1

Early in the morning of Sunnaan, the fourth of Hennod, the mixed ensemble described earlier gathered on a snowy field roughly three miles east of the walls of Utenvik. They were taken there by regular, mule-drawn wagons, the completed snowmobiles carefully hidden under inconspicuous sheets, to protect the invention from the eyes of any imperial spies yet lurking near the city. The precautions were somewhat wasted, seeing as there were already three members affiliated with Tratovia among the expedition crew.

At a safe distance, veiled by a tentacle-like ridge, the snowmobiles were rolled out of the wagons, and lengthy sleighs were attached to their rear hooks. They weren’t cozy Christmas sleighs, but had been originally made for transporting timber, long and narrow. Now they would carry men and the supplies instead and were appropriately refitted with awkward little seats. Five such transports were readied. The mercenaries and researchers were divided into four of them, eight men each with their backpacks, while the fifth one was reserved entirely for the equipment, food, water, firewood, and other necessities. All the transports were packed quite tight in the end, but waiting for the assembly of a sixth snowmobile would have cost them another two weeks of waiting, so they could only put up with it.

In roughly an hour, the crew was all done with being awed by those masterpieces of magitechnical engineering, loading them, and were ready to begin the motor march. Not that they could leave without the leaders, who had yet to arrive, and so spent a while waiting, double-checking things, and getting to know one another better.

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little?” Waramoti asked, giving Izumi a look.

Not content with what she already had and the supplies given, the woman had gone on to purchase some additional winter wear on the previous day.

Beside the fur-laced long coat, gloves, and boots she previously owned, she had pulled a thick woolen beanie on her head, and wrapped a long, crimson muffler around her neck and lower face. She’d put on the shaded expedition goggles to guard her eyes from the bright morning sun, and as the result, there was very little left visible of the champion herself.

The bard made do with less. He had covered his head, and also put on the thick expedition mitts to protect his hands, the invaluable instruments of his trade, but otherwise he remained dressed in his usual clothes. Being a native of the northern lands, he was well used to the cold climate, after all, and the day was fairly mild.

“This is the bare minimum of passable,” Izumi assured the bard, shivering all over and hopping up and down to keep warm.

She gave a look of motherly concern to the other members around, but found that they were all more or less adequately prepared for the arctic ride, living up to their professional reputation.

Although, there was one noteworthy exception.

“...Are you going to be all right?” Izumi asked Faalan, who stood near them.

To their dismay, the fair-headed warrior wore only the same attire he’d had this whole time, indoors and out, his ashen jacket, trousers, and slim boots. He had no hat, and only thin-looking leather gloves on his hands. In spite of this questionable mode of dress, the man showed no hint of chill, even as the northern wind ruffled his strands.

“I am quite fine,” Faalan assured her. “My body has high tolerance for the elements.”

“Well, I feel twice as cold just looking at you!” Izumi told him. “Here. I had a feeling it would go like this with the elfman, so I got a spare.”

Izumi dug out a colorful wool beanie with ear flaps from her travel bag, and went on to pull it on Faalan’s head, while the man stood too surprised to resist. There was even a little felt ball attached to the tip of the hat.

“There!” Izumi said with a satisfied nod. “Hm-hm. Not half-bad, if I may say so! It suits you! It was discounted too, so don’t bother paying me back. You may think of it as an early birthday present.”

Whether it looked good on the man or not was a matter of taste, but the chiefly orange-yellow beanie was objectively not an ideal match for his otherwise desaturated appearance. The other mercenaries followed the scene from a distance, having great trouble holding their laughter.

“Hey, Faalan,” Marcus called out, “any chance your mom could patch my socks for me? I think I’ve got a hole...”

“I doubt I’ve ever been this embarrassed in my life,” Faalan commented, though his feelings failed to show on his pale face, and neither would he take off the hat.

“You know, I would’ve brought my own mom too,” Tidaal remarked. “But not even the steel beast could’ve hauled her fat ass up to those mountains.”

Although it was bought at certain individuals’ expense, the mood among the expedition crew was quite cheerful that morning. That was when Gronan Arkentahl at last chose to make his appearance, riding from the city with Acquiescas and a clansman in tow, done with their last-minute plan revisions and weather checks.

