Remina went deeper into the orlop, hiding behind one of the crates at the very back. She made sure to turn off her Light spell, too. She was going to be here for a while, and she didn’t want anyone to notice her being here.

She took one of the diamonds inside the crates, and ripped off a part of her clothes. The cloth she now had was just big enough to fully wrap around the diamond.

“Enhance Ability, Bull’s Strength,” she chanted quietly.

Her muscles began to burn as the spell took effect. It was as if she’d left her body out underneath a blazing desert sun for too long. She placed the cloth-covered diamond on the ground and pulled out a small knife she carried around with her. It was one of their more well-crafted pieces of equipment, made from very durable materials.

She began hitting the diamond as hard as she could with the knife’s hilt over and over again. Even with the Enhance Ability spell she cast on herself, her strength was still meager, and the hilt of her dagger was tiny, so she wasn’t making much progress. However, she continued chipping away at the gemstone bit by bit for several minutes.

After a while, she stopped. The joints of her arm felt like they were going to fall off, and her breathing was ragged as all hell. In all honesty, she was close to passing out, only managing to maintain consciousness through sheer force of will.

She opened the cloth to see the diamond from before grounded into almost fine dust. It looked more like grains of salt than powdered diamonds, but it would be enough.

She placed the diamond dust neatly in front of her and began chanting.

“Glyph of Warding.”

A circle drew itself on the floor, glowing a soft luminescent blue. It was an empty circle, devoid of information. All she needed to do was inscribe into it a spell. Glyph of Warding was one of her least favorite spells in her arsenal. It was a spell that automatically casted other spells after a set trigger, but it was expensive to prepare, and slow to set up. Though for situations such as these, they had their uses.

She decided to inscribe explosive runes into the glyph, and set it to automatically activate after a few days have passed. That should give her enough time to do what she needed to do.

Remina looked at the hundreds of crates around her, most of which were filled with Magerot potions. One of the things she remembered about the potion was the fact that some of its ingredients were explosive in nature. The explosion in the glyph didn’t need to be powerful. All it needed to do was ignite one potion. Just one. And the rest will all follow in a chain reaction.

She began inscribing the details of the spell into a glyph. Considering it took about an hour to prepare a spell into the glyph, this was certainly a bothersome spell to use.

But that was fine.

Remina has always been patient.

†

Nentonia sat across the bed from Remina, her eyes glowing with anticipation.

Remina crossed her arms and grinned. “I usually charge coin for things like this, but since it’s you, I’ll make a special exception.”

“Really? I’d feel bad for not paying,” Nentonia replied.

Remina picked up her lute. “It’s fine, the two of us are friends, aren’t we? Don’t gotta sweat it too much. Now then, what kinda song you wanna hear?”

Nentonia furrowed her brow as the thought long and hard. “Then, songs about disease.”

“One song about disease coming right...” Remina placed her fingers on the strings, ready to improvise a melody like she always did, but no chords came out. After realizing, she raised her head to look at Nentonia. “Disease?”

Nentonia kept looking at her with a straightforward expression. “Is it an expensive song to play?”

“I don’t think that’s the problem here, Nen. I’d prefer to sing ‘bout hopeful songs, not about little timothy dyin’ from the plague.”

“I see.”

Remina cleared her throat. “So, with all that said, what kinda song do you wanna hear?”

“One about torture please.”

“Nen, no, that’s ... You’re doin’ this on purpose, aren’t you?”

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Nentonia’s blank expression finally broke into a wide smile as she giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“Man, I didn’t know you’d be this into teasin’. I feel sorry for Kal at this rate.”

“There you go again with that.” Nentonia sighed.

“So? How are things goin’ with him? Made any progress yet? Huh?” Remina leaned forward, eager to hear any new developments.

“There’s no progress to be made here. And anyways, when we reach Tisah, I’ll...”

“Hm? You’ll what?”

Nentonia stopped herself from saying anything more. “It’s nothing. And this is hardly the time. He just got attacked recently, you know?”

“I heard. Mei and Jar were throwin’ a hissy fit ‘bout it, after all!”

“And you seem calmer in comparison.”

Remina shrugged. “I’ve been with him for years now. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that assassins would be better off spendin’ their time elsewhere. If they tried to target him, they’d be runnin’ ‘round in circles for their whole lives, that is if he doesn’t cut them down first.”

“I see...” Nentonia simply stared at her. Remina always thought her eyes were intriguing. It was an entrancing yellow color, one that dug deep into you the longer you stared at them. Something about them made Remina’s spine cold.

“Anywho,” she waved her lute around. “Your song, missy? Got anythin’ in mind?”

“Then,” Nentonia replied. “I’d like you to play your favorite song.”

