1
Izumi rushed out of the shady apartment, stopping at the stairs by the entrance, and looked around. Before the buildings spread a wide plaza plated with great granite squares, across it a voluminous support pillar seamlessly joining the floor and the ceiling. The plaza and its immediate surroundings were devoid of motion. Being so preoccupied, Izumi couldn’t tell how much time had passed since she had last checked Faalan’s whereabouts, or guess how far he could have gone in the meanwhile. Had he merely moved on to search another apartment? Or joined up with a different team? Toilet break? No, in that case, he surely would have informed the others, as reticent as he tended to be, and had someone called him over, everyone bearing a linkstone would have heard the conversation.
Wherever he was, the man had left by his own volition, with no intention to disclose his destination. Not that he needed to. By the fact alone and what she knew beforehand, Izumi could already guess his apparent purpose well enough. While the rest of the expedition busied themselves looting the housing quarters, Faalan had gone ahead to seek the alleged super weapon instead. In this endeavor, bringing anyone else along would have risked arousing unwanted attention as well as suspicion. Though his motivations were understandable—perhaps even admirable—Izumi could only call the hero’s move reckless under the circumstances.
“Not now!” she bemoaned aloud.
Faalan should have known better than to leave the group while the daemon was nearby. Or did he also—very naively!—presume the monster a mere dead idol? Of course, the warrior had never heard of certain Murphy’s law, and how anything that could go wrong was liable to do so, even if this was not the exact point of the original law. Recalling the popular saying now, Izumi found herself anxious to retrieve the lost sheep.
There was no time to waste running around, looking for the man by conventional means, drawing the others’ attention to herself. The man had even discarded his linkstone, perhaps so that the magic couldn’t be used to track him, and so that he’d have an excuse for going dark by claiming he’d lost the stone. But Izumi had her ways. She took a seat by the apartment entrance, leaned her back on the wall and gathered her focus.
“Ocíli, Statha.”
The magic was never pleasant to use, but even more so this time.
The subterranean city’s black depths and ghastly halls flooded Izumi’s awareness without any order, control, or filter. The forgotten alien chasm was unveiled before her mind’s eye like a treasure chest wrenched open, and there was no telling if there weren’t more horrifying surprises lying in wait in those shadowy passes. She could only hope nothing beyond her sanity’s limit would be forced on her in the process of the scan, as on the edge as she already was.
Fortunately, the city appeared to be just as abandoned as it looked.
No motion or sound could be gleaned from the mountain halls in addition to the burglars’ rowdy band, at least within the range of the spell. But through the vast stream of sensory data, Izumi learned also that the underground city was even greater in scale than it had first seemed, and extended a good deal wider and deeper than was explored so far. The information that Statha collected was more than any human mind could consciously process, and it all began to rapidly fade upon the magic’s end, like a long night’s dream after waking up. But during the brief moments immediately after, Izumi could still examine closer what she had sensed. And there, on the very edge of the spell’s reach, she had spied that certain ashen man’s ghostly figure, way removed from all the others, passing unseen down a grand stairway to lower depths.
It seemed Izumi’s theory had been correct, and Faalan was looking for the Precursor’s secret on his own, subjecting himself to terrible risks in the process. The daemon aside, who could tell what manner of deadly traps might lay in the unvisited abysses?
As much as she dreaded the dark, Izumi couldn’t leave him to his devices.
“I know where he’s gone,” she stood and told the nearby poet, who followed her mysterious act with confusion. “Hold this for me. If anybody asks, tell them I found the ladies’ room.”
Izumi took off her linkstone and tossed it to the bard.
“Hm?” Waramoti answered her with a frown. “You tracked him down with magic? Since when did you know such tricks…? You never told me about that one before.”
“Got it from a fan of yours,” she replied. “Ciao.”
“Excuse me?”
Not lingering to explain, Izumi left running across the plaza towards the north side of the level, following in the rogue hero’s footsteps into the unknown darkness below, as quick as she was able. All the while hoping and praying that she wouldn’t be too late.