Dismounting, leaving his subordinate to take away the horses, Gronan faced the crew, gave them all an approving look, and raised his voice.

“Top of the morning to you!” he shouted. “On my own behalf, as well as that of my uncle’s, I thank you for joining us on this quest; quest unprecedented in the history of our people! Fortune and glory await us at our destination! Do your duty, and you will not be sent home wanting! Ever will you find friends in Dharva thereafter! But take heed! Many are the dangers as well. Where we are going, none have set foot in a thousand years, and there is only so much that wisdom and experience can foretell. Keep your wits about you and your swordhand ready, your arrows well within reach. Never abandon a comrade! Together, and only together, can we do this! In three days, if ancestors so allow, we will be in Eylia, beholding the dwellings of the ancients! So get ready! Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

“—YEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!” the mercenaries all raised their voices in a cheerful cry, punching the air.

Without a separate signal, everyone hurried to take their predesignated seats aboard the sleighs, save for the five snowmobile drivers, who had been trained to control the new vehicles. Nodding to Marcus and Faalan, Gronan took a step to find his place among them.

Then, he noticed Faalan’s new hat and stopped in his tracks.

“Pfft.”

Unable to keep his grim poker face, Gronan cracked up, and resumed walking, while the Silver Saber was left standing, wordless, looking like one abandoned by the Divines.

2

In spite of the organizers’ best efforts, making detailed travel plans had been quite difficult. The distant regions they set out to explore were poorly known to this day, the maps unreliable. The locals scarce ventured further than perhaps fifty miles east from Utenvik, not even that far north, and the expedition’s goal point stood more than ten times as far.

Why were the northern regions so poorly known?

Challenging them was both a matter of lacking pros, as well as too many cons.

Brazen hunters defied better knowledge each year, extending their search for pelts and game too far, underestimating the unforgiving nature in the process, and went missing. Their fate further discouraged exploration.

The prey was not particularly worthwhile either. The only type of wildlife to endure the harsh winters were those more or less magical in nature. These preternatural monsters and the lack of easy food sources chased away more conventional beasts, taking away any cause for sensible locals to risk their lives. They would venture west and south instead.

Seekers of ancient treasures were their own chapter, and often more determined than hunters. But they were also worse equipped, without the experience to match the ambition, and their end was no less miserable. Though many had heard of the legend of Eylia, a millennium without a single success story had effectively eliminated all entrepreneurs motivated by greed. A few gloryhounds still came by every once in a while, and were either chased away by the Dharves, or never heard of again.

In winter, the daily temperatures in the mountains could drop to levels comparable to minus fifty or even sixty degrees centigrade, though the locals knew no Celsius any better than Fahrenheit or Kelvin. Now, it was spring in the northern hemisphere, the temperatures were milder during the days, but still declined dramatically after sunset. Due to this, carrying out overnight excursions was generally advised against.

All things considered, it could be said that Utenvik stood on the very edge of civilization. Without the Dharves’ blessing, local coin and supplies, any expedition to the regions beyond was doomed, which Acquiescas had wisely recognized decades ago. Where so many others had failed to win over the Steward’s favor, he had succeeded, and he had done it through meticulous planning and a humble attitude.

And also, by unwittingly aligning his request with the Dharves’ own interests.

Regardless, whether by sheer accident or earnest effort, history was in the making.

A thousand years ago, the Dharvic immigrants had drawn a rough map of the route they had taken on their way out of the Precursor dwellings. The early leaders of Dharva had elected to keep this map from public eyes, and their followers had adhered to this policy of secrecy with nearly religious commitment, generation after another. In fact, no one had laid eyes on the parchment for several centuries, but neither was its existence entirely forgotten.

Dharva’s bitter defeat to the Empire had pushed these prideful people to look back in time and recall many once forsaken pieces of lore, in search of a way to improve their situation. Acquiescas’s proposal had made Steward Hiyrland recall what he had learned from his cousin’s parents in his youth. And from among the past kings’ records, he had recovered the parchment, which had greatly augmented his faith in the expedition’s chances.

A copy of the ancient map now guided the travelers.

The drawing couldn’t be called particularly accurate by any means, being only a simplistic, handmade representation of what the illustrator had witnessed a millennium past, the scale and proportions likely off in many places. But through close study of the key landmarks and the general lay of the land, the expedition heads were confident that they would find the way to the lost city.

