The boy stood frozen before the gates to his city. He'd returned from
running an errand in the next town over. The streets looked no different.
They should've been bustling with people, however. The boy couldn't spy a
single person out on the thoroughfare. Shops were empty, as was his own
home.
Wandering the city in search of someone—anyone—the boy eventually
came to the conclusion that the place was completely deserted. He was at a
complete loss. The whole thing felt like some bad dream. Maybe he'd just
found his way into a different city that looked identical to his?
Everything looked familiar; the graffiti on the walls that had been there
for years, the old dolls decorating the storefront windows.
He went back to his house, clinging to the smallest glimmer of hope.
On the kitchen table, his mother had laid out lunch for him.
It smelled like home, and he felt tears well up. The food was still fairly
warm.
He ate, tears pouring down his cheeks, and then ran to the next city over
on weary legs to let them know what had happened.
The extremely gruesome battle of Asdra Plains exceeded almost all
expectations.
All of the ten thousand soldiers Tayiri had were lost, save for the five
hundred or so who deserted. Cuscull ended up losing just under fifty mages.
Such a gruesome outcome forced those neutral countries to reevaluate the
power of magic, as well as the danger that Cuscull posed.
The battle of Asdra was not the only thing to prompt such
reconsiderations, however.
At almost the same time as the battle, one city in each of the Four Great
Nations was attacked.
These assaults were similar to the ones the Tayiri cities suffered: The
buildings were left intact, while only the people vanished. Only big cities
were targeted, and the countries that had considered themselves mere
spectators in the conflict now had to seriously consider the letter Cuscull
had sent.
Oscar, his coronation now only four days away, received a report on the
attacks and grimaced.
Normally, his being made king would be a grand affair with all the
important people from each country in attendance. With the looming crisis,
however, it was set to be a simple event for domestic guests only. Along
with coronation plans and preparations, the royal council was busy
attempting to get a handle on the political situation.
"So how bad was it?" Oscar asked.
Suzuto, standing before Oscar, nervously gave his report on the vanished
city denizens. "Just like the attacks on Tayiri cities, the buildings suffered
no damage. Inside them… Well, it really was as if everyone simply
vanished without a trace. Some restaurants even still had steaming hot
bowls of soup on the tables."
"A very bizarre phenomenon," commented Oscar.
"While I couldn't find any signs of human life, I sometimes…got the
feeling that something was there."
"What kind of feeling?"
"It was like I felt a presence or a sensation. It struck me rather often, but
never did I actually see anyone there."
"…I…see…," Oscar said, dubious. This story got stranger and stranger
the more he heard. He wanted to go and take a look for himself but knew
that'd only upset everyone.
Oscar dismissed Suzuto, then turned to Doan, who had been waiting in a
corner of the study. "What do you think?" Oscar asked.
"To be honest, I have no idea how such a thing could be done," Doan
replied.
"Could it be her doing?"
"I'd say it has to be. Her not being responsible poses its own problem,
because it means there's another mage capable of impossible things."
"I guess that's true. None of the other witches are involved," Oscar
reasoned.
After half a year, he thought he'd witnessed and understood how
exceptional Tinasha was, but the truth was that her power on the battlefield
was beyond anything he could've conceived. If that much was true of
Oscar, who'd gotten to know her, one could only guess how ill prepared
other countries were. Doubtless they were fearing for their lives.
"Ugh. She just doesn't know her limits, and it's making it hard for us,"
groused Oscar.
"Actually, you could say that's just how prepared she's been for this,"
Doan pointed out calmly. He was right. That was why she disappeared from
Farsas.
Oscar sighed. Als, who was also in the room, spoke up. "Cezar has
decided to dispatch troops, but Gandona is still hesitating."
"I see," Oscar said, putting his legs up on his desk and crossing them.
He wet his dry lips with his tongue.
…The answer had been there all along.
Tinasha had only been searching for the right time, and now that time
had come. Oscar huffed, swinging his feet down and standing up.
"Marshal the troops. We ship out after the coronation."
Als and Doan bowed respectfully in response.
Ever since his gorgeous protector disappeared, Oscar had been plagued by a
single lingering thought day after day.
How long has Tinasha been contemplating this exact situation we're in
now?
He was sure she'd figured out who the king of Cuscull was long before
Farsas did.
That was why she got rid of her cat familiar after its job was done, and it
had to have been the reason she'd rushed to break Oscar's curse.
Oscar believed there was a different reason she'd trained him, however.
She probably left him with a choice, so he wouldn't end up like her—
powerless and violated.
Tinasha was an emotional, self-sacrificing, awkward witch. She was
stuck in time forever, but she'd finally chosen to take action. She'd jumped
headfirst into her own fate.
As for the future Tinasha was envisioning… Oscar knew she wasn't
acting to safeguard her own future.
What choice did that leave him with, though?
Oscar pondered that question as he looked down on the city from a
platform along the castle ramparts.
His coronation went off without a hitch, and the people welcomed their
young king with wild, enthusiastic cheers when he was presented to the
public. It was a scene Oscar himself had envisioned often. He'd known
such a day would come ever since he was a boy, and yet he hadn't imagined
it would be nothing more than a simple milestone.
He was probably the only person in history to get cursed by one witch
and then earn the protection of another. Both of those things, however, had
come about as the result of the royal burden he'd carried as long as he could
remember. Much of his own life was out of his hands; the path of a prince
was set before he ever saw it.
That said—choosing Tinasha now was the one thing he did of his own
free will.
Oscar had never imagined a future such as this when he was a child.
That made what happened from this point on all the more important.
The new king waved to the people and returned to the castle. Without a
moment's delay, courtiers and staff clustered around him. As he paced,
Oscar made his way down the hallway, giving orders to Chief Mage Kumu,
Als, and Doan about the following day's march to Tayiri.
"Make sure we can teleport away at any time. Our opponents are all
mages, after all. Plan a way for me alone to be able to get out in the worstcase scenario. I may be able to manage something if I do."