2
There was a clear shift in the architecture to be observed between the third residential layer and what came below. The lower quarters were far removed from the presence of the civilian houses, and the paths there grew narrow. Following down the central stairway cut through the vast masses of solid stone, Faalan eventually stepped out into a larger open space.
Visibility here was worse than before, the sun’s reign above fast failing, but his keen eyes could make out most of the details even in the absence of major light sources. He had a small lamp with him, but he kept it dark, saved for an emergency. Darkness worked in his favor here, veiling him from his companions’ attention, even though the biological traits inherited from his birth parent faintly yet stubbornly repelled it.
What lay before Faalan’s eyes was a wide, rectangular hall at least five hundred yards sideways and a fifth of that across. Far in the left end was an entrance to another area, barred with wide, reinforced pillars, through which shone faint a distant glow of a fiery hue. Beyond was most likely the industrial district, he surmised, where the mountains’ excavated wealth had once been delivered for processing, and whence the processed goods were then distributed on to other parts.
The other way, in the right hand end, was also what looked like an entryway, slightly more modest in scale. The passage from thereon was blocked, however. Embedded into the stone wall was a great, circular door of unmistakably metallic make, and firmly closed. Its identity was even less of a puzzle. That door could only lead to the Precursors’—and later the Dharves’—vault, where the greatest of their treasures were stored with utmost security.
Was that also the resting place of their most dangerous secret?
If so, then only troublesome choices awaited.
Faalan didn’t deem it likely that he could get into a place as stoutly sealed, not before the Dharves would come across it. He was not a burglar or a banking expert, and knew nothing of such things. Unlike his travel companions. Therefore, it appeared that his only option was to wait for Gronan to unlock the vault and recover the weapon, then to attempt taking it from him by force. Which was, by all means, the worst conceivable scenario.
Or perhaps not?
To begin with, was a bank vault ever a fitting place to store weapons?
Directly across the hall, in the northern wall, was one more opening, a tall and narrow crack, where a passage penetrated still deeper into the earth. What more could there be? It was beginning to seem that the ancients had dug the northern mountains all hollow during their extensive stay. Either way, confronting the Dharves could only be done after exhausting all other available options. Thinking so, Faalan took a step to continued down the stairs and cross the hall.
“…?”
At that moment, however, the warrior’s attention was drawn by the sound of rapid footsteps coming from the stairs behind him. He quickly turned around to confront the pursuit, his hand instinctively finding its way to the handle of his blade.
Had someone seen him leave the company? Though he’d done his best to be discreet. He hadn’t done anything incriminating yet, but wandering around by himself would look suspicious regardless. Having reached this close to the hidden goal of the expedition, Gronan’s greedy yearning for the tool of his salvation was doubtless reaching its climax, and his paranoia alongside.
But a surprise met Faalan instead.
There was only one person coming down the stairs, and she soon appeared in view. Having at last located the man, Izumi stopped to catch her breath, leaning on her knees.
“Geez! Don’t wander off on your own like that!” she scolded him. “Don’t you see how dangerous it is!”
Faalan stared back at the woman, momentarily stunned.
Then, he abruptly broke into a chuckle and looked away.
“What…?” she asked him, frowning. “What’s funny? Is there something on my face?”
“No, it’s nothing,” he shook his head. “I just thought...It might have started out only as a jest, but you really are like a mother.”
“Haa...?” Izumi looked a little flustered by the comment.
“Well, as human mothers generally are,” he added. “Not like my own. She was not one to show much care for her children, regardless of their origins.”
“I see,” Izumi slowly replied, regaining her composure. “Can’t say I’m better informed there, but...I wonder if that really was the case?”
“Hm?”
“Mothers are quite formidable, you shouldn’t underestimate them,” she said. “Right when you think you have them all figured out, they pull something new. And a human or not, there’s no parent out there who’d willingly let their child get lost in a deadly cave like this. Not if there was anything they could do to help it. So do me a favor and don’t do stunts like this again.”
“Very well,” Faalan said with a smile. “I apologize if I’ve caused unnecessary concern. But this could be our only chance to locate the Precursors’ weapon before Gronan. We can’t well afford to waste it.”
