginning and gets to work on reading the diary from cover to cover. The sun’s long gone down by the time she’s done, lamps flickering and barely lighting her table enough to see.
She has some political power, she learns. Or her father does, anyway. Which would logically make Izuku some form of royalty, maybe a princess or a duchess or something. And there’s a lot of talk about a race of demons, of which Izuku is an important member because her father is in charge. Hisashi, his name is. And Inko is the queen. Inko tends to stay out of politics but Izuku’s excited to take over the throne someday, eager to rule over the demon kingdom with an iron fist just like her dad.
“I don’t look like a demon,” she says, feeling her head for horns. Her ears are kind of pointy but that’s about it. Maybe ‘demon’ isn’t meant in the religious sense, exactly. The descriptions of them so far make them sound like a clan. In this world demon could just be a nationality, even though the actual name of their country is Kamino.
Yuuei also comes up sometimes. That’s where Yagi’s castle is. Thinking about him sends a spike of annoyance through her gut. But the image in her head is of green grass and clear rivers, with wild horses and a bustling city centre. Somewhere lovely. Somewhere Izuku’s wanted to be once upon a time, even though her body seems to disagree with the idea.
That’s odd. She shouldn’t have a clear memory of what Yuuei looks like. Yuuei doesn’t fit in with her old school and parents and the cat that likes to sleep on their front step.
“Yagi the Almighty,” she murmurs, picking a quill out of its inkwell. It’s pretty but kind of unwieldy. “Leader of Yuuei. In an uneasy truce with the demon clan. Neighbour to the orcish mountains of N’devah and the barbarian Badlands.” She shouldn’t know that. She hadn’t written about N’devah or the Badlands in her diary. But she knows they’re real. She’s seen them in a drawing somewhere, a black and white image printed in a book.
A series of drawings, actually. There were people in it too. She almost rips her diary as she flips to a fresh page to draw it out. Several panels, in uneven sizes, arranged neatly from right to left on the page. There’s a girl. She has big eyes and short hair, but not like Izuku’s. Hers is brown and bouncy and longer in the front. She has a hat. There’s something special about her, of course, because she’s the main character of this manga.
Manga. That’s what Izuku’s thinking of. Everything in her diary so far reminds her of a manga she’s read, with all the same people and places and backstories. Hero, it was called. They used to be lined up neatly on her bookshelf. Spines out, all with colourful labels and issue numbers. She used to be an avid fan. She read all of them, and she loved the plot.
And that’s where she’s seen this face. She does recognise it, just not on her. It was one of the characters, not one of the main ones. The demon princess, Izuku. When she’d first showed up Izuku had been ecstatic to see a character with the same name as her. But manga Izuku hadn’t lasted, she thinks. She’d made friends with the main characters but turned out to be evil, and then disappeared until the war. That was at the climax. A war between demons and humans, with a happy ending where all the demons had ended up dead.
Izuku pauses. She’s a demon. She’s going to end up dead.
She swallows. Dipping her quill in far too much ink, she turns the page and tries to remember how the story went. There was a girl, that’s for sure. It’s not Izuku. Her name’s Ura-something. Urakara? Uraraka. Yes, Uraraka Ochako, the peasant witch, the main character who goes on a quest and gets into a love triangle with two handsome princes on the way.
The manga starts with a vision, Izuku thinks. Ochako has some magic amulet that shows her the future. She works in the N’devah castle as a cook, and one day she has a premonition that the demons want to declare war. She tells the prince, a beautiful boy who’s half-something on his father’s side. Orc, maybe. Izuku remembers him being very angsty about it. Which makes no sense, because the orcs look exactly like humans and don’t seem all that bad. But the prince tells his dad about the vision and the dad sends them off to Yuuei to warn King Yagi.
But King Yagi’s army is too weak to fight the demons, even with N’devah’s help. He tells Ochako to ask the barbarians to join them, because they’re all fearsome warriors or something. And they have this ridiculous ritual where they only grant a request if you can beat them in battle. So the orc-prince fights the barbarian prince and wins, and the barbarians join the war. And the barbarian prince decides he likes Ochako for some reason. Katsuki, his name was. And Shouto’s the half-orc.
“Then what?” Izuku says, dripping ink on the table. The trio goes back to N’devah. Except then the king tells them he can’t join the fight, because someone got kidnapped. Someone important. The king’s son, some long-lost Todoroki sibling that had never appeared in the plot until then. “God, that was contrived,” Izuku says, chewing her quill. But that had taken the orcs out of the game. So Yuuei and the barbarians had gone to war by themselves, and still came out victorious.