"Very well. Your Majesty shipping out as well is really our last resort,
but…"
"Tayiri isn't holding back, and neither can we. Farsas must use
everything at its disposal to ensure its safety."
Akashia—the Mage Killer. So long as Oscar held that sword, he carried
a powerful advantage over mages. Of course, the bearer needed to be a
skilled swordsman, too, but Tinasha had ensured that with her thorough
technical instruction. Ultimately, Oscar knew he could even slay a witch if
he wanted to.
…He could, but whether he would was another story.
As the group made their way down the hallway, solidifying plans, a boy
popped out of the door to the lounge. He leaped in front of Oscar, waving
his hands wide and shouting. "You're going to kill the witch, right? I wanna
go, too!"
The startling outburst left everyone in silence. As a faint frown crossed
Oscar's face, Suzuto came running up from the other end of the hallway.
"What are you doing? You're speaking to His Majesty!" Suzuto scolded,
pinning the boy's arms behind his back. He bowed to Oscar. "I deeply
apologize, Your Majesty. That was very rude."
"Is this your little brother?"
"No, he's a boy from one of the cities that was attacked… He was away
when the tragedy occurred. He had nowhere to go, so I brought him back
here."
"Ah, I see."
Evidently, while Suzuto had been out on his investigation, he'd found a
boy from a city whose inhabitants had all suddenly vanished and had
brought him to safety in the castle. His arms still pinned behind his back,
the boy piped up, "I heard all about it. The witch killed everyone, right? I
wanna go, too! I'm gonna get revenge!"
"No. Children should be in school," the newly coronated King Oscar
flatly insisted.
The boy didn't back down, however, and escaped from Suzuto's grip to
shout at the king some more. "Then let me borrow your sword! I'll go kill
the witch."
"Listen here…," Oscar started. He grabbed the boy's collar and lifted
him off the ground so that the two were eye level. The boy kicked his legs,
and Oscar fixed him with an astounded glare. "No normal person is a match
for the witch, even if you did have this sword. Got it? If you do, then
behave yourself."
"You're just saying that 'cause you don't wanna kill her! Take me with
you!"
All those around were frowning at the child's wild behavior. Kumu
glared at the boy. "How dare you speak to His Majesty like that…"
"It's fine. Besides, he's saying some funny stuff. I don't want to kill her,
do I? You're absolutely right," Oscar admitted.
"But you're supposed to be the king!" cried the boy.
"Listen up… If a mage or a witch wants to shoot down a city, they'll just
fire a few huge attacks from above without caring about the buildings and
be done with it. Think about how complicated it must have been for her to
make the people vanish but to leave everything else untouched. If you don't
use your head, you won't be able to see them again."
When the king pointed that out, the boy's eyes grew wide and he fell
silent. After thinking for a bit, he spoke up timidly. "My mom's…alive?"
"Probably. I'm going to get the witch to tell me," Oscar said, setting the
boy back down on the floor.
He was wobbling with the faint hope he'd been given, but he was
equally afraid of possible disappointment. Rather accusingly, the boy
inquired, "But what about if they really are dead?"
It was obvious he was afraid to even ask, and Oscar's eyes narrowed.
His handsome face went blank.
He surveyed the boy with the eyes of a king seated on his throne—
someone who bore a long history and a heavy responsibility.
As the irrepressible majesty of a king pressed down on him, the boy
gulped.
Oscar cast his sky-blue eyes down as he spoke.
"If that truly is the case, then I'll kill her."
Oscar's tone sent a chill down Als's spine.
It wasn't a lie. He meant every word.
At midnight as the moon glimmered like a pearl, Pamyra entered her lady's
chambers to find her drawing a long-distance transportation array.
"Lady Aeterna, where are you going?" asked Pamyra.
The woman standing in the middle of the room flinched and turned
around. "Oh, Pamyra. Don't sneak up on me. Also, don't call me that."
"My apologies, Lady Tinasha."
After hearing the revised term of address, Tinasha stuck out her tongue
like a child caught making mischief.
At present, only Pamyra knew of Tinasha's true nature, which ran
completely counter to the personality she assumed when acting as the king's
bride.
Several days after becoming Tinasha's attendant, Pamyra noticed that
the witch seemed to be hiding something. Once they were alone, she
questioned Tinasha mercilessly while pledging her loyalty. After much
pleading and reassurance, she finally seemed to win the witch's trust.
"No matter what happens, I am on your side. If you ever find you cannot
trust me, cut me down where I stand."
When Pamyra first pleaded with her, Tinasha glowered at her in silence.
She was quickly worn down by her attendant's persistence, however.
"All right, all right… To begin with, don't call me Aeterna when it's just
the two of us."
Tinasha had conceded with a faint, exasperated smile, and her demeanor
turned much more calm and polite than it had previously been. Pamyra
supposed this was the witch's true self, and she thrilled to see it.
Now was not the time for exultation, however. While Tinasha's power
was certainly immense, she only had herself and she was exceedingly
isolated in Cuscull. Pamyra wanted someone who the two could trust a little
more and had recently been wondering if Renart would be that person.
Ignoring Pamyra's fretting, Tinasha resumed work on her array. "I'm
heading out for a bit. If someone comes by, cover for me."
"Wait, ah—" Pamyra tried to ask where she was going, but a moment
later the witch vanished from the room without a trace.
"I can't believe this woman!" Pamyra cried, but there was no one to hear
this. The moon hung silent and pallid in the sky.
From the balcony, the moon looked red.
It looks like it's dyed in blood, mused Reust, the crown prince of Tayiri,
quite cynically. His hair was bound up and cast a long shadow down his
back.
Nearly ten thousand soldiers had perished on the Asdra Plains, because
of his own poor judgment. Something bitter was roiling in Reust's stomach
as his eyes remained fixed on the heavens.
Tayiri had a long history of persecuting mages.
Over the past one thousand years, the country had seen more than its
share of blood. Not once had Tayiri's belief that Irityrdia was the one true
god ever been shaken.