“You still care about world peace, even after everything?” she asked with a look of disbelief. “I really do think we have more pressing issues to worry about right now.”
“Maybe so. But Gronan doesn’t see it the same way. Fear of death alone won’t stop him, Izumi, not while his hatred drives him. He already knows Hel; he’s been there. And he will go through it all again, if he must. A man is most dangerous when he believes he has nothing left to lose. Regardless, he must not get his hands on that weapon, if it exists. That is our top priority.”
“Yes, yes, I get it,” Izumi replied with a sigh. “But I don’t see why you, of all people, must throw away your life for it. The Empire is a big place, they have more than one hero, you know? Even if the two of us fail here, they’ll think of something else. So there’s no need for you to personally take one for the team, out of a sheer sense of duty. Live to fight another day, and so on.”
“I do,” he declared. “Because it’s not only out of a sense of duty that I’m here.”
“Hm? What do you mean by that?”
Faalan gazed back at Izumi with solemn conviction, his gentle eyes faintly glowing in the dark.
“Gronan is not a villain,” he said. “I do not wish to see him become one. The mission aside, those are my personal feelings on the matter.”
“That guy’s a villain, no matter how you look at him,” Izumi retorted.
“Then so are we,” he replied. “We both know the wrath and grief that ail him. That’s why, we must be the ones to help him off this path. Because we understand what he’s going through.”
Turning around, facing the darkness of the vast hall ahead, Faalan continued,
“It’s simple to save those who are innocent. Anyone would agree they deserve it. But what about those who have done evil, who have had evil done to them, and are confused and lost? Do their mistakes make them any less human? Less worthy of mercy? Telling that is difficult. Saving such people is difficult. I don’t personally think of things in terms of heroism, or whatnot. But I’d like to believe that exceptional power is there for exceptional reasons. My birth in this world was not a mistake—I want to prove this.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Eh…?” Izumi found herself at a loss of words. In a flash, she was reminded of her own purpose, which had very nearly faded from her memory by now. By the realization, she was also forced to admit the frailty of her own conviction, compared to that of the Empire’s champion. She then looked wryly away, even a bit envious.
“Something tells me you are going to get along swimmingly with Ms Empress,” she muttered.
“Hm?”
“Never mind,” Izumi gave in, scratching her head. “All right, I’m on board then. You have my word. No matter what, we’ll make Big Boss see the error of his ways. So no more soloing, you hear me? We’re real partners from hereon! And partners don’t leave each other in the dark. Your safety is still my top priority, after all.”
“Very well,” Faalan nodded. “I shall do my best.”
Izumi nodded.
“But, it’s getting real dark outside,” she then said, looking up. “Unless we find a way to restore proper lighting to this place, we’ll be re-enacting the Chronicles of Ri***ck soon. The others will have to return to the camp too, so we’d better hurry along.”
“I suppose you are right.”
Seeing no other choice but to put the quest for the ancient weapon on hold for now, the two went climbing back up the stairs to rejoin the rest of the explorers. But on the way up, Faalan couldn’t avoid questioning the same thing Waramoti had before.
“How were you able to find me?” he asked. “I’m confident no one noticed my departure. Was I wrong then?”
“What do you mean, how?” Izumi lightly replied. “Mom always knows.”
3
A veritable feast was made that night at the campsite to celebrate the expedition’s long-awaited success. Various vegetables and synthesized, convincingly meat-like material were brought up from the ancients’ underground farm, to be prepared by the able men of clan Alelard. The cooks were overjoyed to create something more than oatmeal and thin soup for once, and spared no effort to set up a kingly banquet. The underground city’s alcohol stock was meticulously sampled on the side, and great bonfires lit all around the wide avenues with the additional firewood they’d found. Not even Acquiescas cared about a few chairs anymore. Thanks to all these supplies, the crew no longer had to worry about starving or freezing, and all sense of urgency was removed together with the time limit.
Life had returned to Eylia, and looking at the ancient buildings basking in the glow of the nightly fires and revelry, it seemed almost to have never left. Even Gronan was inspired to share some of the stories his grandfather had told him.