The five snowmobile engines sprang to life, digging into the icy field like hungry lions, and began to pull the mercenary-laden sleighs towards the distant destination. Hardened snow carried even the heavy vehicles with ease, and after gradually adjusting to this bizarre mode of travel that they’d never experienced before in such conditions, the travelers could sit back and simply enjoy the ride.

Izumi had the advantage of knowing even speedier transports, and was able to relax quite readily on her seat in the back of the second sleigh. The Dharves’ snowmobiles were yet unrefined and could reach nowhere close to the monstrous velocities of the similar vehicles of the 21st century Earth. Nevertheless, they did attain swiftness better than a cantering horse even in this difficult terrain, all the while pulling loads greater than what even multiple horses could.

The best part was, of course, that these inventions spared the travelers entirely from the effort of moving their own feet, and carrying their heavy equipment and supplies. Izumi felt nothing but boundless gratitude for the fact. Even after all the adventures she had been through before, her physique was no match to all these brawny soldiers of fortune. Even were she to amplify her strength with Gram and restore her stamina with Ohrm, the trip would have likely been the end of her. No, she would’ve had to give up without even trying. Now, she could share the adventure along with the rest, dreaming of the wealth and splendor that awaited them in the lost city.

The tall walls and rooftops of Utenvik soon became but a small dot in the distance, then to disappear entirely behind the powdered slopes of Engregor. Well before noon the expedition had already crossed a distance that would have taken a full day on foot and thoroughly depleted their strength.

There were no tourists or hikers in view, not a single set of footprints or ski tracks to ruin the virginal, pearl-white plateau of Amalkan that spread wide ahead. The crystalline surface glittered as diamond dust under the noon sun, which blazed bright in the open cerulean sky, in the total absence of clouds. The weather was no less splendid than the forecast had predicted, and the journey proceeded with haste and ease.

The expedition made a stop to cool the engines and dine early in the afternoon, and the grim-looking fellowship became as grade school children, laughing, singing, and playing in the snow.

“Hey, mom! I’ve a job for you!”

Nobody considered Izumi a mercenary the same as the rest, even with the Steward’s recommendation, and so Marcus recruited her for other tasks during the break. She was made to help the men of Alelard heat and serve lunch. There she soon stood, behind the cannon-like steel pot, rationing soup with a large ladle for the queue of hungry travelers, looking quite fed up. It had turned into an uncannily faithful re-enactment of her role in the past imperial expedition to the Darkwood.

Though most of the mercenaries behaved quite civilly and thanked her for the lunch, there were also exceptions among them.

“Could I also get a kiss on me cheek?” Tidaal requested, turning the tattooed right side of his face at the woman. “Right here?”

Without a word, Izumi poured him half a ladle, with only vegetables and stock, skillfully omitting the meat cubes, and called next.

The man looked down into his cup and his face fell.

“Hey, this ain’t...You’re joking. You’re kidding me. This is not...”

“—Move, I’m starving!” Beastly Hrugnaw pushed ahead, taking Tidaal’s place, the line moved on, and the man lost his chance to give his feedback.

Izumi couldn’t keep sulking for long in such a brilliant weather. Once she had her own share of soup in hand, with a hearty slice of home-made bread on the side, she forgot her complaints and laughed alongside everyone else.

Waramoti didn’t forget his role either, entertaining the diners with catchy folk songs, amusing little anecdotes, and the sound of his elven-make lute. And there was no one left afterwards to question his place on the trip.

So far, everything was proceeding well. Almost too well to seem true.

Aft’s team checked the snowmobiles and confirmed that the engines remained in excellent condition, and the expedition resumed after a couple of hours.

Now fed and relaxed, the passengers began to feel drowsy, and the noise and chatter from the first part of the journey died down. The initial excitement over the wondrous transports also faded over the following lazy hours, and sitting still and idle in the sleighs began to seem more boring than magical.

The scenery offered no refreshing variety either. Mile after mile, the view of the pearly plateau, framed by the fang-like mountains, remained the same. The distant white peaks were occasionally caressed by arctic gales, sending down colossal waves of flour-like snow, which twirled and spun like mischievous spirits before eventually settling.

