There is never a day when I want to see the face of Grove Dalvesp.
Sitting here, in my dorm room on the top floor and at the end of the corridor to the right, on top of my bed lit by the morning sun, I lament the duties on my plate today.
When I close my eyes, the memories of that day flash before my eyes. If only I could go back...
✦ ✦ ✦
Why...? How did it come to this...?
“Come on, Eruve, open your eyes...”
I lift the man in my arms, his skin so scorched he doesn’t even look human. I know he won’t open his eyes. But I can’t let go of the man I loved from the bottom of my heart so easily, nor do I want to contemplate what’s become of him.
Tears crash on the black lump below. It soaks up every last one.
“I’ll never...forgive you...”
I gnash my teeth with such force that I can hear them strain, then look up at the ashen sky. The identity of the Black Pegasi Slayer remains a mystery. When did it all begin...?
✦ ✦ ✦
It’s year 3654 by Arland’s Reckoning.
“Hey there, Theodora.”
“Are you here for demon numbers as usual?”
“It’s looking like another population spike.”
I sit at reception when the guild’s doorbell rings and a knight enters. He approaches my counter, the clacking of his boots resounding through the room, and extends a hand to me for the intel.
His name is Eruve Dalvesp. He’s the knight commander of the royal order of knights. I hear he’ll be officially elevated to knighthood soon for his distinguished service both inside and outside the kingdom, even if that title just barely makes him a noble. Despite their occupation, few of them actually receive the official aristocratic title.
Eruve became knight commander at twenty-two, which is unprecedented.
“Are you free tonight?” he asks.
“Tonight? If you mean after dinner, sure.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, my sweet, dense Theodora.” He places his hands on the counter and peers at my face. “How about we have dinner together?”
“Ah, oh, uh... Sure... Sure!”
I can feel my cheeks getting a bit hot. I’m sure everyone else can see, so I reflexively cover them with my hands. I’m so embarrassed I can’t help making (and keeping to myself) a snide remark about how if he can say things like that so casually, he must be used to this.
Eruve and I were in the same class back in magic school, and what’s more, we’ve lived in the same neighborhood since we were kids; we played together well over a hundred times, which makes us childhood friends, as they say. We’ve spent more than half our lives together.
He has a cheeky younger twin brother by the name of Grove, but I haven’t spoken to him much. Perhaps Eruve and I are more like-minded.
I won’t hide that I’m in love with Eruve. At first we were just friends, but staying that way gradually became difficult once we entered magic school. We were about the same height in the past, and I’m rather tall for a woman, but at some point he shot past me. His once clear and high-pitched voice became deep; his face, once lovely like that of a girl, became more masculine; his large eyes became long-slitted and sharp—basically, he grew into a man.
One time, when I almost tripped while changing classes, he pulled me by the waist with his large hand. He asked if I was okay, peering into my face—ever since then, I’ve been madly in love with him, and he makes my heart throb so fast I’m worried it might burst.
Our distance as friends didn’t change even after we graduated, and we ended up working separately—he joined the order, and I went to Harré—but never became estranged. Thankfully, the order and the guild interact for work reasons, which quickly alleviated my concerns that I might not see him as much as I used to.
Though I don’t think one should bring personal feelings into one’s work, every time he knocks on Harré’s door I’m besieged by unnecessary thoughts: what we’re going to talk about today, and if it’s too corny to ask how he’s been or talk about the weather.
“Your whole internal monologue’s practically written on your face,” says another knight beside Eruve as I think about today’s dinner, returning me to reality.
“I-I’m not thinking about anything.”
“Put your seal here. And get your game face back on, yeah?” He presents a piece of paper to me with a sigh.
He’s a dead ringer for Eruve; it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say they’re like two peas in a pod. The only difference is their hairstyles—Eruve wears his shoulder-length, while this one’s is short and only reaches the nape—and a nasty-looking face wound he picked up from a demon recently.
His name is Grove Dalvesp. He’s Eruve’s younger twin.
“My game face is completely on.”
“Anyone could tell at a glance who you’re in love with.”
I have no comeback for that one.
Work’s kept me in touch with Grove pretty often lately. He used to be “the brother of a friend”; now he’s “the brother of a friend(?)” as my relationship with Eruve has evolved into something more vague. Though when I think about it, Grove is my childhood friend too, so I can’t deny it feels pretty late for such classifications.
“May your life with the commander be long and happy, Miss Locktiss.”
“Ah, not you too, Vice-Commander Alkes!”
“Aren’t you going to make our leader happy?”
“Mngh... Get your laughs at somebody else’s expense for once!”
Suddenly, the entrance swings open. I panic, remembering I’m at work, and face forward, when the sorcerer who just came in points outside with a frightened look on his face.
“It happened again! Another knight triggered a magic circle!”
“What?!” says Eruve.
“He’s going to die like everyone else if no one can do anything!”
Several knights rush out of the guild.
He’s not the first, and I doubt he’ll be the last.
“How many times does this make...?” says Grove.
“Five,” says Alkes.
The culprit seems to be targeting knights; nobody else turns up this way, trapped and tortured within a circle’s confines until they breathe their last. It’s impossible to disable these circles from the outside. In each of the four previous cases, the victim died.
To make a functioning magic circle, one must draw it by hand on the ground or paper. It’s a type of magic that takes significant time and effort, so you’d think someone would notice if somebody was drawing these in the middle of a town. And yet, not only have no sightings of the culprit ever been reported, even psychometry won’t reveal them.
“Who the hell is behind all this?! How dare they toy with people’s lives!” Grove exclaims as he stomps on the floor.
Every scene of this crime has borne the same condescending words: “Black pegasi. You have no need for blood. May you turn white to the core before you blacken with rot as befits your title.” Where does the culprit’s grudge against the knights come from?
A magic circle appears on the ceiling, and a rolled-up piece of paper falls out of it. Eruve picks it up, spreads it, and reads the contents.
“There’s another circle reported in the east... What?!”
“What’s wrong?” asks Grove.
“It seems civilians got mixed up in it this time. We’d better hurry,” replies Eruve.
Knights start leaving the guild.
“I’m going too.”
“Theodora?” asks Eruve.
“Hey, we’re not dragging any more innocent bystanders into this,” says Grove with a frown.
Given that civilians are involved this time, it’s safe to say there’s a risk of significant casualties. What’s more, given the shift in modus operandi, there’s no telling what new moves the culprit might be making.
I have complete confidence in my magic, if nothing else. Even if it means abandoning my work duties, I want to help the man I love. It’s selfish and conceited, but it’s the truth.
Still, Eruve wouldn’t accept such help. Of course, I’m perfectly aware he’s a more talented magician than me. I know he’s strong—but I don’t know if it’s going to be enough anymore, and that gives me the shakes like nothing ever has.
As I get up from my seat behind the counter, Eruve places his hands on my shoulders to calm me down.
“As long as you’re here, I’m always going to return to this place. I promise.”
“How can I sit idly by when so many have already been killed?”
“Well, why don’t you think about what we ought to have for dinner?” With that, he waves at me.
How could I possibly be so carefree? This isn’t the time to think about your next meal. I suppose he’s doing his best to act normal. Will he come back as usual if I send him off like I’ve always done?
While I can’t be certain of his intentions, I send him off—like a prayer, almost—wishing him luck and waving my hand as usual.
“Miss Locktiss! The commander, he...”
Come evening, my acquaintance among the knights shows up at the guild. My brush comes to a halt, and I look up from my work.