“These streets were all warmed once,” he told the fellowship after the supper, as they sat by a bonfire, drinking. “Heated water circled in hidden channels beneath the stones, keeping them pleasant to walk on, barefooted, even in the heart of winter. Ever-green trees grew by the houses, and their dwellers never knew chill, but could go around in silk cassocks and airy robes, while snow rained about them.”
Meanwhile, clan Rawround’s men kept busy in the Shrine hall, cataloging all the findings in candlelight, and none of them cared about sleep and barely even paused to eat. The time of forced promotions and sales pitches was past. Today’s findings alone made back the cost of the expedition many times over, and they had yet to even uncover the actual treasury.
Besides that of relics and valuables, the city below had proved a wonderland of engineering also. Aft, Till, and Marcus spent many hours discussing what they could import and how these technologies could be implemented for the benefit of Utenvik. No less occupied were Acquiescas and the Dharvic teachers, comparing notes and having heated debates fueled by more than tea, regarding the locals’ customs and lore.
Laughter, song, and painting of future visions of grandeur continued late into the night. The celebration also brought about unprecedented demand for Waramoti’s music, and the ex-warrior had likely never had a night as busy before on his career.
Certainly, there was only one sour face to be found among the entire crew.
“If you want, you can share my sleeping bag tonight,” Tidaal generously offered to Izumi, while passing her campsite. “And I’ll protect you from THE HIDEOUS BOOGEYMAAAAN! ROOOAAARRRHH!”
“BWAHAHAHAHA!” The mercenaries accompanying the man could hardly keep upright, laughing so hard.
“What was that?” Ethys gasped, glancing over his shoulder. “I swear I just saw something! It was...THE REVENGE OF THE ANCIENT SCULPTOOOOR!”
“AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Oh, I’ll remember this,” Izumi said, leaning on her palm as she sat by the campfire, highly annoyed.
“Yeah, come on lads, this is not fair anymore,” Tidaal announced. “Why is it that only Faalan has his mom here to protect him? Everybody else is completely helpless!”
“OHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!”
“Well,” the mercenary added, stroking his beard, “if there’s one thing we know for sure now, it’s that the Precursors sucked at art—maybe even more than I do. Guess that’s why they all fucked off? Too ashamed to show their faces anymore!”
It seemed there would be no end to all the laughter that night.
True enough, the daemon had made no move in all this time. It remained where it stood, in the antechamber, not a speck of dust on it disturbed. The creature had ample opportunity to attack them, or replace one of the mercenaries, while the crew was spread out to investigate the lower levels, yet it had done nothing at all. As if it were indeed only a cold statue.
“Even assuming it was real once,” Waramoti said to Izumi after the noise had died down and the crowds passed, “I can’t well believe any living thing could survive that long without moving, eating, or drinking. By the looks of it, it hasn’t touched the farms or the synthesizers at any point, if it ever knew what to do with them. No matter how you look at it, it can’t possibly be the genuine article.”
Izumi made no comment.
If the daemon was what forced the Eylians to abandon the lower city and seal the entrance, then it had to have been stuck underground for closer to two thousand years. It coming back to life would’ve been just as incredible as an ancient Roman walking amid modern day humans.
In theory, anyway.
Yet, just as undeniable it was that daemons were not humans. No one knew for how long they could live, or if they were even strictly “alive” to begin with. It was all speculation.
Naturally, it was possible—and increasingly likely in the light of the day’s events— that the aberration was truly only a sculpture. An imitation shaped based on a witness recording or such, and deliberately placed where it stood to scare off intruders. It was perhaps naught more but a scarecrow to keep outsiders from robbing the wealth of the city, and the unsettling warnings were made and mixed in the archives for the same, elaborate ruse. Was it not widely known for a fact that no daemons had ever been seen before in Noertia, until the incident only a couple of months back?
So where had this come from? Why was it all alone? Suggesting it was real posed more questions than it answered.
At the same time, the old dwellers of this city had had good reasons to safeguard their city, where the power to conquer the world was supposedly hidden. That double-edged sword had allowed the Precursors to bind masses of people into their service, yet it had also rendered their homes uninhabitable, if the prevalent theory was true.