No animals could be seen, birds, or monsters, any more than other people. After all the places Izumi had previously seen, filled with vibrant life and incessant motion, the northern realm began to seem like a different planet entirely, a forgotten frontier of Neptune, where only cold, dead loneliness awaited any visitors.

This dismal impression grew stronger as the day went on.

As quick as the crew cleaved across the wintry desert, the sun was still faster than they, eventually overtaking the vehicles and pushing ahead, towards the eastern horizon line. The lower it sank, the redder it turned, and soon the whole sky burned scarlet under the gaze of that fiery eye.

Had a sunset ever seemed as belligerent and foreboding before?

That all-encompassing, bloody hue was like a celestial warning light, heralding the deadly nightfall, and emphasizing the enormity of the spotless void of space above their heads. The passengers began to avoid looking up. At the same time, the temperature grew steadily colder, and everyone was forced to recheck their outfit.

Yet, Gronan Arkentahl showed no hesitation at the face of the night.

After dinner break, which everyone had naturally assumed to mean their last stop today, Gronan gave no orders to set up a camp but to get ready to resume the march, even though light was fast failing. His surprising command was not opposed even if its rationality was quietly questioned, and so the snowmobiles’ rumble continued.

The sun’s crimson disc eventually vanished completely from view. Its warm glow lingered for an hour more, gradually fading, before the scenery was veiled entirely in deep velvet blue. And then came dark.

The air now got biting, forcing the passengers to cover their faces. While the drivers were kept warm behind the glass-made windshields, wrestling with the stiff vehicle controls, the others were not as comfortable, having little extra room to move around. Though they were packed shoulder-to-shoulder like sardines in a can, what minimal warmth this light contact gave was fast stolen by the wind.

In another hour, Izumi was beginning to wonder if they weren’t actually going to freeze to death. She was likely not alone with her fears. How much further would they go? Was their leader not planning to stop at all? Surely Gronan didn’t mean to ride through the whole night, against the plan?

Freezing was not the only threat. The snowmobiles were equipped with alchemical lanterns for headlights, but they couldn’t compare to the powerful halogen lights of their Earthly counterparts and barely showed six feet ahead of the vehicle. Outside the lanterns’ limited range, nothing at all could be seen. Were something to appear on the way, collision would have been unavoidable.

Unrest was starting to turn to outright terror among the expedition members, before finally the command was given, and the ride started to slow down.

The engines stopped, the headlights turned off. No one felt relieved. The following stillness was in many ways even more torturous than the chilling ride. The passengers weren’t too eager to get off the sleighs and lose even that precious little warmth that close company allowed, yet they had no choice. Unless they quickly set up a camp and got a fire started, their collective demise would become a genuine concern.

Undergoing unreasonable exertions of will power, they disembarked and got to work.

Izumi’s eyes gradually adjusted to the night. It wasn’t completely pitch-black under the starry sky, the light of which snow effectively reflected, but identifying people or individual objects was still difficult. Feeling unreasonably sleepy, stiff, and freezing to the bone, Izumi had no idea what she was doing, but pretended to be helping.

Not even moving around or lifting heavy objects helped her warm up. The wind was picking up. It kept scooping up loose powder snow and used it to whip the struggling travelers from every direction, obscuring what little remained of the visibility.

“Aah, damn it...” Izumi had to stop to warm her hands.

She couldn’t feel anything from the wrists down. Pulling her fingers together inside her mitts, she crouched and kept rubbing her fists together to get the blood flowing.

It was of no use. Under such conditions, Izumi’s unusual constitution was turning against her. Her body didn’t possess the vitality of a regular person, and cooling down only further slowed her already crawling metabolism.

Move. I need to keep moving. If I stop here and get buried in the snow, they won’t find me in a thousand years...

But as hard as Izumi urged herself to go on, even her will and awareness were steadily shutting down. She couldn’t hear the others anymore. She couldn’t sense anyone moving near her. Where had they gone? Did they decide to move the camp elsewhere? Or did she go in the wrong direction? Izumi looked around, but could see nothing but dark blur, the scathing wind whipping her face. And she was tired, more tired than she had ever been. Feeling incredible sleepy and heavy, Izumi decided to rest for a couple of minutes, before going to look for the rest. She could find them easily if she used Ocil, even in the dark. It was not a problem. Just a minute, thirty seconds. So long as she remained alert, she wouldn’t fall asleep. The snow gathering around would keep her warm. She had already stopped shaking. It didn’t feel that painful anymore, if only she kept still. Hugging her upper body, she rested her forehead against the icy ground and closed her eyes.