The demons had lost. The manga never explicitly said what happened to them, but it’s implied they died out. And if Izuku’s weird backwards déjà vu is to be trusted, she and the royal demon family will be the first to go.
“Alright. Okay. Verification,” she says, getting up. Her head still swims when she stands but she manages to make her way out the door, wandering up the corridor with no clear destination in mind. Her body seems to know where to go, though. Her feet take her down the stairs and through lamp-lit corridors, into the courtyard and towards the greenhouse tucked into a corner of the palace.
Her mother’s bending over some begonias. The light from her lamp casts eerie shadows on her face, but Izuku’s pulse immediately calms down when Inko looks up at her and smiles. “Izuku! Are you well enough to be out of bed?”
“I’m fine,” Izuku says, coming closer to accept her mother’s hug. Inko just barely reaches her chin. Her eyes are soft and kind. Hard to think of her as being any kind of demon, but then again Izuku doesn’t feel much like one herself. “What are you up to?”
“I think the orange trees need pruning,” Inko says, pulling away to look Izuku in the eye. “How’s your head, honey? Have any memories come back?”
“I think so,” Izuku says. “The place that we live in right now is called Kamino, right?”
Inko’s shoulders sag in relief. “That’s right. Your father is the king and you’re the princess of the demon clan.”
Izuku nods. “There’s a place called Yuuei. Yagi the Almighty is the king. And, uhm. There’s N’devah and the Badlands.”
“That’s right,” Inko says, nodding encouragingly. “Yuuei has humans. N’devah has orcs. The Badlands have barbarians and dragons.”
“Are we,” Izuku says and then stops. “Are we fighting? Did the king— was my father planning some kind of battle?”
“No, love. That was a long time ago. He fought with the king of Yuuei once, and they injured each other. Now there’s a truce. Nobody’s fighting.”
“Oh,” Izuku says, half to herself. “But I thought… okay. You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” says Inko. She kneels to inspect her flowers. There’s a small smudge of dirt on her face and her hair’s pulled back with a handkerchief. Not very regal, to be honest. But she’s lovely. Her hands are gentle as she tugs a weed out of the soil. Even those have a home, Izuku vaguely remembers. Crowded together in a big pot because her mother can’t bear to kill a plant.
“What if there was a war?” Izuku says hesitantly, squatting down next to her. Inko frowns. “If someone decided to attack us, like the N’devah. King Enji. What would we do?”
“Why do you think there’s going to be a war?” Inko asks. “Has your father said something?”
“I think we’re in a manga.”
“A what?”
“I— nothing,” Izuku says, scratching the back of her neck. “Uhm. Did the king of N’devah have a son?”
“He had four children, I think. One of them passed away a while ago.” Inko’s studying her, Izuku realises. Gently, one hand comes up to touch Izuku’s cheek. “I’m worried about you, darling. Maybe you should go back to the healer tomorrow. You’re acting odd.”
“Am I?”
“Rather,” Inko says, smiling crookedly. “You never normally hug me back.”
“What, really? That’s dumb of me.” She loves hugs. Is starved of them, actually, although maybe that’s got nothing to do with Inko. It’s a vague longing. Her other parents had been reserved, she thinks, although they were more or less nice. “Promise I’ll fix that. Hugs are great.”
Inko’s smile falters. Izuku bumps their shoulders together, trying to be reassuring. “I love you very much,” Inko says quietly, patting her hand. “I want you to remember that, okay? Even if you remember nothing else.”
“I know. I love you too,” Izuku says automatically. Oddly enough, she means it, too.
The demon palace is huge. Unnecessarily so, built on the riches of Kamino’s vast natural resources. Izuku wanders around talking to strangers in an attempt to remember who she is. It doesn’t help much. People are either politely distant or kind of crazy. Like Shigaraki. The diary wasn’t kidding about the finger-bones. He’s not mean to her in any way, but he’s creepy. Izuku gives him a wide berth and drops hints about getting some moisturiser.
She writes down everything she learns, making notes on the courtiers and her family just in case she forgets again. A couple of things do jog her memory - Shigaraki’s prized gauntlets, for example, called the Dustmakers. Toga, the assassin who seems to have a crush on, like, everyone. And Twice, the tailor who insists on making a copy of everything he designs because blood stains don’t wash out. Izuku’s afraid to ask how often that happens. He does make good clothes, either way. She rather likes her fancy dresses even if they are difficult to move around in.