Thinking about it rationally, Izumi’s fears couldn’t be grounded in reality.
“What do you think, Yui-chan?” she whispered. “Am I only jumping to conclusions?”
“How should I know?” the ever-present spirit replied, proving once again of little help. “It’s the first time I see such a thing! There’s no magic or life in it, I can tell you that much. Saying it could ever move would be the most outrageous thing I’ve heard, yet I loathe the very sight of it!”
“Hm.”
“—Ah, by the way,” Faalan unexpectedly spoke, seated at his usual spot nearby. “Did you see what was on the crystal I gave you?”
“Ah! That!” Izumi gasped. “Thanks to all the hassle, I forgot completely! Sorry. I’ll check it out tomorrow morning.”
“Not that it really matters,” the warrior shrugged. “Anymore. We found the door and opened it. There is nothing more the records may tell us. Though learning the precise location of the ancients’ greatest treasure would be helpful.”
“Doubt you’d learn that from a random note left lying under someone’s bedside,” Waramoti remarked.
“True.”
The bard played a quick melody,
“’And back they roam, all the way back home, bearing gifts and glorious loot; whereupon I’ll tell every willing soul, what occurred with a chord of my lute!’ Bang!”
“Why, I’m glad someone’s having fun,” Izumi commented.
“What happens, it happens,” the man told her. “Until then, enjoy the ride. Your share of the Eylians’ fortune makes you one of the wealthiest women in all the world now, Izumi. The plump baronesses of Tratovia, or the illiterate princesses of the lesser lands can’t hold a candle. That’s yet another major goalpoint crossed over from your list. How do you feel about that?”
“’No amount of money ever bought a second of time,’” Izumi cited in answer, leaning on her knees, feeling like she had reached enlightenment and lost all her taste for money.
“And who said such a thing?” Waramoti inquired.
“Iron Man.”
“Ah, yes, your favorite philosopher, the Iron Man. How I would’ve loved to meet him.”
“Me too,” she sighed.
“Well, I think I’m off to dreamland now,” the bard announced and got up. “It’s getting late and we have another busy day ahead of us tomorrow! Moreover, it seems my tolerance for spirits vanished together with my biceps. G’night!”
“Eh, sleep tight.”
Izumi made no move to leave the bonfire, thought she had no watch and couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as exhausted.
“You should go too,” Faalan recommended after a while. “Rest easy, I shall keep up tonight. No dark sorcery will let anything sneak up on us without my knowing, and I require very little rest by nature.”
“…Okay.”
Seeing no point in resisting, Izumi finally got up, crawled into the tent, and laid down on her spot. She couldn’t rest so easily, though. Stuffing herself into the sleeping bag, restraining her arms and legs in the process, felt like a suicide, so she laid on top of it without undressing. She kept stirring at every unusual sound and crack, double-checking where her sword was. Whenever she heard footsteps crunch the snow outside, her ears followed with great care the direction of the movement. The way the mercenaries’ snoring and chatter covered the more subtle sounds nearly drove her insane out of paranoia.
At times, Izumi dozed off briefly, but was soon startled awake, thinking she’d heard screaming. But listening on, the deep, tranquil breathing and snoring of her companions continued unhindered. None of them possessed the vocal cords to produce such screams, anyway. It had only been her subconscious playing tricks on her.
Nothing was happening. Watch shifts rotated as usual. No one saw any reason to stay in the daemon chamber at night, only the camp site was watched, but perhaps that was enough. As he had promised, Faalan stayed up for most of the night, keeping the other watchmen company. Every once in a while, Izumi heard him exchange brief words at the bonfire with whoever was up, or go retrieve more wood from the pile by the Shrine. Knowing he was there, alert and vigilant, gradually calmed her, and she was able to pass to sleep in the early hours of the new day.
4
By the time Izumi got up and out again, the pale glow of the coming dawn had cast its azure filter over the city ruins. A line of drowsy mercenaries had already formed at the kitchen doorstep, waiting for their oatmeal without any suggestion of a nightly carnage. The Dharves were worthy of their reputation when it came to their innate hardiness, and showed no hint of hangover after only one night of drinking. Meanwhile, Tidaal and the other outsiders of more natural build looked like they’d fled the set of a zombie movie.