——“Hey, what are you doing? Get up!”

A bright voice suddenly rang clear in Izumi’s ears, where all other sounds save for the howling wind were absent, restoring some of her declining consciousness. Startled, she lifted her head and looked up. In the air up ahead shone a small but warm figure, a vibrant sparkle of light in the night.

“Yui-chan…?” Izumi mouthed, staring at the spirit. Just looking at Yubilea and the little flames coating that slender figure, she began to feel warmer and her awareness gradually returned to her.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“This is no time for a nap!” the spirit scolded her. “You internal temperature is declining! Hurry, you need to keep moving! You have to make fire and fast! Otherwise, you’re not going to make it!”

“But how…?” Izumi asked. “I can’t burn snow.”

“You have wood with you. They’re piling it up nearby—though it looks like they’re having some trouble. Go give them a hand. You can do it!”

“I can’t see...” Izumi squinted her eyes, but saw nothing but dark haze, where all shapes appeared to blur together. “Where...?”

“I’ll show you. Come on. Follow me.”

Yubilea floated ahead, beckoning for the woman to follow.

Izumi’s hands remained numb, but her legs still had some feeling. She struggled up and wobbled after the spirit, who shone clear and sharp as a lighthouse through the snow and wind. Feeling like she was wading through a long, dark tunnel, Izumi pressed against the wind, tripping and stumbling as her feet randomly sank through the hardened surface of snow. After what felt like a distance of miles but was likely no more than twenty feet, she suddenly got a haphazard pile of logs right in front of her hands and dropped to her knees before it.

“Damn it, my firestone’s broken!” Tordith stood near the pile with a pair of stones in his hands, striking them together in vain. Only faint sparks came out. “Does anybody have a spare?”

Orik knelt a few steps away, but only shook his head in answer.

“Hey! Does anybody have a working firestone!?” Tordith repeated his question, louder. No answers carried from the darkness. The wind stole his voice before it could reach the nearest group, which was trying to assemble a tent further ahead. Without any light, their work wasn’t proceeding too well either.

Izumi didn’t wait. She clumsily gripped the nearest block of wood, yanked off her right mitten, and drew with her unfeeling index finger a character on it.

“Brandt,” she named the rune, dropping the wood.

As cold as the material was, caked with snow, the spell took effect at once. A swift crown of flames erupted from the rune, and began to eat through the log with hungry intensity, the melting snow crackling. Izumi reached for another piece, lit it the same way, and another, and piled the three of them together, before adding unmarked logs on top. Desperate though the struggle was, the magic clung to the woods without relenting, steadily drying them, heating them, and forced them to burn.

Eventually, a proper bonfire blazed in front of the woman, and she warmed her hands on it with a relieved sigh.

“Why, I’ll be...” Tordith and Orik followed her magic show from the side, eyes rounded. Though Brandt was not exactly a rare rune, Izumi’s output, augmented by Divine backup, was well better than what an average person could do. It was doubtful that even a pristine firestone would have worked half as well.

Suddenly, Gronan’s tall, bear-like figure stepped out of the darkness beside the woman.

“At least we have one competent person in here!” he grunted, looking down at Izumi. Reaching out, he lit a torch off the bonfire and then headed out to help the other struggling groups.

3

Soon enough, several fires were lit. And in the light and warmth of these modest beacons, the expedition members were able to regain their courage, fend off the night, and confirm their bearings. The unpacking and assembling of the tents proceeded apace and a proper campsite was eventually standing.

The tents were similar to the teepees of old; large, thick animal pelts attached to tall poles to make conical shelters. They were quickly raised and packed away, as well as warm inside, allowing no gale to penetrate them. Eight people could comfortably fit in one, and with five tents and two spares, there was enough room for all—even as Hrugnaw took three man’s worth of space.