“Oh.” Remina was taken aback. “My favorite song? Why would you...”

“I don’t know many songs, so I don’t know what I’d like. That’s why I want to hear what you like.”

“Can’t ya pick some other song?” Remina nervously scratched her cheek. When Nentonia asked her what the problem was, the bard hung her head. “It’s just, my favorite song is kinda near and dear to me, and ... well, it’s a tad bit embarrassin’.”

Nentonia smiled. “Even better then!”

“Ya sadist!” she grumbled, but cleared her throat and readied herself to play, despite her reddening face. “But, a promise is a promise, so...”

She strummed, and the words began to flow out.

“Forget not the days when the wheat fields danced, and children pranced under sunshine’s gaze...”

It was only in the presence of this song, this melody, that Remina truly felt at peace with herself.

“Forget not the days when the warmth of the hearth blessed the joys of birth, as the mothers prayed…”

The strings that held her together tightened, if only for this brief moment.

She continued her song, and when she finished, she finally remembered that Nentonia was listening. She always sang this song by herself, so her face flushed once more. “W-well, there’s yer song.”

“Oh. That was ... a bit anticlimactic.”

“Ya don’t mince words, do ya?” Remina sighed and leaned back. “Well, I know it ain’t really a thrillin’ or excitin’ song. But it’s the only song my mum ever taught me, so I really like it.”

“Is that so...”

The mood became really somber and quiet all of a sudden. It was starting to become awkward as well. Remina began to regret singing her song now that things have come to this.

“My bad! Didn’t mean to bring down the mood and all!” Remina clapped her hands together. “As an apology, I’ll sing more excitin’ songs for ya then! You alright with that?”

“More exciting songs, huh…? Then, do you have any about heroes?”

She brandished her instrument with a smile. “One heroes’ ballad, comin’ right up!”

Remina strummed her lute and sang about heroes of ages past.. The heroes who defeated the lich at the city of Lagna; the heroes who defended the Sand Gate during the Brass Wars; the heroes who liberated the eastern Elf kingdom from the Tyrant King. These lands are not starved of such tales. Remina sang about their exploits, their battles, their just missions, and their noble demises.

When the last note was played, Nentonia sat there, mesmerized by the performance. After she regained her senses, she began applauding, almost like a young child. Seeing how earnest her reaction was made Remina blush slightly in embarrassment, bashfully telling her to stop.

“But why didn’t you sing about yourselves?” the cleric asked. “You guys are renowned heroes too, right?”

“Well, we are, but I’m not crass enough to sing our own praises! I’ll leave that to other bards! And besides, we aren’t really…” She hung her head.

She put on a smile and laughed. “Nothin’, nothin’! Anyways, I’m not gonna be singin’ any of our songs anytime soon. It’s a tad bit ignominious, don’t ya think?”

“I don’t know whether or not to be inclined to agree, as I don’t really know what ign … ignonous … that word means. But that is a shame. I’d really like to hear what kind of songs people sing about you.”

Being a hero wasn’t as great as the songs made them out to be.

The civil war of Mambhaling was, in the eyes of the common folk, an event where the hero’s party quelled the civil war before it ripped the city in half. That’s a heroic thing. But no one ever talks about the dozens of innocent lives that they couldn’t save—or the ones they had to take—to finally end that strife.

The end of the civil war would be written down in the history books, but they’ll never write down the lives that were lost. Remina still remembered the look on their previous cleric’s face when he died. It wasn’t the face of a brave adventurer in the hero’s party; it was the face of a man, terrified of death.

His death was never in the history books either. Ques Van Lendi will be forgotten, just like everyone else.

Yet Kalaman, one of the greatest heroes this land has ever seen, was unperturbed by all this death. When people died, he continued on with that stone cold face of his. A man without a heart. Perhaps the heart is nothing but a hindrance to heroes like him.

But Kalaman Kampus did have a heart. And the only one who was allowed to see it was this cleric girl he met one day.

In the following days, she observed Kalaman more closely. Those still waters inside him were getting more turbulent. The waves began when he met Nentonia, and the longer she avoided him, the greater the waves became.

He was good at hiding it, but Remina was good at reading people’s faces. The slight shifts in their muscles told stories that words were much too rigid to portray. When the two were in the same room, she wouldn’t look or talk to him. When she did, it was only with short words or phrases. Most of the time, though, she’d make excuses to leave the room. Thinly veiled excuses. And every time, Kalaman would furrow his brow.

That’s right. Kalaman Kampus had a heart. For the first time, he showed that it could beat. The blood that flowed through his veins was red and warm, just like everyone else’s.

Remina was annoyed. So very annoyed.

If only he stayed cold.