World-Splitting Blade and Sleeping Paleface were among the other
names for Irityrdia, who decreed that humans with magic were greedy,
impure, improperly sprouted, and shouldn't have been born. It was said that
those with magic could not keep hold of their minds or bodies in front of
Irityrdia and would go on mad rampages that brought harm to innocents.
The ancient people of Tayiri bore witness to this truth, feared their god, and
shunned mages. It was a tradition that had survived into the modern day.
Many mages had attempted their own uprisings, only to be quelled time and
again by the overwhelming royal army.
When Cuscull declared independence, no one thought it would last long.
Everyone assumed its existence was because the king of Tayiri was too lax.
Reust had felt the same way, and yet the soldiers he had insisted on
sending out were annihilated.
Regretting his underestimation for not having marshaled a larger force,
Reust cursed himself for not taking command himself. It was much too late
for that now, though. In a week, troops from Farsas, Cezar, and Gandona
would arrive at the Tayiri capital. Having criticized his royal father for
calling in reinforcements, Reust secretly still hoped to achieve something
on Tayiri's strength alone before aid could arrive.
"Tomorrow I'll marshal the troops again and command them myself…"
Reust looked up at the sky, bitter determination in his heart. But as he
looked out, the moonlit sky suddenly warped.
"…!"
Reflexively, he drew his sword.
That warping was the sign of a mage appearing after long-distance
teleportation. He'd seen it many times by now, and he was always able to
cut the mage down the instant they appeared. This time, however, it came
from the sky, a place his blade couldn't reach. Reust wished he'd brought
his bow, but it hardly mattered now.
As he grit his teeth in frustration, the warped space widened.
In the next moment—a witch appeared.
He recognized her right away as the witch who had attacked Tayiri's
cities.
She had been so bold as to show herself before striking and announcing
that she was indeed a witch. Her hair and eye color were true to the reports,
but her beauty far exceeded what Reust had imagined.
She was like moonlight given form. It defied all the laws of the heavens,
and he didn't understand why she was blessed with such features. Her long
eyelashes stirred slowly. From beneath them, she flashed a piercing look
down below.
"Prince Reust?" she called in a voice as clear as cold water.
The darkness in her eyes was so deep it felt like Reust could fall forever.
Something about them drew him in.
She was so vivid and striking that Reust thought he might stop
breathing. One glance was all it took to utterly captivate him.
Reust's voice was hoarse, and he couldn't answer right away. After a
span of some moments, he finally eked out a reply. "What do you want,
witch?"
She gave a little nod, floating in midair. The way she spoke suggested
she was choosing her words very carefully. "It's pointless to keep attacking
Cuscull. I'd like you to call off your march."
"Utter shameless nonsense. What's your aim here?"
The witch sighed a little at his outright scorn and hostility, then pointed
one ivory finger at him. "This will all be over in another two weeks. If
possible, I don't want you deploying your reinforcements until then."
"…What did you just say? What does that mean?"
The witch didn't answer. Reust was at a loss as to how to interpret her
words.
Was she just wasting his time, or did she have some other intention?
Floating in the air, the witch gazed back at Reust impassively. Her black
sheer silk dress fluttered in the breeze; she seemed about to disappear any
minute now.
Reust was struck by an odd feeling that the witch wasn't even really
there.
He cleared his dry throat and took a step forward. "If you're asking for
favors, come down from there, pathetic mage."
"Pathetic mage? Don't you people understand that attitude landed you in
the current situation?" the witch asked rhetorically, one side of her mouth
quirking up in a cruel smile.
The sight of it made a jolt of fear and excitement course through Reust.
He had the distinct sense that her white, wholly inhuman hand could cast
him down into unending darkness.
He wondered what to say in reply. Silence was as good as admitting
defeat, so he pasted a sneer on his face. "Mages disrupt our god's world
with their selfish desires. Such power is a sin. Come down. If you do, I'll
listen to you."
Reust didn't think she'd obey his order, but to his surprise, the witch
zipped down swiftly until she was floating at eye level with him, though
still beyond his reach.
Now beholding her at an even height, Reust acknowledged that the
witch had a startlingly petite frame for someone so strangely intimidating.
A wave of light dizziness crashed over Reust as he felt that she'd fit
perfectly in his arms if he were to hold her.
A slightly bitter smile twisted the witch's features. "You're much taller
than I am. You're probably also that much more flexible, too. But wouldn't
you find it ridiculous if I envied you and tried to cast you out just because
of that? Using a god's name to hunt down those who are different only
shows how weak humans are."
Shadows cast by the moon threw into relief a terrible sadness on her
face.
The witch's dark eyes appeared to be floating and bobbing along a sea of
night. Reust wanted to know if he was reflected inside them.
"…You're trying to use words to deceive me. The power that creatures
like you possess is unnatural."
Everyone in the world was different; that much was to be expected.
Mages differed in a more significant way, however. A witch understood that
better than anyone.
Snorting, the witch asked Reust, "Have you ever swung a sword down
on a baby's head?"
"…What?"
"Have you ever burned a mother and her crying baby at the stake?"
"What in the…?"
Reust's throat grew dry. He had an idea what she was trying to say. As
the blood drained from his face, the witch clarified, "Your country
permitted all of that to happen. Not as madness but as routine. I've seen
even more horrifying spectacles. That's the reality of Tayiri."
Reust was speechless. The witch's tone wasn't harsh or scornful at all,
though. She spoke with detached indifference.
"As the crown prince, you surely know your nation's history and about
the governments of other countries. You must realize how unusual Tayiri is.
Three hundred years have passed since the Dark Age, and no other country
is still as relentlessly elitist as your homeland. You should be able to
understand that what you're doing is the same as cutting off your own foot."
A certain ratio of children with magic were born to parents without any
talent for the arcane. Tayiri ostracized those children, regardless of their
circumstances. Those kids had been born in defiance of Irityrdia, after all. It
wasn't worth considering whether it was right or wrong. Put another way, it
was something most were content not to think about… Reust did not have
that option anymore.
