“Enough. Your prattle exhausts me.”
There was no mistaking the fury in the boy’s voice. Ceryneia froze and flung himself to the ground, trembling.
The boy spared his quivering form only a single glance. “I shall slay the last of Artheus’s bloodline myself.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
Sweat poured from Ceryneia’s brow. It was all he could do to reply. As the words left his mouth, however, his eyes filled with doubt. The Demiurgos had devoured the rest of the Lords, claimed his perfect vessel, and tested its fitness to his satisfaction, yet he did not even seem mildly pleased. In fact, there was no change in him at all. He had never been one to let his emotions show, but he had been waiting for this moment for a thousand years. Why was he so indifferent? Misgivings and revulsion began to gnaw at Ceryneia’s heart, and darkness filled his mind.
“My Lord,” he whispered, conscious that the question might mean his death, “who are you?”
Ice ran down his spine as a pitiless gaze pierced him through. He shivered so violently that his teeth chattered. It felt like the blood had frozen in his veins.
“What nonsense,” the boy said.
Ceryneia flinched. The tension drained from his body. Relief replaced his fear. Contemptuous as they were, the boy’s words left him shaking in joy. They were his Lord’s words, his Lord’s voice, his Lord’s affect, all as he knew them.
He bowed his head. “Forgive me. I spoke presumptuously.”
The boy gazed disinterestedly at his own hand. “I have achieved much, yet still I feel no triumph. Something is missing.”
Ceryneia clenched his teeth, cursing that he could not answer his master’s doubts. “Perhaps you will find it once you slay the sixth princess, my Lord. Once you put an end to the von Grantz bloodline.”
“I can only hope so.”
The boy looked up at the stars, narrowing his eyes. A pitch-black smile formed on his lips.
＊＊＊＊＊
The field of flowers was barren now. The gently smiling álf, the birdsong in the air, the floral scent on the breeze... All now lay in inky blackness. Only a single shaft of light shone down through the dark. It guided Liz’s path, reassuring her that she still had a place here.
“Forgive me,” Rey said. Her eyes glistened with sorrow, melancholy, and grief. She looked on the verge of tears.
Liz looked perplexed. “For what?”
The álf smiled as if holding back some great pain. “I failed to tell you everything.”
“That’s all right.” Liz looked around. “But I don’t understand. What happened here?”
The flower field, her face, her eyes; all looked lightless now.
“I fear his strength has run dry.”
“Whose...?”
Before the question left Liz’s lips, Rey began to disappear. Her feet faded into darkness, and her legs began to follow.
“This was always my fate.” The álf looked resigned. “It was only a matter of time.”
Her despair was written in her face as she looked up at what would have been the sky had anything distinguished up from down in this place. Liz’s chest clenched tight. Happiness suited Rey so much better than this tearstained sorrow.
“Don’t cry,” she said. “I’d much rather see you smile.”
Rey’s eyes widened. A faint smile appeared on her face, but the shadow was far from gone.
“You can’t give up now.” Liz tried to make herself sound as upbeat as she could. “You still have to see this through.”
Rey’s face grew a little brighter, but her smile still looked forced. Liz felt a pang of guilt for making her pretend. Still, Rey did not chastise her. She only opened her arms, inviting Liz into her bosom.
“He might still be saved,” she whispered beside Liz’s ear. “I shall find a way.”
Liz trembled. “But...can he? I’ve tried everything I can think of, and I don’t have much to show for it.”
She was starting to doubt that she had the strength. It felt like all the confidence she had built up was crumbling down. No matter how strong she grew, no matter how much she seemed to have closed the distance, every time she reached out for him, he vanished somewhere she could not follow.
“Rey... Maybe...”
Something dangerous hovered on her tongue. Something she knew she would regret as soon as she spoke it.
“Maybe you’re the one he needs.”
Those were words that would cut like a blade. Words that could not be unsaid. Yet Rey met them with a smile, compassionate and affectionate. She took the blade softly in her hands and smoothed away its edge.
“That is not true. It must be you who saves him or everything will have been for nothing.” She leaned closer, so close Liz could feel her breath, and smiled wider. “Let your heart burn, my child. Hold your convictions firm and true. So long as you do not let that fire go out, there will always be another chance.”
She leaned in to press her forehead against Liz’s.
“All that I am, I give to you.”
“No!” Liz cried. “You can’t go! There’s still so much I want to say!”
For Rey to vanish was the last thing she wanted. She had promised to convey the álf’s feelings to Hiro. To let her disappear before hearing his answer would be all too cruel.
“You are very kind. But fear not. I will always be with you. If you ever wish to see me again, there I will be.”
Liz looked at her and saw herself—the same heart, the same soul.
“There is no need to mourn me. I will not be gone. And a smile suits you better than tears, I think.”
Rey reached out to cup Liz’s cheek, wiping the tears from the corner of her eye with a thumb.
“I’m glad it was you.”
And with one last radiant smile, she disappeared.
A cold lump lodged in Liz’s throat, but she held back tears. She had promised not to cry. Besides, a warmth burned in her breast, firm and unmistakable. She laid a hand on her chest and felt a firm rhythm. Rey was not gone. She was still there, as she always would be.
This would be the last time Liz came to this dreamworld. She bid it a silent farewell...and yet, no matter how long she waited, she did not wake.
“What now?”
Left alone in the sunless field, she looked around, confused.
“Hm?”
She turned, sensing someone behind her. There stood a youth with an easy smile. He was someone gallant, heroic, and utterly uncompromising, someone who shone so brilliantly that Liz could only wonder what he was doing in this world of darkness—Leon Welt Artheus von Grantz, the first emperor of the Grantzian Empire. In a word, he was a lion. In essence, he was a born ruler, a monarch said to be closer to divinity than the Lords themselves.
He folded his arms, flashing a grin. “At long last, time flows again. The gears that stopped a thousand years ago turn once more.” A look of regret came over him, and he bowed his head. “Forgive me. I have done you a great wrong.”
Liz’s eyes widened. Why was such a legendary figure here at all, let alone offering her an apology? So much was happening at once. It felt like her head was spinning.
“Weep not for Rey,” he said matter-of-factly. “All that she did, she did of her own free will. She always knew it would come to this. Her fate is not your burden to bear.”
Liz was still frozen in shock. Her mind struggled to keep up.