Chapter 20

Now But a Distant Dream—B -la chanteuse- This is a story from a little while ago. When one girl was still very young, just after she was born. On the outskirts of Island No. 94, in a deep and dark forest, the girl stood before a mossy stone monument, crying, Waaah, waaah. Her loud cries echoed throughout the forest as she continued her tempest of tears. She was sad. She had no idea why, but a profound sense of loss continued to bubble from deep within her heart, and it didn’t stop. “Wow, that’s loud!” One faerie soldier, who had just finished a fight nearby, plugged her ears as she spoke with a smile. “The feelings from her past life are really influencing her! This child must be pure!” The other faerie soldier also plugged her ears to answer. “You mean she’s simple and easily swayed?!” “You could say that!” The two exchanged glances and approached the girl. They stooped down to the girl’s eye level and spoke to her softly. “Good evening. How are you feeling?” Waaah. “…She’s not listening.” “She probably can’t hear, geez.” “This is what you’re supposed to do in times like these!” one of the faerie soldiers announced as she grabbed the girl and forced her into a hug. Children needed to breathe in order to bawl. So when their faces were pushed into someone’s chest, they couldn’t breathe very well. The girl stopped crying quickly, began to flail her arms and legs about, then suddenly stopped. “Good, that’s settled.” “…Are you sure she’s not dead?” “She was just tired and fell asleep. Look.” They both strained their ears to hear again, and they heard soft snoring—it was almost impossible to think how loudly she had been bawling only moments earlier. The wind swept through, rustling the trees. “—Welcome, little one, to a world frantic about the end but yet one without salvation. I welcome you.” “It doesn’t sound like you’re welcoming her.” “It’s fiiine. It’s a predecessor’s obligation and right to teach children about reality.” “You’re terrible.” “I sure am.” As they chatted, the two faeries both peered at the snoozing girl’s face. “I wonder what kind of dreams she’s having?” said one faerie, poking the girl’s chubby cheek. “Who knows. Well, I mean, she’s the only one who knows.” “Oh. That was a little smile just now. Is it a good dream?” “I sure hope so.” It had been two weeks since the faerie warehouse received the message. Some wailed, some seemed calm on the surface, some reeled, some looked on blankly, some disappeared to hunt bears— It took two weeks for everyone to sort out their feelings. “Aaargh!” The sun was close to setting over the playing field at the faerie warehouse. Tiat Siba Ignareo gave a confident cheer as she ran laps by herself around the field. “You can push yourself, but it won’t really give you a better time.” She didn’t even look back when Ithea sighed at her, concentrating on nothing but running forward, pushing her steps one in front of the other. Clinging to her chest was a silver brooch, which was still a little too big for her. “She sure is working hard.” Nygglatho approached them, and Ithea turned her head only slightly toward her. “It also feels like she’s a little too enthusiastic, though.” After the incident, Nygglatho had given herself a drastic haircut. The little ones pestered her as to why, and all she gave was the vague answer of “Just a little change of mood,” but that of course wasn’t the reason. She had sent all her cut hair off with the wind from the port, scattering it to the surface. In the old troll custom, two people taking part of the other’s flesh was a ceremony that tied them together forever. “She hasn’t accepted yet that Chtholly’s never coming back. ’S why she’s desperate to make herself as close to her as possible.” “That brings back memories. Chtholly was like that once.” Nygglatho made a fragile smile. “The sadness of losing an older-sister figure became her spring, and she became incredibly strong.” “And thus the world keeps turning, huh,” Ithea said carelessly, throwing herself backward onto the ground. “Nopht and the others are out of the hospital next week, right? Should we throw a welcome back party?” “Yes. I know we’re still sad about the girls who couldn’t come home, but we should be happy to welcome back the ones who did.” “Man, you’re so grown-up…” Ithea kicked her feet and stared at the distant sky above her. “…I guess it’s about time for me to learn from you, huh?” There was a faint glint in her eyes as she murmured to herself. “I just doooooon’t get it.” Nopht grumbled, sitting with her feet apart on the white sheets and resting her chin on her knees. Nopht and Rhantolk, who survived the battle on the surface, had both been thrown into another island’s clinic by the airship crew members, their entire bodies injured and their life forces depleted as a result of venenum overuse. They spent several days on the brink of death. It was only very recently that they could finally sit up and talk. “What the hell did she mean, ‘I have always been happy’? Did she think that would make me understand her? Hooray, she scattered to the wind beautifully, and we lived happily ever after? Nothing about this is happy at all, damn it!” “Nopht, be quiet,” Rhantolk