This was effectively Dranvi’s declaration of war toward God. From that point on, all the swords Dranvi created became abnormal ones. Swords no one could wield, spells whose meanings no one could grasp, made with intentions that escaped all understanding. Those were all Dranvi’s ways of waging war with God.
In her attempt to create strong swords that would reveal a life and future that would never be subject to any God, she eventually began picking the strangest, most unnatural steel. Dranvi extracted steel yet unborn, before its fruit ripened—an act akin to extracting a fetus from a mother’s womb—and used it to make her swords. At other times, she pieced together the strings of rusted instruments, creating a sword that was neither a newborn nor old. Others perceived these actions to be utterly ridiculous.
Dranvi went on to carve the spells she placed on her creations into her own body, at times taking a blade to her own flesh, at others branding herself with hot metal, achieving a unity with her creations that bordered on dangerous. And whenever God distorted and corrupted those words, it rocked Dranvi’s body with terrible pain. Seeing her do this made even Sian—who knew Dranvi’s Motif was to fight God—shudder with dread.
But among all those strange swords, she forged a single one that was clearly normal. A sword carved from the steel of the Sword Tree and branded with the spell for “kingdom,” to be presented to the next King Major.
“May this sword allow your inner sense of justice to ascend to its proper station,” Dranvi said as she presented the sword to a confused Gaff.
Even so, most of her works were seen as abnormal and strange by others, and bit by bit Dranvi lost her status as a master swordsmith. With this, she also lost her place in the castle, a location which did not suit her invisible war with God.
Just like Sian once had, Dranvi grew tired, haggard, and lonely, her heart ailing. But it was then that she began to hear it. It was a sound much like the voice with which steel beckons its worthy wielder when Dranvi gave it form. But it was much louder and more complex, like a large mass of voices.
The Dearth March appeared in Park City. The blessed children of hollow darkness wailed—calling out to Dranvi.
“Hunger at the future failing to manifest,” Dranvi whispered. “Hunger for that which has not yet come lured me into the dark. Despair at the reality I live in, perhaps… Or eternal hope for the future… And you—”
“To me, darkness is warmer than light,” Adonis said, cutting off Dranvi. “That’s the entirety of my Motif. Your story was…interesting. Thank you.”
Adonis curtly rested his chin on his chest, closed his eyes, and let sleep claim him. He did this both because he sensed Dranvi wasn’t going to speak anymore and because he was scared by how much he felt like he was being drawn to her.
When Adonis woke up, he found Sian standing among the swords emblazoned with Question marks, blowing out a puff of illusory smoke as he waited for Adonis.
“Did you sleep well?”
Adonis didn’t bother answering and launched right into a question of his own. “Why are you teaching me?”
“I was asked to,” Sian replied indifferently. “Or maybe it’s because I’m an Enola.”
“Even though you became a Nomad?”
“The form of my curse compels me to do this.”
“Did your curse compel you to raise Belle, too?”
Sian narrowed his eyes. For a second, he gave off a dangerous air.
“Ah…”
It was so intense Adonis thought the man’s bloodlust became palpable enough to wash over him, but realizing it hadn’t, Adonis broke into a sweat of relief.
“When I first laid eyes on Belle, I was filled with bloodlust,” Sian said indifferently.
“Why…?”
“Everyone longs to know the reason for their existence, but when they do, they seek to deny it. Because otherwise, they will forever lose the word future.”
Adonis’s eyes widened. He was surprised. The bloodlust he’d just felt must have been the emotion Sian had felt when he’d first set eyes on Belle, emanating out of him intensely as he recalled it. Even after all this time, the depth and vividness of that emotion remained unchanged—a fact that stunned Adonis.
“But even so, I made up my mind. I would raise the Girl of Reason because she was waiting for me. Just like Dranvi’s swords waited for their fated wielders. I taught her so she wouldn’t have to wait for anyone anymore. I entrusted with her my hope for the future.”
“What is the Girl of Reason? What drives a man like you to go this far…?”
“Reason exists all over the world. It brings the old order to ruin, ushering in a new world. That was why I decided to set out on my Journey.”
Sian had first heard that term when Dranvi touched the God Tree, but even she herself didn’t know the meaning—or even remember whispering it, for that matter. And soon after, God’s desire to control had begun to greatly manifest on Sian, King Rawhide, the other royalty of the castle, and Dranvi.
What made God and His sense of Harmony shudder so much? Sian was afraid of the way God seemed to react violently to those words but, at the same time, felt a strange sense of elation, for within those words he found the key for his doubts toward the kingdom.
The second time he ran into that term was in a certain tavern where Nomads gathered—On the Rocks. There, he met a Rabbitia that told him of the Girl of Reason. The Rabbitia didn’t explain what the Girl of Reason was but simply said she was one of the greatest mysteries of Denariland.
It was there that Sian came to another revelation. The Door of Journey was the only way to escape God’s Thema. In opening it, one became a Nomad who could be free of this country.
Until that point, Sian had been critical of Nomads. He’d considered them as the wretched and lonely who shunned God’s blessings. Honestly, he even found it uncomfortable to go to On the Rocks because of that. He went there for lack of a choice, so he could receive the Rabbitia’s counsel, but once he did, he realized being a Nomad was the way to make his ideal a reality.
That was the moment Sian’s and Dranvi’s paths truly diverged.