A lot of things match up with the manga, she finds out. Often a new little factoid brings a memory of a page, sometimes of major character arcs and sometimes of throwaway panels. Inko’s something of an anomaly, though. Izuku remembers reading about a demon queen but that was never explored in much detail. It’s a shame. Inko would have made a great character. Her background presence is a soothing balm on Izuku’s spirit, the one normal person in a building full of psychopaths. That Izuku’s technically part of, it looks like. Toga had seemed scandalised when Izuku hadn’t wanted to go orphan hunting in the woods.
A week passes. Her wounds heal with startling speed, although her memories of this life never do fully return. She has a book full of clues, though. And a pretty clear idea of how they connect to the plot, although that’s no proof that she’s actually living it. For all she knows, her brain’s been bent out of shape from the accident. Maybe she’s just mixing up real-life events with fictional ones. It’s a likelier explanation than I died and reincarnated into the body of a villainess in the series I like.
“Have we met?” Izuku says to the man loitering outside her mother’s greenhouse one sunny afternoon.
He turns to her. His face is scarred but he seems young, with dark hair and eyes and the clothes of a minor courtier. “I don’t believe so, princess. I’m Dabi. How may I be of service?”
“Dabi,” Izuku echoes, chewing her pencil. Her latest journal’s held to her chest, already half-full of new observations. “I’ve seen you before, I’m sure.”
“I’m new to the palace, your highness,” Dabi says and bows. “And surely not of high enough station for the royal family to recognise me.”
“But you look so familiar,” Izuku insists. “You were in the manga. There was something important about you, what was it. Must be one of the later characters, not the main ones.”
“Sorry?”
“The lost prince!” Izuku cries, snapping her fingers. “That’s right, you’re the missing N’devah son that got kidnapped!”
Dabi freezes. His smile goes suddenly plastic. “There are no N’devah princes named Dabi.”
“No, I know, his name was Toyota or something,” Izuku says, bouncing with excitement. “Everyone thought he was dead until the big plot twist near the climax. He turned out to be in the demon palace all along. But I remember the torture scars, they were very distinct-- oh my god, are you being tortured?”
“No,” says Dabi slowly.
“Hang on,” says Izuku. “Hang on. Wait. You’re only supposed to show up near the end of the manga. After the war announcement.”
“What?”
“Does King Enji know you’re here?”
Dabi’s smile drops. He steps forward suddenly, and Izuku becomes acutely aware of how much bigger he is than her. “I have no connection to Enji of the N’devah.”
“Okay,” Izuku stammers, hiding behind her journal. “Uhm, you seem kind of angry.”
“I am not,” says Dabi, clearly furious. “Prince Touya died years ago. Anyone would tell you the same.”
“Right, well, I mean-”
“I heard you lost your memory recently, princess,” says Dabi quietly. “You must be more careful in future. You wouldn’t want to have another accident like that. Next time you might not come out so lucky.”
Izuku swallows. Dabi smiles, all teeth and no mirth, and spins on his heel, stalking off back into the palace from whence he came. Izuku sags against the wall of the greenhouse. Her heart’s trying to climb out of her throat. She intensely wishes Inko were here, although she’s even smaller than Izuku.
“Touya,” she says to herself. Dabi had known exactly who she was talking about. Got all suspicious about it, to boot, which probably means he’s hiding something.
The scars are the same as they’d been in the big reveal panel, Izuku’s sure. She remembers because Touya had looked like his eyes were stitched open, and there’s no way the horrible facial trauma is a coincidence. But Dabi doesn’t look like he’s being held prisoner, since he’s walking around unattended.
“If Dabi is really Prince Touya, what’s he doing in Kamino?” she mutters to herself. “The manga never did say how the demons got their hands on Touya in the first place, come to think of it. He’s pretending to be someone else, and it seems like none of the demons have figured him out yet.”
Izuku opens her book and picks up her pencil. “Okay. Let’s say Touya never died. He changed his name to Dabi and came here to Kamino. Enji doesn’t trust the demon clan. So Enji probably sent him as a spy, which means he must know Touya’s alive. He’s pretending that Touya is dead, to keep Dabi’s identity a secret. But then eventually Touya gets caught and the demons hold him hostage. And Enji has to pull out of the war because he doesn’t want Touya to get hurt.”
