“Moonwork—an ancient spell from the Age of the Gods, Little One. It means to do as the moon does.”
“Moonwork…” Mouthing the word, Belle felt a strange nagging feeling.
A “moon” was a spiral shape that spread outward while also infinitely falling inward. It stood for expanse and return, to continually grow while holding on to one’s center, a spiral that always had an ending.
Moonwork, or “as the moon does,” seemed to refer to things like the cycle of the seasons, the shifting of the constellations, the waxing and waning of Earth, and the state of life in the world passing from birth unto death. Things changing from one second to the next, constantly expanding yet reverting to their original state even though they were no longer the same, like the shifting colors of an O’crock, the eyes of a Cateyes, or the way a Mauti’s fangs are said to keep growing even after death. The change that comes with the passage of time. That was the meaning of Moonwork.
“The moon…,” Belle murmured. The word felt strange, and she was unable to grasp its significance on its own. “What does that even mean?”
Belle looked up at the king, her lips forming the question. She wasn’t asking for an answer, but to confirm that there wasn’t one.
“…It is a mystery from the Age of the Gods, unknown to all by now,” the king replied, confirming Belle’s suspicion. “It was passed down as a meaning for a spiral as a way to explain the nature of the world. However, its original, true meaning from the Age of the Gods is lost to us.”
“A word from the Age of the Gods…”
Looking at the spell carved into the black instrument, Belle repeated the king’s words, imprinting them in her mind.
Normally, this wouldn’t be something she’d worry over, but not only was the word carved into the Key to the Door of Journey, but it had also left a shocking impression on Belle’s heart, stirring a deep-rooted emotion within her.
It can’t be…
It was similar, somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on how, but there was something about the sound of that word—and maybe something more fundamental about its very existence…
I knew the answer when I was just born… The language I spoke, without anyone having taught me…
When Belle had first been born from the stone egg, it was said she spoke a strange language. It was perhaps a sign of her origins, known to her when she’d first come into this world.
What is this feeling…? It’s like when I met Runding. It’s strange but oddly comforting, like I somehow just know…
It was similar to her first encounter with the ancient word carved into Runding’s blade—a mythical spell no one knew the meaning to. That profound emotion had touched on something fundamental inside her.
What was it called? This unrestrainable emotion surging up within her.
Homesickness…, she said silently to herself, recalling the name given to that feeling.
When…did I start calling it that? A long time ago, so distant from now… At the time, I knew what that feeling was called, and what it meant. A feeling toward one’s home, a yearning for utopia, the pain of a heart that can’t love where it is now…
Belle couldn’t remember who had taught her that, and she never would. Even so, she tried her hardest to recall, her heart trembling.
Slowly, it led her to a singular conviction:
I wasn’t wrong…
In this situation where nothing was clear, this was the one thing she knew for sure. That emotion made her want to shout out loud.
Going on this journey, meeting Runding, coming to Park—none of them diverted me from the path of knowing myself. I wasn’t wrong to do all that. Not at all…
This was an anxiety that always lurked deep in her heart, even if it never rose to the surface. But holding on to the belief that following the Guidance or her own intuition would lead her to heal her homesickness was what had pushed Belle to come this far.
Had she made mistakes along the way? Was she wrong? Even if she held those doubts, she had no way of knowing. The only thing she could do was keep believing, and that faith was what supported her.
But now, for the first time, Belle felt a firm sense of vindication.
This was the right path to take…
And with that conviction, Belle faced the black instrument, spurred to make her choice to use the Key to open the Door of Journey.
Belle extended her fingers toward the keys, the index finger on her right hand floating over the two white keys in the center of the board. When she’d touched it earlier, Belle had realized that each individual key was inscribed with countless small spells, and touching it now, she could tell just how many spells had been painstakingly, intricately woven into each key. The entire instrument was a living thing without a pulse that tested those about to depart on their journey.
Belle went along with it, relinquishing herself to the reactions of the spells and coming to understand the meaning they contained.
I’m free…
The king’s words from earlier swirled in her head as Belle slowly, carefully pressed down on the key.
Dum…
She played the first decisive note.
A tremble, like a gust of wind, passed Belle as she sat at the instrument, creating an invisible spiral throughout the room. A shudder ran down Belle’s spine, and her hair stood on end. It was much like the song of the Swallowtail woman from On the Rocks, that was so different from the symphonies performed in the country. Music that produced nothing.
This black instrument had no intent whatsoever. It didn’t play to the earth or the sky, nor heal the body of illness. But that was because this was an instrument that beckoned rather than produced. It didn’t create or wither but stirred the hearts of those who heard it, causing them to eventually reach a different state of mind that they’d not experienced before.
Belle understood all that in just a moment.
And at the same time, she became more confused than ever. She took her finger off the key, unable to do anything else.
“The Key hails you, playing the ancient magic of Journey…”
Though Belle was dumbfounded, the king’s twin faces spoke from above. “It will bring upon the spell that will allow you to depart on the journey, God’s Anti-Thema. It is also known as the Final Spell, Little One.”
“The final spell…?”
“Yes. Since the age of the great Paradise Shift, it was this Anti-Thema that was accepted by the kings of all countries as an outside force between gods and their people. That is the Key to the Door of Journey…”
The king was trying to convey something to Belle. His tone sounded less like he was attempting to persuade her and more like he was speaking out of excitement. This gave Belle a sense of premonition for what he was about to say next.
Eventually, the king’s top face—the one that stood for order—spoke.
“That which is necessary to play the Key is already within you, and it is by channeling that which influences you from without that the Key is played. This is what is called coincidence.”
“Someone has said that to me before, as well. Does this mean that whether I get to go on my journey is decided by chance?”
“Not so, Little One. However…in a certain sense, you could say that.” The king carried on, his tone grave. “Coincidence refers to the things we can only describe using that word, like the progression and reversion of Moonwork. If it was inevitable that you would depart on a journey, then it would have been naught but a refrain and a variation of the Thema of Park, yet another part of the place you reside in now. But that is not what departing on a journey means. If God’s Thema for Park is harmonized to be an inevitability, then to escape it, you must believe in coincidence and encounter it by chance.”
“So…if I were to encounter this coincidence, would I naturally be able to play the Key?”
“Not quite, ye without race,” replied the lower face, the embodiment of chaos. “And yet…in a sense, one could say that it is. The name of that which you must find to do so is ‘means and method.’ Without this, no one can play it.”