That single word had taken root in their heart, and they couldn’t live any other way. Who they were now, the feelings they harbored—all those contained the seeds of the future within them. All they could do was plant and grow these seeds, having faith they would someday bloom and entrust everything to the strength that lies in giving form. That was all.
In a sense, it truly was a sort of predictive sight—or the power to draw forth a specific future. And at its core, this was a power everyone had, but this Mermaid understood it on a deeper level than most—as well as the Reason for his misery.
Soon after entering the castle, the Mermaid dubbed themself Dranvi. This was a pseudonym as a swordsmith—and the Mermaid’s farewell from their masculine self.
Dranvi, the Worthy. As the name implied, all the swords she created were guided, or perhaps drawn, to those worthy of being granted them. They caused the seeds of the future strewn across reality to sprout and, in blooming, to form new futures.
But no one around her truly understood that was what she was doing. They merely exalted her swords as wonderful weapons of the highest caliber.
The ever-beautiful Mermaid swordsmith Dranvi was as celebrated as the famed Enola and King Minor Sian Lablac. But her name would soon become taboo, for no other reason than the Dearth March.
A swarm of shadows that lost sight of all pleasure in the world and escaped God’s grip were soon tied to Dranvi’s name, which lingered in the memories of everyone who’d known her. Her name was lost to the darkness, with no one in the castle knowing the true reason why.
In truth, it was the work of the God Tree.
When her skills were recognized and admired, Dranvi had received a personal request from King Rawhide and arrived at the Throne Room, where she first touched the God Tree. And what she’d seen there had shaken her. In the form of the future revealed by the God Tree, Dranvi had seen certain ruin. But no—it had been more than that. It was ruin, but at the same time, creation. It wouldn’t simply be destroyed but sacrificed, becoming a seedbed for new flowers to bloom.
And the one who would reveal that form clearly rejected being sacrificed. However, no matter how much they rejected that form and matured, they would find themselves back to walking the path of that future. Each time they would change a little bit, and reality would adapt to become that altered future.
Who is it waiting for…?
Dranvi clearly saw what the God Tree was waiting for. That which occupied the tree shuddered, and it was in that moment that Deus Ex Machina decided that it would consume this mere swordsmith by dominating her.
“The Girl…of Reason.”
Dranvi had clearly seen this existence within the countless spells flickering in the tree. King Rawhide’s two sets of eyes had widened, and the fearsome trembling of God had struck terror into the castle’s royalty—Rawhide and Sian—and sent a silent ripple through the harmony of the world.
But at the time, Dranvi—perhaps even God himself—could not have possibly sensed what it was that shook the world’s harmony so.
Soon enough, God’s will placed its first shackle on Dranvi: the position of Queen Minor. Nothing could be a more fitting vessel within which to contain this heretical swordsmith. When Sian told her she had been offered this position, she accepted it without question, believing it signified their union. It seemed the two of them would spend their days in bliss from now on. But in truth, on that day, their paths diverged.
An incident took place. A member of the top dog Solists had his soul devoured by his sword, becoming a Nidhogg, and died after a fierce battle.
Dranvi had received word of his death before Sian told her. Through her swordsmith intuition, she’d sensed her sword had been broken. She couldn’t believe it.
The one who had become a Nidhogg wasn’t given a funeral service, and the blue priests whisked away his remains to an unknown place. The Solist’s name was Gibson—the friend with whom Dranvi had spent her early days in Park City, when she was still a boy.
“Let me see it! Gibson’s sword!” Dranvi pressed Sian.
Her anger was palpable, uncharacteristically so—a sign of how frayed her composure was.
“I made that sword, and you tell me it violated Gibson’s soul? Sian, are you telling me to question my own work as a swordsmith? And then go on and forge more swords?”
Knowing that no lies would convince her, Sian secretly dug up Gibson’s poleax and showed it to Dranvi. The moment she saw it, she screamed like she’d lost her mind. Sian held her in his arms, desperately trying to soothe her, but Dranvi had shaken off his grip, grabbed Gibson’s warped, malformed sword, and run away.
“Gaff!” Sian shouted.
Gaff, who stood nearby, instantly caught Dranvi, and together the two of them were able to restrain her. Dranvi struggled so hard to get free that her legs were covered in bruises.
“The Tree! The God Tree! It’s distorted just like this, Sian!” she shrieked.
Sian swiftly struck her in the back of the neck, and she fell unconscious. The workers of the castle gathered there, curious about the commotion, and with all the attention, Sian forbade even Gaff from following him and carried Dranvi back to their chambers.
When Dranvi came to, Gibson’s sword was nowhere to be seen, but there was no recovering from the fact that Dranvi already laid eyes on it. After many accusations and questions, Gaff gave up and told her about the Examination with the trial ashes. Had she not been Queen Minor, this was something Sian would never have shared even with Dranvi.
“So you did this,” she said, her face haggard.
It wasn’t a question, nor was she accusing Sian. She simply said it to confirm the facts. Sian nodded wordlessly.
“I see…,” Dranvi whispered feebly. Yet what he’d just admitted to was horrifying. “So that God’s true power is to erase the future. And I, fool that I am, was ignorant of it all this time.”