But Touya only gets kidnapped near the end of the manga, during the climax. Nobody knows he’s here yet. They’re not supposed to find out about him until later, once everything becomes hostile. Izuku figured him out ahead of schedule. And she must be the only one who knows, because Dabi’s still a free man.
“I know he’s secretly Touya because I already knew the plot,” she says, snapping her book shut. “I figured out the future. Which means we’re in line with the manga, which means what happens in the plot must eventually happen in real life, which means--”
The war is real. It’s coming, and they’re not prepared.
And they’re going to lose.
Which means Izuku, specifically, is going to die. Again.
She runs to her father’s study. She’s only seen him once or twice since her accident but they’ve never really spoken; he’s too busy for pleasantries, always travelling and giving orders and making plans. There’s a strong sense of awe she feels for him, but it’s mixed with a worrying amount of fear. He terrifies her, quite frankly. Something about the way he seems to see her even though King Yagi took his eyes.
The oak door of his office is reassuringly solid under her knuckles. “Come in,” calls a deep, smooth voice. Izuku stumbles in, almost tripping over the hem of her gown. King Hisashi’s seated in a plush armchair with a braille book in his lap. He looks up at her and smiles. “Hello, my dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Izuku shuts the door behind her and shuffles closer, nervous. “Are you busy? I wanted to ask you something.”
He shuts his book and tilts his head. “Have you finally decided to marry Shigaraki?”
“What? No, I— I’ve been having these… premonitions, I guess,” Izuku says slowly, remembering at the last minute not to say manga. “Visions of the future. Since the accident.”
Hisashi frowns. The contraption in his throat that helps him breathe quietly whirs. “Premonitions. Of magical origin, do you mean?”
“Maybe,” Izuku says, coming forward when he beckons her. He pats the arm of his chair, and she sits. “Hear me out. I know we signed a truce but I think Yuuei and N’devah are going to break it. And it doesn’t end well for us. In the, uhm. Premonitions, I mean. There’s a war. And we lose. Badly.”
“You think the orcs and humans will attack us,” says Hisashi, almost to himself. “I assume you have no proof of this?”
Izuku falters. “Well, no.”
“Don’t fret. I don’t think you’re lying to me,” says Hisashi, gently touching her cheek. He’s scarier when he’s being nice to her, a wide smile in a gaunt, scarred face. “A month ago I would have asked if perhaps you weren’t just feeding your bloodlust. But you do seem to have changed, my princess. It’s quite jarring.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Izuku asks hesitantly.
“You’ve become more like your mother. And her magic is strong, even if she only uses it to grow her plants,” Hisashi says. “Which makes me wonder if your accident has awakened Inko’s blood in you. Perhaps there was some latent clairvoyance that’s just come to fruition.”
Izuku doesn’t even try to correct him. “You believe me?”
“It would be wise to look into this,” Hisashi says, drumming his fingers against the free arm of the chair. “I will tell Kurogiri to ready the troops and send out the sentries just in case.”
“No, but,” Izuku says, clutching his sleeve. “The reason they think we want to fight them is because Ochako— because one of their people will have a vision of war, like mine. They think we’re planning something. If we tell them we’re peaceful, then we don’t have to fight. It’s just a misunderstanding. We can stop the plot— the war from happening at all. That way nobody has to get hurt.”
“Battle is not a decision made on a whim,” says the king. “Let’s assume you’re right. To jump into war so readily sounds to me like Yagi was only looking for an excuse to break the truce. Compromises and treaties may prolong peace, but they’re not binding, Izuku. If Yagi wants to break the truce, we will break the truce.”
He stands and leaves the office, leaving his book on the armchair. Izuku follows, half-running to keep up. “But we’ll lose. I’ve seen the end of the fight and it goes badly for us!”
“That’s because we were unprepared,” says Hisashi. “But you’ve warned us, my dear. Now it’s going to be a fair fight.”
Izuku skids to a stop. Her father strides off to find his advisors and she stays in the corridor and frets. “This is backfiring,” she mutters, turning around and taking off to the courtyard. “I want to prevent a war, not start one.”
She runs all the way downstairs, red and sweaty by the time she gets to the big open courtyard where the courtiers like to mingle. All of Izuku’s usual posse are here. She runs to catch up with Shigaraki, who seems just about to leave. “Shigaraki! Have you seen T— uhm, Dabi?”
He pauses mid-step. “Why would I know where Dabi is?”
“I don’t know, aren’t you friends? I see you together a lot.”