In each tent they had a cheruleum radiator, which produced steady heat when activated and helped keep the interiors warm. The story of cheruleum’s toxicity and tendency to randomly explode made Izumi question the safety of these gadgets, but the engineers assured the radiators’ output was too low to pose any risk to health.

Once the camp was assembled and ready, Gronan called everyone together for a summary of the day’s journey. He began his speech, as expected, with stern words of caution.

“I did not think grown men strangers to nightfall!” he looked at the circle of tired faces and scolded them. “Do not let the ease of our advance thus far fool you! Keep your wits about you at all times! Mother Nature was gentle today; it may not be so tomorrow! One moment of oversight by one of you can cost all of us our lives in the wild! We are come a hundred and eighty miles, faster than any living soul has before in these lands—but Eylia is still ways ahead. See where your firestones are and that they are all working! We have plenty of spares if you need them! And after I’ve finished, every man and woman goes with Marcus and sees where to find tinder and lanterns in the sleighs, so that you will find them even blindfolded, and will not be caught with your pants down again! If you feel unwell, then say so! It is no shame to ask for help! I told you this! It is only together, that we will survive the mountains! Let that be your lesson for the day. Now get some rest! We resume at sunrise.”

Only one larger fire was left burning. Two people were assigned to keep watch in rotating shifts, to keep an eye out for possible wolves, bears, and other natural hazards. Then, all save for the two watchers retired, welcoming the rest with gratitude. Though they had not moved their bodies much, simply keeping warm in these conditions was exhausting to anyone.

Marcus deemed it unfair and heartless to separate Faalan from his mom, and so he and Izumi were given the first watch, and the day could end with much-needed laughter.

The two in question weren’t laughing quite as loudly—or even smiling much—but voiced no complaints either. After all, the first shift was the easiest beside the last one, and allowed for the longest continued period of rest. After everyone else had withdrawn to the safety of the tents, the half-elf and the woman from the other world were left to sit at the bonfire, its bright glow shielding them from the arctic night.

Now fully melted and feeling somewhat alive again, Izumi tried to think of something to talk about, if only to help pass the time. But despite her best efforts, she failed to come up with any worthwhile topics.

There, only a few paces away, sat the famous hero of the Empire, whom she had been sent to bring home. Faalan stared into the fire with a neutral expression, seemingly detached from everything, uncaring, unfeeling. Yet, at the same time, Izumi could tell that he remained ever vigilant, listening, mindful of his surroundings, and carried out his watchman’s duty, faithful as a dog.

Over the two brief days they had known one another, Izumi couldn’t claim to have developed a very thorough understanding of the Silver Saber. If anything, he was completely different from what she had pictured. She had detested him for leaving his family, and had prepared to fight him to death, if needed. But though he was a mercenary earning his living through bloodshed, it was hard to label Faalan a bad person, per se.

But was he strictly a hero either?

He simply was who he was.

“—The new Empress, what is she like?” Faalan suddenly asked.

“Eh?” Izumi stirred from her reflections.

“I heard the news, a month back,” the man continued. “Of yet another sudden change of rulers in an already troubled land. Were there riots? Did many lose their lives? My wife and son live in Ohlmore. It’s a fair distance from the city, but...You never know. I can only hope and pray they were spared from the unrest.”

“Well, I think you can relax,” Izumi told him. “There wasn’t much rioting I know of. I believe most people were only happy with the change this time. The new boss is a close friend of mine too. I couldn’t think of anybody better suited for the job, so rest assured. It’ll be fine. Judging by the letter I got from Mira-rin, your family’s safe and sound. Though they must be worried sick about you, of course. So we should hurry and get you back home, as soon as we can.”

“I see,” Faalan closed his eyes. “I’m relieved then.”

For a moment, they listened quietly to the cozy crackling of fire. Izumi poked the red coals on the sides closer to the center with a stick, and tossed a few new logs on top.

“You said she is your friend?” the man soon spoke again. “Her majesty?”

“So I’d like to think,” Izumi answered, lowering her gaze.

“And you would say she isn’t the sort of a leader, who would resort to ancient weapons or inhuman magic to dominate the wills of others?”

Izumi couldn’t help but think the very idea was silly.