The witch tossed back her long black hair. A white light glowed at her
fingertips, then changed into a butterfly that flapped its lovely wings and
disappeared into the dark of the gardens.
That done, the witch's voice took on a remonstrative tone. "No matter
what kind of a mage you are, there are still rules you are bound to follow.
No matter how you struggle, you can't bring people and nations back to
life. That's true of anyone—mages are no exception. You might think magic
users differ from normal people, but the reality is they're nearly identical."
"…A witch's nonsense."
"No matter what I am, there still remains a man who can cut me down
quite easily. Even my power has its limits," said the witch with a smile. For
a moment, she looked almost pleased to know that.
Her smile soon vanished, however, and her face became a stiff mask.
Cold, dark eyes scrutinized Reust. "I've given you my warning. Think it
over."
Abruptly, she opened both arms wide. Reust realized she was preparing
to teleport away and cried out reflexively, "If you want me to halt the
reinforcements, come ask again tomorrow! Come to me! If you don't, I
won't do as you ask!"
He received no answer.
Without an incantation, the witch created a magical array and vanished.
No trace of the woman remained as the wind whistled past.
Left in the shadow of the witch who had so enthralled his soul, Reust
spent a while refusing to budge from the balcony.
At long last, he returned to his room, bereft of the desire to marshal his
army the next day.
When he first met her, she was just a baby sleeping in her crib.
Her skin was as white as snow and soft to the touch. He remembered
thinking that her eyelashes were incredibly long.
It was the baby taken from her home to be his royal bride. It took several
years before Lanak realized what all the sealing ornaments on her ears and
fingers meant. By that point, she'd grown into a frighteningly beautiful
young girl—and the strangeness of her talent was beginning to become
apparent to all who met her.
He'd always thought of her as a girl he ought to protect, until their paths
diverged.
"…The Allied Forces of the Four Great Nations? How very ostentatious,"
the king of Cuscull commented lightly, as if this didn't concern him in the
slightest.
Sprawled on his throne, Lanak examined the ceiling languidly. The
empty throne room had no furnishings. The Cuscull palace was splendidly
crafted, but it was lacking in a certain sense of history that other countries
had.
The same was true of its monarch. His face devoid of fear or anger,
Lanak complained, "They struggle pointlessly. Everything will settle where
it's supposed to be in time."
"Your Majesty. As ordered, we've completed all corresponding
preparations," reported a mage kneeling before the throne. Lanak pointed at
the deserted hall. At once, blue lines drew up a floating map of the
mainland. The other mages fell silent as they scrutinized it.
There were five glowing lights on the map. Each was connected to the
others by glowing lines, which branched out into even more lines that
spanned the entire continent.
It was a wondrous sight, and Lanak broke into a smile. "This shall be
our new country."
Upon hearing the king's words, the mages gazed at the map with
longing.
Most people could tell that the intricate lines overlaying the map were a
magic spell. Once they did, they shuddered at the scale of it. No spell
spanning the entire mainland had ever been attempted before. The proposal
of such a thing would only earn the one who thought it up a chorus of
laughter.
Lanak trusted himself to be the only one capable of bringing such an
impossible feat into the realm of reality. Once it was done, the lives of all
would change overnight. He regarded his spell map with great satisfaction.
"This will erase all suffering and create a world far more suitable to live
in."
The mages gazed at their king reverently, overcome with emotion. One
brought up a hesitant objection, however.
"B-but is such a spell really possible…?"
"It's all right. We have Aeti," the king replied.
Just then, the door to the throne room opened and the black-clad witch
entered.
Her looks were so stunning, it was like she'd walked out of a painting.
After realizing she'd attracted everyone's attention, she lifted her long
eyelashes and bobbed her head in a light bow. As expressionless as a doll,
she asked the king, "What's going on, Lanak?"
"I was just talking about you. Will you help me transform our land?"
"Help you? Of course," she answered breezily, then crossed the room
with perfect composure and sat down on a couch that lined the wall. It was
a usual spot for her and was located only a dozen paces from the throne.
Leaning against the armrest, she began to read a book.
Lanak gazed at her calmly. "No matter how complicated and large a
spell is, it must still abide by the basic laws. As long as you have enough
magic, all you have to do is cast each spell one by one. Isn't that right,
Aeti? I taught you that a long time ago."
"Yes, because you were instructed on that principle long before I was,"
she said with a smile, not looking up from her book.
The two had been raised in the same castle, both as potential rulers.
While that had been four centuries ago, to Lanak it may as well have
happened yesterday. Unlike the witch, who was very much aware of
everything that'd happened in the intervening time, Lanak had spent much
of the last four hundred years in a magically induced stasis. He was spelled
to sleep while he enjoyed a light, all-but-eternal dream.
At times, Lanak could sense the witch's familiar nearby but was unable
to react. The powerful magic needed to fuel the stasis spell had left his body
half-broken from the recoil.
Despite that, he had seemingly returned whole. The long sleep had made
his memories and thoughts hazy, but he hadn't forgotten what was most
important.
Protecting her. That was his role, and it hadn't changed since he was a
child.
"You were such an obedient, good student that the tutors always praised
you. During breaks, all you did was follow me around, but you learned
everything I taught you right away…"
Aeti was five years younger than Lanak. In the early days, she was little
more than a child clinging to him, but her talent had been undeniable even
then.
It was more than just natural ability, though. She also put in fierce effort
but so did Lanak.
"You were very clever. In just a few years, the tutors no longer had
anything to teach you…"
By the time she was ten, she'd surpassed all her instructors. Her many
tutors all withdrew voluntarily, and she was left in solitude. Lanak was the
only one in the entire castle who dared to reach out to her.
"But compared with me, you were always so much more…"
The light in Lanak's eyes dimmed. His gaze was hollow as he looked at
the witch who had once been a potential ruler of the empire, just as he had
been.
Tinasha was the first to notice the shift in Lanak, and she watched him
intently.