“Friends,” says Shigaraki slowly. “Yes. Friends.”
“Where is he?”
“Think I saw him skulking off to the wine cellar,” calls Toga from behind them. She’s lounging sideways in a chair and soaking in the sun. “Tell him I said hi.”
“Thank you! Sorry for interrupting you, Shigaraki, don’t mind me. Were you going somewhere?”
“No,” Shigaraki says, seeming oddly put out.
Izuku thanks him and goes to the wine cellar. It’s pleasantly dark and cool, and she hurries down the steps and pokes her head between shelves until she finds Dabi sitting on a whiskey barrel. “Dabi! I’ve been looking for you. Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“No reason,” Dabi says, scrambling to pull it back on. “What do you want?”
“Listen,” says Izuku, coming closer to plead with him. “I haven’t told anyone your secret. I’m not going to, I promise. But we’re in trouble and I need your help.”
“How?”
“There might be a war. Between the demons and the humans and orcs. You have to go back to King Enji,” Izuku begs. “He and King Yagi are going to break the peace treaty because they think we want to break it. You have to tell him it’s not true. Tell him we’re peaceful and we don’t have any plans to fight. He’ll believe you, you’re his son.”
“First,” says Dabi, holding up one finger, “I am not. And second,” he says, leaning forward to grab her face, “I am never going back to the orcs.”
“You don’t understand, we’re all going to die at this rate—”
“Princess,” hisses Dabi, squeezing her cheeks and giving her unflattering fish lips. “I am no friend of King Enji’s. I would rather see this whole place razed to the ground than ever call myself his son.”
“But,” says Izuku, somewhat muffled. “But I have to stop it. We have to help.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Dabi says, releasing her. “You can do whatever you like. So will I. I’m going on a walk. Good day to you.”
He leaves her there. Izuku leans against the vacant barrel and clutches at her skirt, wondering if she’s going to be a powerless to stop this plot once it’s started. It hadn’t seemed so dire when she was just seeing it on a page. But now this is real. There are innocent people here. Kids and parents and lovers and farmers who’ve done nothing wrong. They’re all going to be thrown into chaos because of some stupid misunderstanding that partly has to do with Izuku.
She’ll watch them die. And her one attempt to stop it had backfired. There’s nothing else that she can do.
She wanders to the greenhouse, absently running her fingers along the petals of her mother’s colourful flowers. She’s not sure how long she sits there, trying to remember what it was like to die. It seems cruel, almost. Like she got a second chance that’s only going to last a month. Or this is just going to be her existence from now on, dying and coming back as different people and never going anywhere worthwhile.
It’s almost dark by the time someone puts a hand on her shoulder. Izuku, shoulders slumped and almost in tears, looks up.
Inko sits next to her and takes her hand. “What’s wrong, my love?”
Izuku leans her head on her mother’s shoulder. “What if something bad were to happen? Something we couldn’t stop?”
A bee buzzes past. Inko sighs, threading her fingers through Izuku’s hair. “Your father told me what you told him this afternoon.”
“I messed up,” Izuku says, curling her knees to her chest. “I wasn’t trying to make him fight back.”
“I know. He told me how strange it was that you seemed so distressed at the idea of battle.”
“Would you leave?” Izuku says. “If things got bad. If I ran away to where it’s safe, would you come with me? So we don’t have to see it? So we don’t have to get hurt?”
Inko doesn’t speak for a little while. Her hand is gentle and hypnotic on Izuku’s head. “I am the queen of this country,” she says finally. “Even though I know I don’t often act like it. I can’t abandon my people. If this country falls, your father and I will fall with it.”
Birds sing. The sun slowly falls behind the horizon, turning the sky a bright orange. “I feel bad,” Inko says almost to herself. “For being glad that you changed. I loved you before, of course. There’s nothing you could ever do that would make me not love you. And I should be more concerned that you’re so different since your accident. But the person you’ve become over the past week is… nice. You’re a good girl, Izuku. A kind one. For the first time I feel like I really understand you. Isn’t that terrible of me to say?”
“No,” Izuku says. Inko hugs her. It grows dark around them but neither of them really minds.
Eventually a servant comes by to tell them it’s time for dinner. Inko stands with some difficulty and dusts off her dress, then holds a hand out to help Izuku to her feet. “Come, dear,” she says, eyes creasing in the corners as she smiles. “Let’s go eat. Maybe tonight we’ll be awful and have two desserts.”
