Chapter 7

Before This World EndsB -promise/result- In the dark of night. A lone Beast howled in the center of the gray expanse. Its voice did not resonate the air to make what we would call sound. And of course, not a single living being existed within the range of its call. So there was nothing to hear or understand the Beast’s—Chanteur, the First Beast Who Laments for the Moon’s—voice. Still, the Beast continued to howl. A meaningless sound, which would never reach a soul, without fatigue or despair, or even an understanding of those concepts—forever. By the way, this gray land might all have seemed the same when viewed from above in Regule Aire, but to actually go down onto the surface would surprisingly show how richly the contours of the land had been preserved. Rolling sand dunes where hills once sat. Gray peaks where steep mountains once stood. Ruins that held remnants of what had once been stone buildings standing in place. That was why the salvagers could weave through these remnants, searching for traces of a long-lost civilization. Now, let us talk about what sat at the feet of the howling Beast. A small town had stood there a little over five hundred years ago. It had been neither particularly prosperous, nor did it have any sort of industry for which it was known, but it had a long, respectable history. From the cobbled streets to the trees lining them to the theater to the commuter cart stops to the cheap apartments—they all held a certain dignity, as though embodying a pride from having stood there for centuries. On the outskirts of town once sat a small orphanage. It had been converted from what was once an ages-old nursery school, so this building, too, had held the air of a long and storied history. In other words, it had been shabby. Whenever it rained, whenever the wind blew, those who’d lived there ran around with boards and hammers. About three thousand people had lived in the town. The orphanage had boasted only twenty. That had been 526 years ago. The scenery of that time now only exists in a certain someone’s memory. And now. The Beast was howling. It continued to utter an aimless cry. Let me spoil something for you. Once, in the age of the elven elders, it was said members of their community could communicate through their spirits without vibrating the air. What the Beast was doing was very similar to that. A sort of telepathic communication that only those of the same race, of similar mind, could receive. And each of the Seventeen Beasts were of different races. Chanteur’s words could only reach Chanteur. Chanteur was the only one of its kind. A being so infinitely close to coming to an end in a single body. A search far and wide across the world would never produce anything it could call kin. That was why there was no destination for this Beast’s voice. No one could hear this Beast’s wail. That was all it has done since first appearing in this world, and the Beast would continue to sing its silent cry. The voice of the kinless Beast. It reached no one. It resonated with no one. It simply vanished into the gray wasteland.