As if poised to take action at any time, as if making sure of something…
The other mages stood petrified by the look in her eyes. Her voice alone
was gentle as she asked, "Lanak? What's wrong? Did you remember
something?"
When he heard her voice, Lanak blinked slowly. At some point, his
temples and hands had begun to sweat.
A lingering chill ran through his body, as if he'd stumbled across
something deeply unpleasant, and he took deep breaths to calm himself.
"It's no good. It's like I'm still in the dream," he admitted.
"It wasn't a dream," Tinasha urged.
"I know."
Lanak's home country had been destroyed. Four hundred years later, he
built a new one. That much was real.
From time to time, however, he had the oddest sensation that he was
forgetting something. It was some sort of lingering emotion he hadn't quite
parsed.
Lanak asked the girl who was once so small, "Aeti, are you upset?"
"About what?" Tinasha said, her gaze back on her book. Long black
locks swept over the floor, and she looked just like a blooming flower. This
witch truly captivated all who looked upon her. She was all grown up now,
and Lanak felt both pleased and somewhat lonely to see her as she was now.
Gazing at her, Lanak waved his hand lightly. Upon seeing his dismissive
gesture, the other mages cleared out immediately. Once they were alone,
Lanak started again. "About what happened four hundred years ago. On the
last night we were together."
It was a subject neither had broached since their reunion. Tinasha was a
little surprised to hear him bring it up. With a panther's fluid grace, she
slowly sat up and looked at him. "Why now, after all this time? I thought
you'd forgotten."
"I'll never forget."
Even though most of his memories were a fuzzy jumble, that night was
something he'd never forget. The shock and fear on her face when he'd cut
into her stomach were seared into his mind. Screams, sobs, and pitiful begs
echoed in his ears.
On the other hand, however, Lanak couldn't recall how it had felt to
look down on her then. It was all faint, worn away by the long sleep, and he
couldn't get that part of the memory back.
"I thought you might be upset. I've been wondering."
"I'm not upset," Tinasha answered curtly, as if to say that was the end of
the conversation. She resumed her reading.
That was a clear rejection. Lanak had no choice but to change the
subject. "Do you think if we suppress them with huge amounts of power,
the fighting will end?"
"I think it will, but it won't get at the root of the problem," she replied.
"But we might be able to save the people who are unhappy now," Lanak
countered.
"Mm-hmm," Tinasha answered.
Unable to order his thoughts very well, Lanak pressed his fingers to his
temples. The man had the faintest sense that his memories and personality
were snapping apart, perhaps because he'd slept for too long. Holding
himself together as he felt like he was going to fly to pieces, he gazed at his
bride-to-be. She was the most powerful person on the continent.
"Once you became a witch, did you not want to do something like that
yourself?" Lanak inquired.
"I didn't. That would just be self-righteous," answered Tinasha.
"Even if that meant someone died?"
"Everyone dies eventually. If I interfered in the world and prevented
something from happening, it might end up killing human thought."
What Tinasha said smacked of a policy of everlasting total
noninterference, and it sounded cruel. Such was the road she had chosen,
however. Lanak, who only knew how kind and sweet she was to everything
and everyone, felt a little lonely again.
"Is what I'm trying to do also self-righteous?" he asked.
"Yes."
"That's cold."
"Then you shouldn't have asked." Tinasha laughed, and then her face
turned serious. "But because you summoned me, I was able to interfere in
the conflict between Tayiri and the mages a little."
"Aeti."
"So thank you. I mean it," Tinasha concluded, a smile on her face. If this
was her real smile, then what wasn't real?
Lanak broke into a smile, too. "If it made you happy, I'm glad."
Breaking a cycle of tragedy required action. And the time for it is now,
Lanak reminded himself. Heaving a huge sigh, he turned his gaze up to the
ceiling.
"You don't need to worry about a thing. I'll protect you."
Even if the whole world shunned and feared Tinasha for being a witch,
he would be on her side. If he didn't do that, then she would be all alone,
just like when she was a little girl.
Lanak repeated his vow as though a command to himself. "I'll protect
you, Aeti."
Perhaps that sentiment was the one thing that hadn't faded from Lanak's
mind after four hundred years.
Tinasha was no longer a little girl, but things were still the same.
Aeterna would forever be a weak and helpless person who existed for him.
"I'm going to sleep for a bit," Lanak declared. He then retired to his
chambers.
Tinasha departed from the throne room shortly afterward.
As soon as she reached the corridor, she was joined by her guard,
Renart.
He looked concerned. "The king seemed a little…"
"He's fine. I don't think he's awakened from his dream yet."
"His dream?"
Among those in the castle, Renart and Pamyra were the only two mages
assigned to serve Tinasha. They had won her trust and had a rough idea of
what happened to her in the past. It was because of that knowledge that
Renart had come to the throne room fearing the king had done something to
hurt Tinasha, but the witch quickly brushed that concern aside.
"Renart, do you know why the witches of this land are all women?"
"What? Er… Is it not because they're witches, not wizards?" he asked,
anticipating that she was setting up a pun of some sort, but Tinasha laughed
and shook her head.
"You're quite a strong mage yourself, but the truth of the matter is that
men's bodies are unstable in terms of magical power. It's difficult for them
to survive for long periods of time with vast amounts of magic. A normal
life span is not long enough for negative effects to manifest, but hundreds of
years will take their toll on a man's mind or body. It causes a breakdown.
That's why there are no men among witches. To come as far as we have
would mean self-destruction for them."
Tinasha said such frightening things so flippantly. Renart attempted a
smile but found himself unable to muster one.
"Which means the king is…" He trailed off.
"His mental faculties have deteriorated. While he used a magical sleep,
he still suffered quite a bit. His mind comes and goes, but it's all focused
around his mental state when he was fifteen. He's very unstable. That's why
he's being so sweet to me. To him, I will forever be the powerless child I
was back then."
A self-deprecating expression crossed Tinasha's face. Renart frowned at
the sight of it.