Izuku goes. She could leave, she thinks as they stroll to the dining room. She could run before the fighting starts so she won’t have to see it. But that would mean leaving an entire country of civilians behind. And Inko. She’d be abandoning Inko.
No. There’s another way. There has to be. Izuku’s not powerless, not by a long shot – she knows how the plot of this messed-up story’s going to go, so she can do something on her own. She just needs to plan.
She straightens her shoulders. Slowly, she takes a deep breath and follows her mother out of the greenhouse and into the light of the corridor, heartbeat steady, already aching for a journal and her quill.
- Ochako has her vision and warns the kings.
- Yuuei needs backup. They have to enlist the barbarians.
- Ochako and Shouto travel to the Badlands. They fight Bakugou Katsuki and win, and he joins them.
- Touya gets kidnapped. Enji pulls out of the war.
- The barbarians and Yuuei’s forces (plus Shouto) fight anyway. They win. The demons go extinct.
Izuku chews on the end of her quill and thinks. It’s highly unlikely that she’ll be able to stop the war once it’s started. That means stage 5 needs to be avoided at all costs.
Stage 4 is tricky. Dabi clearly doesn’t want to go back to N’devah. Izuku could rat him out, but the demons won’t take kindly to an orcish spy, especially now that King Hisashi’s got war in his head. If they hold Dabi hostage, that’ll take Enji out of the fight and weaken Yuuei’s forces, sure. But that doesn’t change the fact that war’s still going to happen. They end up back in square one. Plus, Dabi’s probably going to get hurt.
So stage 3, then. The barbarians are powerful fighters. They’re a huge help to Yuuei. If Izuku can somehow intercept Ochako and Shouto before they can convince Katsuki to join them, they won’t have enough troops to take the fight to Kamino. They might choose to play it safe and stay on defence. And Izuku’s father will have no reason to attack them, so nobody has to get hurt.
Okay. That means going to the Badlands as soon as possible. But Hisashi’s going to want to take his usual troupe. The guards and the generals and the advisors and all the horses. And that’s going to slow them down a lot. Izuku doesn’t actually know where Ochako is now, whether she’s already had her plot-starting vision and has told Shouto about it. She could already be on her way to the Badlands. If Izuku wants to not waste time, it’s probably easier to just go alone.
A single horse and rider should be able to make the journey no problem. “Wish I had a car,” she sighs, looking at her hand-drawn map. Not that she really knows how to drive one, to be fair, but she only vaguely remembers how to steer a horse anyway. Which she probably shouldn’t say out loud, or they won’t let her go alone. They might not want to let her go alone anyway, actually, since she’s supposed to be a princess.
“So I have to slip away, maybe at night,” she says, folding up her map and getting up from her desk. “Steal Nezu out of the stable and head Northwest. I need clothes, food, water, maybe a knife or something. And money.”
Someone calls her to dinner. Hisashi isn’t there. Izuku chews her steak and tries to reassure her mother that she’s fine. “I just have a headache, is all,” she says. “Sorry. Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a healer? You seem distracted,” Inko says, touching her forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Maybe it’s about time for a check-up.”
Izuku takes her hand. “I’m okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Guilt gnaws at her insides as she packs her things. “This is for her,” she says to herself, pulling on a tunic and some leggings. No dresses, not while she’s on the road. “This is all for mom. I’ll come back to her safe and sound.”
Nobody tries to stop her as she leads her white horse out of the stable. It follows her onto the palace grounds and keeps patiently still as she clambers onto the saddle, seeming to know where she wants to go even though she doesn’t know what she’s doing. “I owe you one,” she says, patting his neck.
Nezu whinnies. He starts off in a canter out of the pasture and into the wilderness. Izuku, holding her map in front of her and heart thumping in her chest, leaves her kingdom and rides off into the night.
Ochako drops her ladle.
She barely hears the clang. Her head hurts - it feels like her brain’s trying to escape through her ears, skull pulsing and squeezing the thoughts out of her mind. She sinks to the floor. Hands grab her by the shoulders to steady her. Probably Satou’s. She should thank him, she thinks dimly, except if she tries to open her mouth she’s going to throw up.
She’s lifted to her feet and carted over to sit by the window. The sunlight hurts but the fresh air is good. It’s deafening inside her head, flashes of fire and crimson and screaming and metal thuds. Hooves crunch against gravel and bodies fall. A clawed hand slashes through Prince Shouto’s tunic, shredding his chest and drawing blood. His expression is frozen in horror. Slowly he falls to his knees and Ochako whimpers, curling in on herself until the cacophony goes away.