After breakfast, a brief headcount was carried out, and the crew was split into new teams, each team assigned a target zone to explore underground, based on yesterday’s tour. With that, another day of exploration was set to begin. No one cared about the surface ruins anymore. All save for the book keepers and a light camp watch departed for the subterranean halls, to seek better treasures.
But while the men were still busy with their preparations and waiting for the drowsier troops to get their gear on, Izumi discreetly parted from their company.
Recalling again the crystal Faalan had found, she marched down the western avenue to the archives. In all likelihood, the solitary misplaced record was nothing critically important, but fearing she might come to regret ignoring it later, Izumi decided to leave nothing up to chance. Checking it was a trivial matter, after all.
Compared to the unsettling tension and darkness of the underground city, the previously glum record hall now appeared almost like home, serene, peaceful, and free of danger. Izumi hiked to the far back and activated the reader with accustomed motions. The crystal she had carried thus far in her coat pocket she now took out and examined against the morning light from the windows, gently wiping it with her sleeve. Deeming the item intact and clean enough, she stuck it into the machine and began to scan for the right frequency, manipulating the controls.
Moments passed in quiet anticipation.
“Hm? It’s got nothing in the usual range, at least.”
“I’m picking up traces of magic,” Yubilea reported, eyeing the crystal like a little sparrow. “There’s something in there.”
Continuing to turn the frequency button, Izumi’s ears picked up a faint sound, faint enough for her to almost miss it. Quickly turning the selector back, she increased the volume and started the playback over from the beginning.
Shortly, a tired but valiant male voice echoed through the hall, brought to life after eons.
“This is Pthumero, son of Atomos, in the year one of the thirty-second cycle.”
After the formal beginning came a lengthy pause.
“I...don’t know why I’m making this recording. I just needed to talk, I suppose. I don’t know who to turn to with this, or if I should talk about it at all. But neither do I think I can keep it all in my head forever, so I will tell this to you, whom fate, or bad luck, has led to find this crystal. It’s unlikely anyone will ever view this memory—I made it without authorization and intend to dispose of it hereafter—but...In the event that you are now seeing this, regardless...then it means that something has happened to me, and I’m not there to care about it anymore.
“You must be confused. Who is this guy? What is he saying? What is this about, exactly—to tell you the truth, I don’t know how to explain it any better myself. I’m the one who’s confused. But, I’ll just give you the facts, make of them what you will. Who knows, perhaps you’ll be better informed.
“It has been half a year since my brother and I passed the Trials of Indra, and were chosen as the champions of Eylia. The representatives of mankind. Our mission was to travel to the land of Amarno, and seek the Tower of Destiny in the ancient mountains of Ukulu. We were to take part in the sacred ritual that the Gods had set for us, and save the world, as our forefathers have done since the ancient times, once every thousand years. As the—as ‘those who came before’ tasked us to do. Ah, it sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud. But that’s what we did it. We went there, Otalas and I, and we—we saved the world. Whether you believe it or not.
“Or, my brother did, I suppose.
“I should’ve never been there. It was his place, his right. According to the rule, only one representative may be chosen, but I tied him in the Trials, and the Elders took that as a heavenly sign. So we both got to go. But...it really was wrong. I didn’t fight out of a sense of duty, or love for humankind, like Otalas did, but simply because I wanted to beat him to it. That’s all I cared about, to not be left in his shadow, to prove I was every bit the man he was. But I had no idea what I was in for. My jealousy and distorted ambition were the direct cause to everything wrong about my life, and that’s likely the reason why we’re both sitting here now, you and me.
“Look. I never told my father about this. I’m still not sure if I should tell you either—or any living soul, for that matter. And, at the same time, I also feel that someone has to know. Know that I...I haven’t been entirely myself as of late. You see, something happened to me in there, in Amarno. Something I don’t know how to explain. It’s been...Okay.
“Listen. I never went to the Tower.