The witch only ever spoke of her past with a glibness to her tone.
Even that told him something, though. Namely that a long time ago,
Tinasha adored Lanak as if he really was her family. Now that her big
brother was back, as kind as he ever was, Renart wondered what Tinasha
was thinking. While he was worried, he found himself incapable of
discerning even some small part of the witch's true intentions. Deciding on
another course of action, Renart asked about something else. "Is what the
king said really possible? A spell that spans our entire land…"
"It is, if we use my magic," Tinasha replied. She answered so matter-offactly that it left Renart stunned. With a hand, the witch flipped her long,
braided hair back. "We're talking about using magic to completely control
the continent. People in the past may have conceived of this, but none saw
it successfully realized. In terms of sheer ability, the first king of Tuldarr
should have had the power to do it. He was the only one who had all twenty
spirits at his beck and call, after all. But spell casting at that time was much
more difficult than it is now. That may have been what prevented him.
Spell-casting research didn't know many advancements until the time of the
fourth regent."
"Ah, er, Lady Tinasha—" Renart cut in. If he let her continue
unchecked, she'd go off on a tangent about the history of Tuldarr.
She realized what he meant and gave a little cough. "It's possible; but if
we do it, it will irreparably alter the mainland. Smaller countries might
collapse, and it would mean all-out war with the Four Great Nations. Lanak
would never stand for that, though. Depending on how things go, we could
see a death toll that exceeds the Dark Age."
"You mean…"
This was definitely an unprecedented state of affairs. Renart shuddered
to realize he was standing at a turning point in history.
The witch remained unperturbed, however. Evidently remembering
something, Tinasha suddenly changed the topic. "Oh yes, how are you
coming along with what I asked you to do?"
"I'll have the forty obsidian stones for you by today. Tomorrow at the
latest."
The witch had asked him to find stones of a deep color possessed of as
few imperfections as possible.
Tinasha nodded. "Just to be safe, you should make yourself your own
defensive array, too."
Renart inclined his head in silence. While he wasn't a suicidal man, he
felt he should give priority to his lady, not himself. Despite the fact that
he'd so brazenly thrust his vow of loyalty on her, she'd smiled and accepted
it. Renart intended to repay Tinasha no matter what it took.
"Now what could you two be discussing?" wondered a new voice that
slithered from behind the shadow of a pillar.
It was an oily, clinging sort of sound. As its owner emerged, Renart
scowled without realizing it. There stood Chief Mage Bardalos. The king
had forbidden people in the castle from having excessive contact with
Tinasha, but Bardalos took every opportunity to engage with her.
For someone like him with such a bloody past, the fact that Tinasha had
such immense magical power residing in such a slender body caught his
attention and incited a sadistic interest. He made no attempt to hide his
desire, and Tinasha stared him down with eyes as cold as ice.
"I'm thinking of making a necklace. I asked him to gather some stones,"
she stated, inclining her head back at the foul man.
Bardalos's lips curved up in a smirk. "A necklace, eh…? Yes, obsidian
would look very nice against your hair and eyes. But shouldn't a bride wear
a different color? Like pearly white…or garnet red?"
"I'm not sure about red for a bride," the witch replied, trying to pass by
Bardalos. He stepped squarely in her path so as to bar her way, however.
His already narrow eyes clamped down even further, giving him the
countenance of a hungry reptile.
"I think red would look wonderful on you. It'll match the color of your
blood. I'm really very interested in knowing just how beautiful those organs
hiding inside that lovely body of yours are."
"Go ask Lanak," Tinasha spat scathingly.
Even Renart didn't quite understand what that meant. He glanced at her,
but she appeared as cool and unaffected as always.
"Get out of the way," ordered the witch. "Or if you're a baby who can't
walk on his own, perhaps I'll move you myself."
A gleeful smile spreading on his face, Bardalos took a step back and
cleared the way. Sensing that something was off about that, Renart shielded
his lady with his body as they passed by.
After the defeat at the Asdra Plains, Tayiri ultimately decided to hold off on
sending reinforcements to Cuscull. At Prince Reust's orders, the troops
were assembled but detained in the capital.
Additionally, armies from the other major powers that had heeded
Tayiri's call began to arrive.
For four days, Oscar had joined war conferences in Tayiri's castle, and
he was quickly growing fed up. He had suffered through many meetings,
and not a single one had resulted in dispatch orders. Prince Reust was the
biggest obstacle. Despite holding primary military authority, he merely
parroted the words "We need to act carefully." Oscar was close to the end of
his rope and wanted to point out that it was Tayiri who asked for help
fighting in the first place.
As if that weren't bad enough, Reust's younger sister, Cecelia, followed
Oscar around every day, testing the limits of his self-control. Finally, he
turned an exasperated look on the gorgeous princess and asked, "What do
you think you're doing here?"
"Am I not allowed to say it's because I wanted to see you?" she replied
with a sweet smile. Looking at her was enough to give Oscar a headache.
His mind full of cynical thoughts, he stared back at the young woman.
The two were in his guest suite in Tayiri Castle. It was a little after
sunset, and the sky had darkened to match the deep blue shade of Oscar's
eyes. Later, I am going to lecture the hell out of whoever let this woman into
my room, thought Oscar as he bit back a sigh.
His obvious annoyance must have shown in his attitude, because Cecelia
arched an eyebrow, got to her feet, and sauntered over to him. Leaning
against the armrest, she moved her poisonous red lips to whisper in his ear,
"Don't make that face. When you act so cold to me, it gives me certain
thoughts."
"Oh? Like what?"
"That mage woman who followed you around in Farsas—that was the
Witch of the Azure Moon, wasn't it? It could be quite damaging to your
position if I was to make that known," she breathed. The look in her eyes
was challenging, and Oscar pasted on a smile in return.
He'd known someone was liable to deduce that eventually, but how had
Cecelia managed it? The eyewitness report Tayiri had received spoke only
of a beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes. Women of Tinasha's exact
coloring were rare, but it wasn't as if they didn't exist. A single onlooker's
testimony wasn't enough to go on.