Breathe in, breathe out. A hand rubs up and down her back. It’s hypnotic and soothing, and Ochako tries to focus on that and the heat of her grandmother’s amulet against her sternum. It feels like it’s burning. Not enough to hurt, not quite, but it stays hot even as her vision clears and she blinks tears away, clogging her lashes.
“Easy,” murmurs Satou, clearly trying not to panic. “You’re okay, there’s no need to cry. Are you hurt? Should I take you to Lady Recovery?”
Ochako shakes her head. “Just give me a minute,” she manages, clutching her temples. The gory vision fades, taking all her energy with it. The screaming turns back into chirping birds. “God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Satou lets her lean against his side. “Did you burn yourself on the stove or something? Or did the oven get too hot? Do you need air?”
“I’m not hurt.” Poor Satou’s left his custard unattended. It’s going to boil and get that weird skin on top. “It was just… never mind. Maybe I do need some air. Do you think you’ll be okay without me?”
“Yes, of course. I just need to finish dessert. King Enji only wants fruit.”
Ochako wobbles to her feet. “I’m going to go outside, then. Send someone along if you need me. I’ll see you later.”
The sun warms her already flushed skin as she runs to the menagerie. Groundskeeper Kouda’s outside tending to the livestock as usual. They wave at each other. He never minds when she wants to play with the animals, even if the peacocks do make a ruckus every time she dares come near their pen. He never minds when she goes anywhere, actually. Nobody does. She’d thought there’d be more to do when she first came to work in the kitchens, but most of the time she just wanders around the castle grounds and talks to the other employees.
She opens the door to the stables, amulet sitting warm against her collarbone. It’s a worrying weight under her shirt. Sometimes she just wants to throw it away, or sell it or something, maybe. It’s an antique. And magic, so it’ll probably fetch a fair price.
“Hello,” says a quiet voice by the door. Ochako turns. There’s a well-dressed figure lying in a pile of hay, surrounded by horses. One of them licks his forehead.
Ochako curtseys. “Your highness. Sir Iida.”
“I keep telling you people you don’t have to bow at me,” says Prince Shouto mildly.
“It’s only proper, your highness,” says the suit of armour that probably contains Iida. He takes his helmet off and tucks it under one arm. “Hello, Ochako.”
“I don’t want to be proper,” says the prince, which Ochako has no trouble believing. “My father didn’t send you, did he? I’m supposed to be at a finance meeting.”
“You should really stop skipping those,” says Iida. “You’re a prince. You have a duty to your country. You can’t come play with the animals every afternoon.”
“I was hoping I’d find you here, actually,” Ochako says, coming closer. Her stomach twists. Prince Shouto’s healthy and in one piece. His heart hasn’t yet been torn out of his chest, although the image is still clear in her mind. “I came running from the kitchens, there’s something I have to tell you. It’s urgent.”
“Alright. You look terrible, by the way.”
“That’s very rude, your highness,” says Iida.
“Sorry.” Prince Shouto sits up with some difficulty, displacing most of his hay throne. “Something happen, Ochako?”
“Yes, your highness!” Ochako says, clasping his hand between hers. Prince Shouto’s always been nice to her. They don’t talk much but he's always polite to the servants, remembers all their names even though he doesn’t have to. “I’ve had a terrible vision of the future. Your life is in grave danger!”
“Excuse me?” says Iida.
“Your necklace is glowing,” says Shouto.
“What?”
“Your necklace,” he says and points. “It’s glowing pink. Pretty.”
She slaps a hand over it. “Oh. Yeah, it does that sometimes. Magic, you know.”
He nods. “Anything to do with my life being in danger?”
“Hm? Oh, right! Yes! Prince Shouto,” she cries. “Your life is in grave danger!”
“Yes, you said that.”
“My amulet’s an occult heirloom,” she continues. A horse nuzzles the Prince’s head. “It glows whenever I have visions of the future. And I had one, just now, of something terrible.”
“Visions of the future,” Iida frowns. “You can use magic?”
“Yeah, we’re clairvoyants on my mother’s side. It skipped a generation.”
“And you’re working in the kitchens?”
“It pays really well!”
“What did you see?” asks Shouto.