“I couldn’t make it in time. I got separated from my brother along the way, and by the time I reached the Trophaeum, the gates were already sealed. It was over. The ritual had been completed. I screwed up, big time—but there was no one there to see it. So I did the only thing I could, hid my shame, and came back home. What else—what else was I supposed to do? I don’t know. And here they all thought I was the hero. That it was thanks to me that...Gods damn it, they—I just didn’t have the heart to tell them!
“But that’s not what I wanted to say. This isn’t just about my lack of spine. Here’s the thing. When I was on my way back from the Tower, I...I know this sounds so ridiculous. You’re never going to believe me. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the truth, and I swear it, whether it was the jungle fever or whatever magic of the elves, I couldn’t tell you, but it seemed real to me.
“I met myself there.
“Someone—or something—that looked like me. Was me. It was not an illusion. It was alive, it was another me, exactly like I am. And it—He touched me. He wouldn’t say anything, he just...embraced me, like someone close. As if to comfort me, to tell me it was all right, that everything was going to be fine. And at that moment I was filled by this overwhelming sense that something had just ended, and was gone forever, and I broke down and cried. Then he left me and went away, without saying a word. And I came back home and never saw the other me again.
“I understand how this sounds. But ever since it happened, I haven’t felt like myself again. Something’s changed. I got back to Eylia, safe and sound, but...I can’t recognize the guy in the mirror anymore. My family or old friends can’t tell anything’s different, but I’ve become a complete stranger to myself.
“Days just flow by, I go to sleep and wake up, and try to work as usual. And then it all repeats, and it’s getting harder and harder to tell dreaming and real life apart. When I sleep, it’s either just dead black or terrible nightmares. I’m constantly tired because of it. Just sort of, phasing away. I tried talking to a healer I know about this, but he only told me the usual story. That I’m stressed out, that I’m—traumatized by what happened in Amarno, and for losing my brother. He insisted there is nothing wrong with me, physically, that I should take some time off and I’d feel better again. But I already know. Don’t ask me how, I just do. Every cell in my body is telling me the same. This isn’t something that’s going to go away in time. No, it’s only going to get worse.
“I find myself—so angry these days.
“I wasn’t always like this. It’s like, the feeling’s not even my own, but I share it as if it were. And it’s telling me that things can’t go on the way they are. Everything must change. I’m not even sad for losing my brother. I know he’s already dead, but deep down, I’m simply relieved to know that. But if that’s not what haunts me, then what is it? I’m upset, because—it’s just so unfair! What is? I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. The words come to me on their own. None of this is right, these people and the way they live their lives, the way they do things, ignorant, indolent, indulgent—it’s all wrong. It’s a mistake that should be erased!
“There’s one thought. One thing that keeps coming back to me.
“Were we ever actually freed? Or are they messing with our minds, even now, the Elders, or whoever it is they’re hiding in that temple below? Even though the weapon was never meant to be used, it was supposed to be kept under lock and guard at all times, but...Are they lying to us? Is that what this is? Aah, what am I asking—of course they are! It’s so obvious, when only you think about it! Do they see themselves above the law? They must be laughing at us all the time, calling us fools behind our backs. Is any decision we make truly our own, or just what someone else pushed on us without our knowing? Maybe me and my brother were only ever their puppets too? Maybe there never were any heroes, and those people all sailed overseas to die, not because they chose to, but because they were forced to! Maybe our whole grand republic was one big sham from the start.
“If so...If that’s the case…
“Hey, I should thank you. For listening. I didn’t think it would help, but somehow, it did. I feel a lot better already. Clearer. I think I know what I have to do now. Yeah. That’s right. I’m going to get down there and put an end to their games—!”
Izumi regained her self-awareness with a start, to find that silence had fallen in the archive hall. The record had ended, and the reader’s light dimmed.
“Uhh, what did I just listen to?” Yubilea floated in the air beside the woman, showing a deeply confused face. Izumi wouldn’t immediately reply. Resting her hands on the control board, she stared at the blue-glowing lens in the stone, and bit her lip.
“You’re not dead, are you, Pthumero?”