"So? Feeling a bit differently now?" Cecelia purred. She peered at Oscar
while gleefully enjoying her advantage. Looping her arms around his neck,
Cecelia snuggled close to him. Her perfume was cloyingly sweet. Oscar
tipped up her chin and drew closer. Then he pressed his lips to hers.
It was not a short kiss, and it was soul melting in its intensity.
Intoxicated with her victory, Cecelia drank of it deeply. After a while, Oscar
pulled back to murmur in her ear, his low voice reverberating through her
body. "Why do you think that? It could have been someone who looks like
her."
"You won't be able to weasel your way out that easily… I saw her
myself. There's no way I'm mistaken."
Oscar trailed his fingers along Cecelia's white neck. He could feel her
blood pumping under her soft skin.
"Where? I don't believe you," he said.
At that, she let out a shrill laugh. "Do you truly desire that enchantress
that much? She's a witch, so I suppose she uses magic to make men into her
slaves. She visits my brother every night, you know. What a trollop she is. I
don't think she even knows I'm watching."
"…What?"
Oscar almost crushed Cecelia's windpipe in his hands. Restraining
himself just before he did, he pushed her off and got to his feet. Cecelia was
left in a daze, and he grabbed her chin and forced it upward. He stared
down at her, no trace of sweetness in his gaze at all.
"Tell me where Prince Reust's room is," Oscar demanded in a tone that
was not to be disobeyed.
Reust had asked the witch to come back the next day, but in truth he hadn't
actually expected that she would.
Against all expectations, however, she did indeed return the following
night and the one after. She floated beneath the moon, seemingly just out of
reach.
Each time she visited, she explained to Reust how foolish it was to
discriminate against others. Sometimes she used roundabout comparisons,
while other times she was more direct and brought home how truly hurtful
it was. Not once did she look down on Reust or plead with him. Her voice
remained ever calm and plain. The witch never remained too long, either.
When she was finished answering his questions, she vanished.
Reust never wanted their time to end, though. Each night he would
insist, "If you don't come tomorrow, I'll send out the troops."
How much better would it have been if he could have said, I want to see
you again; I want to talk with you? Unfortunately, the woman he longed to
see was a despicable mage of an enemy country. Saying such a thing was
tantamount to betraying the history of Tayiri. Reust absolutely refused to
cross that line, even if he'd been the one to set it for himself.
Despite that, even Reust himself could tell he was wavering. He didn't
know if it was because of her or because of what she told him, but as their
conversations continued, he began to falter in his belief that mages needed
to be killed.
Only three days remained before the two-week grace period the witch
had set ended.
If he could hold off his troops until then, something would surely
change.
Reust went out onto his balcony and looked up at the night sky. Just
then, someone knocked on his door.
"Reust… It's me," came Cecelia's voice. While he was suspicious of
why she was visiting him so late, he went back inside and unlocked the
door.
He tensed in shock.
Behind his pale-faced sister stood the young king of Farsas, sword in
hand. A tiny red dragon was perched on his shoulder.
With effort, Reust squeaked out the words, "…What do you want…?"
"Was it not your country who asked that we slay the witch?"
There was a provocative look in Oscar's eyes. Reust gleaned the man's
meaning, and his whole body froze. He stood there petrified, and Oscar
slipped past him into the room. He went right for the balcony, and Reust
chased after him in a panic. Sensing that Oscar's attention was no longer on
her, Cecelia beat a hasty retreat.
"Stop! What is the meaning of this?" Reust shouted at the intruder on his
balcony.
"Play dumb, and this is only going to make you look bad," Oscar replied
indifferently, drawing Akashia. The blade caught the moonlight and
glittered an argent shade. A sword that killed mages. Tayiri could not have
wished to own a finer weapon.
In that moment, Reust regarded that blade as the most accursed thing he
had ever seen. Everything inside him screamed not to let the witch face her
natural enemy. How was he to warn her, though?
While Reust was thrown into confusion, Oscar stared up at the sky. The
air beneath the moon began to twist and warp.
"Don't come over here!" Reust yelled up at the sky.
Oscar opened his mouth to cry the witch's name.
However, the woman with dark blond hair who appeared was one
neither recognized.
"I wondered where you were going every night. Is that really what you
were doing?!"
"Yes…"
Pamyra was appalled, while the witch looked disillusioned. Tinasha
leaned against the back of her chair and grumbled replies to the woman
hurling a litany of questions at her.
"He doesn't seem that stupid. but he has some comprehension
problems… He always says, 'I don't understand, so come back tomorrow.'
It's proving entirely too difficult to change his beliefs. I give up."
Pamyra watched Tinasha stretch as she voiced several complaints. A
wave of heavy exhaustion crashed over her, and she let out a sigh. "You
don't have to listen to him, you know. You're too easily swayed by
pressure."
"I'm sorry…," Tinasha said, hanging her head guiltily. She picked up
one of the obsidian stones laid out on the table. Next to her, Renart was
polishing them as he shook his head in disbelief.
Pamyra planted both hands on her hips in a show of indignation. As
soon as Tinasha told her the whole story, she knew that the crown prince of
Tayiri had fallen for the witch. The only one who hadn't realized that
appeared to be the witch herself. Pamyra wanted to tell the prince off for
daring to request continued meetings Tinasha. The witch was a busy
woman. She didn't have time for fools.
"But if I can soften his attitude, I'm sure it'll help those mages of the
future." Tinasha mumbled as she turned over a piece of obsidian. "Mages
can be born of non-magical parents. There will be no end to tragedy unless
Tayiri changes its ways." She lamented the situation even as she sighed.
Pamyra and Renart grasped their lady's intent and felt heat rise to their
chests.
If mages were born only to magical parents, Tayiri's history of
oppression would have ended a long time ago. All magic-using families
could have left the nation, and Tayiri would be free of magic.
The trouble was, magical aptitude wasn't determined purely by blood.