“A war. In Yuuei, with the demons. I saw claws. You know, those weapons they like. The sharp gauntlets. You got badly hurt, Prince Shouto. There was blood everywhere. And guts. One of them slashed you across the chest and pulled your heart right out of your—”
“That certainly does sound awful,” says Iida. “But it was just a vision. That hardly means he’s going to drop dead right now.”
Ochako shakes her head. “My visions have never been wrong before. I predicted the battle between King Yagi the Almighty and the demon king when I was a kid. Nobody took me seriously but I turned out to be right. You have to believe me, Prince Shouto. We have to do something. This is a matter of life and death.”
“When will this war be?” asks the prince, getting to his feet. He’s a whole head taller than her. And very handsome, despite the tragic and strategically placed scar over one eye. “This is the first I’m hearing of a war. The demons must be planning to break the peace treaty and take us by surprise. We have to prepare for an ambush.”
“Hang on,” says Iida. “You believe her?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“She’s a chef. How would she know who’s planning a war? And we don’t have any evidence beyond an alleged dream of the future.”
Shouto ignores him. “Come with me to the king, Ochako. You must tell him everything you saw. I’ll vouch for you, don’t worry. I trust you.”
“Why?” says Iida.
The prince takes her by the hand and leads her out of the stable, shaking hay out of his hair as Ochako scrambles to keep up with his long strides and Iida runs behind them. Shouto’s hand is smooth and cool. Soft, like he’s never done a day’s work in his life. She wonders if he moisturises.
They go into the castle proper, through winding corridors and past imposing stone statues. She’s never been here before. Everything is big and exotic and ornate, portraits of past rulers lining the walls. He takes them past the ballroom and towards the royal meeting room, stopping just in front of the gilded double doors. “You’re not strictly supposed to be in here,” the prince says over his shoulder. “But this is urgent. I’m going to take you to see the king.”
“What, just like that?” says Iida. “Don’t we need to make an appointment?”
Prince Shouto throws the doors open dramatically. The minister of education chokes on his water. King Enji, huge and severe at the head of the long wooden table, sits up in his chair. “Shouto! You’re late. Who is this girl?”
“Her name is Ochako,” says the prince, tugging her forward. “A clairvoyant. She’s had a terrible vision of the future and came here to warn us.”
“What about the meeting?” says the finance minister.
King Enji ignores him. His chair scrapes as he stands to inspect Ochako close up. She quails when he stares her down. He’s very intimidating. And handsome, even though he’s supposed to be an orc. “Uhm. Hello, your majesty.”
“Speak, girl,” he booms, crossing his arms in front of him. “Tell the court what it is you saw.”
She repeats her vision to them in detail, including the part of Prince Shouto’s death. They listen with varying degrees of horror, not interrupting until Ochako finishes her tale. “That’s all I saw,” she finishes meekly. “I don’t know when or what caused it. I just know it’ll be bad.”
The king frowns. “And why should I believe you, a mere servant?”
“Finally,” mutters Iida.
“Her grandmother’s magic amulet is proof,” says Prince Shouto. “It glows pink. I saw it.”
“Then that settles it,” says King Enji.
“What?” says Iida. “Forgive me, you majesty, but we don’t have any actual evidence--”
“There’s no arguing with magic,” says the king. “The demons are planning mischief. We must prepare, lest they catch us off guard.”
“But-”
“We must warn King Yagi,” says Prince Shouto. “The battle will happen on his turf. The demons must want to settle the old feud.”
“But they signed a truce!” says Iida.
“There’s no doubt,” says Ochako. “It isn’t just Prince Shouto who’s in danger. The whole of Yuuei is.”
“Alright,” says Iida. “But if the battle’s in Yuuei, can’t Prince Shouto just not go? Wouldn’t that take care of that problem?”
“And leave Yuuei defenseless?” says Shouto. “No way. We’re going to King Yagi’s aid.”
“Okay, but you still don’t even know if Ochako’s vision is true-”
“You will leave at sunrise tomorrow,” says King Enji while Iida sputters. “Ochako, was it?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Ochako says. Her heart swoops when the king puts a large hand on her shoulder, his crown glinting in the afternoon light. “I will go to Yuuei. I will tell the king what I saw.”
“Let me go with her,” says Prince Shouto, coming closer to stand by her side. “I will vouch for her, as the N’devah prince. And Iida will come with me as my formal guard.”
“Surely you could just send a messenger,” says Iida.
“It is decided,” says King Enji. “We will tell King Yagi of the demonic treason. Go with the good witch, my son. Tomorrow we prepare for war.”