said coolly, flipping through a local newspaper. “Happiness is something that only the person in question can see, something only they can understand. Only fools and selfish individuals try to decide or deny what that is for them.” “Well, sorry for being a fool,” Nopht raged. “…But I understand…” …From time to time, it is the foolish and the selfish who make others happy and find happiness themselves. But Rhantolk didn’t finish her sentence and just closed her eyes. Rhantolk hadn’t liked Chtholly very much. But that didn’t mean she hated her all that much, either. And that’s why she thought: At the very end, if Chtholly really was as happy as she’d declared, then maybe that was the best ending she could have hoped for. The winter sky extended for eternity. The stars began to twinkle silently, replacing the light of the setting sun and the lost cerulean sky. —Or maybe this was the end of just one story. It was someone’s dream world. Full of phantasms, a world that couldn’t possibly be real. A nostalgic scent tickled his nose. Bread with nuts in it. Scrambled eggs. Crispy salad. Freshly squeezed oranges. It was the smell of morning—what else could it be? It was the scent of the beginning of the day, one so familiar to him he felt no longing for it. “Mm…” He stirred briefly. “Oh, are you finally up?” He could hear the faint sound of slippers slapping against the floor. He knew the sound of these footsteps so well. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He could see the faded plaster on the ceiling. “This is—” It looked a lot like somewhere he once knew. It was very similar to a place he once wanted to go home to. Joy welled up deep inside his heart. But something inside those depths strongly rejected the joy. This couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. “Almaria.” “Hmm?” He called her name, and he received a response. The inside of his mind still felt murky. “Was I asleep?” “You seemed to be having a tough time of it. Nightmares?” Small presences began to make themselves known throughout the building. The smell of morning struck equally each and every one who lived in the orphanage. Soon, one after the other, the children would leave their rooms and come down the stairs to show themselves. Had he been dreaming? Could it be? It was an incredibly realistic dream if it was. In his dream, he found himself on the brink of death countless times. He lost so much, gained so much, then lost it all again. He was so sad that the tears wouldn’t come. But he was also so happy to the point that he couldn’t manage a smile. Despite how vivid dreams could be, in the end, they were nothing but dreams. He would always wake up from them. They would melt in the morning light and be forgotten. He knew that his memory of it, of something so precious to him, would soon sink into a deep place in his heart, and he would never remember it again. You’re fine with that, right? someone deep in his heart whispered to him. Forget everything. “—I could never.” He waved away the invitation with his still-murky reasoning. He should wash his face to make himself feel alert. Good idea. He sat up from the couch. A small girl rolled off his stomach. “…Ow.” A girl with ashen-colored hair sat up as she complained disinterestedly. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. “Huh? Where is this? Why am I…?” Willem knew this girl. He recognized her. He remembered her. It was Nephren Ruq Insania. A leprechaun. She lived at the faerie warehouse. She was one of the protectors of Regule Aire. “……Oh—” Off came the lid. Once he remembered one thing, the rest came quickly. Like a forceful pull on a string, he saw images replay in his mind, one after the other. Conscious of his own deep confusion, Willem called to her: “Nephren…?” It was five hundred years too early to find this girl on the surface. He called the name of the girl who should not have been there. He would have noticed right away had he been a little more levelheaded. He would have noticed the small chunk of metal emitting a soft light sitting on top of his rapidly beating heart. That was the language comprehension talisman. It was an ancient (?) treasure, one that conveyed someone’s very intentions through language. Once it was activated, one did not need to kindle any more venenum. Regardless of the user’s intentions, it would convert all words directed to the user. It once helped Willem in his daily life just after he’d woken up in Regule Aire and didn’t understand the official language at all, and it was now starting to work again. No matter what anyone said, Willem Kmetsch was still a seasoned hero. His old self would have noticed right away exactly what that light meant. What exactly it meant for the world he was seeing right now. It would have shown him everything. But now— “Mm… Hmm?” He couldn’t hear Nephren’s voice as she looked around, puzzled. “Dad? What’s wrong, Dad?” He couldn’t hear Almaria’s slippered feet approaching. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t think anything. He was in a world that was neither dream nor reality, just a blank white world— And all he could feel was the distant warmth of a tear rolling down his cheek.