About half of those children born with magic ended up hurting themselves
or their surroundings if they didn't learn how to control their powers. The
seeds of tragedy could be sown anywhere in the world.
A faint smile on her face, Pamyra faced her lady with a gentle
expression. "In any case, tonight you should focus on creating magic
implements. We don't have much time left, so I will go to the Tayiri prince
and put an end to this. Tell me the transportation coordinates."
"Put an end to what…?"
"...…"
While baffled at just how clueless her lady could be, Pamyra succeeded
in obtaining the necessary information for the teleport. Tinasha watched
Pamyra with concern as she drew the array. "If something happens to you, I
will come."
"You don't need to worry. Renart! Please keep a close eye on Lady
Tinasha!"
"I would've done so anyway," he answered.
With that, Pamyra transported herself to Tayiri's royal castle. After
appearing aloft in the night sky, she peered down and spied a castle, its
gardens, and the crown prince's balcony.
Two men stood on it—and one of them was holding a sword Pamyra had
seen in books.
"The royal sword of Akashia…the Mage Killer…"
What strange string of events had led the wielder of such a deadly
weapon here?
Pamyra didn't have to ponder the answer.
"You plotted this!" she cried. Her head flushed with heated anger, and
she threw her hands out in front of herself.
A powerful light bloomed before her palms and quickly began to spread.
The woman who'd teleported in had immediately recognized Akashia and
was filled with rage. A white glow burst forth from her hands.
Clicking his tongue in irritation, Oscar swung his sword once and
dispelled the magic. "Nark! Capture her!" he commanded the dragon on his
shoulder.
Heeding the royal decree, the little scaly thing immediately began to
grow larger. Mid-flight it expanded to the size of a small house, raking its
sharp talons at the woman. Staggering in the sky, the woman threw up a
short incantation to protect herself. At the same time, Oscar flung a dagger
at her legs.
The hurled knife was one of Oscar's usual maneuvers against mages
who floated in the air. Its aim wasn't to cause heavy injury. All it had to do
was interrupt the woman's concentration. Most magic users weren't able to
stay aloft after their focus was interrupted.
To Oscar's surprise, the blond woman countered that upset with another
spell. Clearly this was a fairly capable mage.
Nark seized upon its opportunity in that instant and battered her with
one of its giant wings.
"Ngh, ahhh!" Although the woman shrieked in pain, she remained
hovering. The dragon circled around to claw at her again. Just before its
talons caught flesh, there came another rippling and twisting of air.
The next moment…a new woman appeared in the sky.
Throwing up a defensive wall to repel the dragon's talons, she let out a
cry of surprise. "Nark?!"
Her jet-black locks rippled in the evening breeze. Her slender body
glowed a pearl-white shade in the moonlight.
Slowly, she turned to look at the balcony. Her eyes clearly fixed on one
of the men there.
Looking thunderstruck, she spoke his name.
"Oscar…"
"Come here," he insisted irritably, reaching out to her.
At the offer of his hand, Tinasha froze in midair.
She knew he was staying at Tayiri Castle but hadn't expect to encounter
him. Some small part of her had been anticipating that they'd run into each
other like this, though.
Stupefied, she stared at the man she'd once shared a contract with.
His blue eyes had the power to arrest her. Entirely effortlessly, all her
memories of when she'd smiled and laughed in his arms came rushing back.
It hadn't been that long ago, but it all felt incredibly nostalgic now.
Tinasha's lips quivered. If nothing had happened, she might have taken
his hand.
Before she ever had the chance, another voice broke her trance.
"Run! Now!"
Reust unsheathed his sword and slashed at Oscar, who parried it easily
with Akashia. Tinasha remained unmoving. Pamyra hurriedly grabbed her
lady's shoulder and declared, "Lady Tinasha, we must go!"
Pamyra looked up at the sky, and a transportation array floated up. It
was a gate meant to transport multiple people. Renart's head popped out
from the complex magic pattern.
"I can't hold it for long! Please hurry!" he urged.
Pamyra seized Tinasha and ascended with her. Nark was confused by the
appearance of its former owner and looked to Oscar for new orders. After
knocking Reust's sword out of his hands, Oscar shouted, "Tinasha!"
In the last moments before Pamyra and Renart pulled the witch into the
array and out of sight, she threw Oscar a terribly anxious look.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Oscar stared at the now-empty spot in
the sky where the mages had vanished.
That was his one chance…and he'd missed it.
He needed to get her back. If he had her, everything else would work
out. He'd talk to her, and they could come up with a compromise.
Unforeseen interference had sent Oscar back to square one, however.
Tamping down the irritation burning him up from the inside, Oscar put
Akashia back in its sheath.
Nark had miniaturized, and Oscar patted it on the head to thank it for a
job well done. Then he glared at Reust. "Why don't you explain what's
been going on?"
Reust licked his dry lips.
The moon was red.
A day of reckoning had come as silently as any other.
"Lady Tinasha, are you hurt?" Pamyra asked, looking Tinasha over with
concern once they teleported back to the witch's room in Cuscull.
All the blood had drained from the witch's face, and she stared blankly
at Pamyra and Renart. After a while, she answered, "I'm fine, but what
about you?"
"The dragon's wing just bumped against me a little. Please don't worry
about it."
The witch heard that and sagged to the floor in exhaustion.
Renart rushed to kneel in front of Pamyra. "Are you really okay? You
don't feel unwell?"
"No, I'm fine… It was just a bit of a shock. That's all," assured Pamyra.
Frowning, Renart asked his lady, "You know the swordsman of
Akashia?"
Tinasha gave a little jolt at that. Some unnamed emotion welled up in
her dark eyes.
"That's my… He's a man I once signed a contract with. I trained him so
he'd be…able to kill me."
There was something Tinasha wanted to leave in this world, for the
history that was yet to come.
Oscar had given that to her. He was the king who would build a new era.
The witch said nothing more. She closed her eyes and similarly shut out
the feeling building within her.
The next day, the Allied Forces began their march to Cuscull.