“No way,” she replied, a warm smile unwittingly spreading across her lips. “That girl’s the type who would bury a magic lamp right back where she found it, because having three wishes granted without working for it isn’t right. Honestly, I doubt anyone would blame her, even were she to be a little more selfish every once in a while.”

“Is that so?” he commented. “Then she must be a good friend indeed.”

“Better than I deserve...” Izumi’s smile faded and she looked away, as another bout of homesickness assailed her. Though describing that blunt heartache as “homesickness” was a bit off, seeing as she had no place to call home anywhere in this world.

Faalan didn’t miss her expression.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Well. We had a bit of a fight,” Izumi answered. “Her majesty and me, before I left. No, it was too petty to be even called a real fight. Just a childish quarrel. But I still regret it.”

“What did you quarrel about?”

Izumi had to think about the answer for a moment. It had been so long, she couldn’t even be so sure anymore.

“That girl is a real hero,” she then said. “Empathetic. Understanding. Forgiving. Selfless, self-sacrificing. Someone who knows about power and responsibility. Someone who never gives up, no matter how many times she’s knocked down, even if you tell her to stop.”

“You admire her?”

Izumi nodded.

“She’s everything I once yearned to be. Well, back when I first met her, I didn’t think she was too bright. I used to call her childish, naive. Ignorant of real life. Borderline suicidal, even. So I thought I should be the pragmatist. I would make the ruthless decisions she couldn’t. In order to ‘save’ her, and show her the true way of the world. Yes. I really thought that way. But in the end, I was the childish one all along.”

“How so?”

“I wanted a reason to live,” Izumi explained. “Back in my previous...life, I had no direction, I saw no purpose in anything. Nothing I did seemed to matter in the grand scheme of things. I desperately wanted to escape the emptiness of my existence, and then, bam—suddenly, there was a beautiful princess in front of me. My ultimate dream came true. So I made her my purpose. I clung to her, like a drowning sailor to flotsam, and fought and killed, while dreaming that I was doing it for her. I thought it was love.”

Izumi shook her head, chuckling at her own madness.

“My life might have changed, but I never changed as a person,” she continued. “The more I fought, the more scared I got of messing up and losing it all. And the harder I tried to hold on, the bigger a disaster I caused. Until finally, I messed up for real. I killed someone who sure didn’t deserve what he got. In reality, it was myself I killed that day. A person who could just as well have been me. Because I thought I was the action hero who rescues helpless princesses and punishes the wicked, I never paused to spare a thought to that man or his plight. Even though he was the one who really needed help, probably more than anyone. Many have told me I’m a monster—and they were right. Violence without conscience is just a nightmare. Yule—Yuliana saw right through me the whole time, the stunted child I was on the inside. She made me face myself, but I wasn’t ready for that. The sight of my own self was too hideous for me. So I simply ran away.”

“I see,” Faalan quietly remarked.

“But I needed it,” Izumi continued. “I had to open my eyes. I spent time since traveling and got to see the world some more. I met all sorts of people who helped me put things into perspective. And after going to the ends of the earth and back again, I think I finally understood why that girl tries so hard. I saw just what she was trying to save—even if much too late. I realized there’s more to this world than just blood, greed, betrayal, and profit. There are people who deserve better than what they get. It may be too late for me to be a real hero anymore, but I still want to put a smile on at least one person’s face in this life, if I can.”

Izumi fell quiet.

Together with silence, her overflowing emotions subsided, and became replaced by a sobering self-consciousness. Somehow, talking had felt so easy she had spilled way more than she had ever meant to, and a searing remorse filled her.

What am I doing!? Did my brain finally break for good!? Why am I droning on about my private life to a stranger? He doesn’t care! Inside, he must be laughing at what a pathetic, over-emotional woman I am! Aah! Why can’t I ever do anything right?

Yet, Faalan wouldn’t laugh at her or ridicule her, or tell her how foolish she was. He wouldn’t judge her, offer empty advice, try to analyze what she did wrong, or console her with insincere platitudes either. He merely accepted it all.

Without a word, he added a few new logs into the fire, and the expression on his face remained tranquil as ever.

Then, after a while, the man suddenly spoke again.

“I was born in a village called Tradden,” he said. “In the remote marshland of Henglog. It was meant to be a refuge, a new beginning for the scattered immigrants of the nearby lands, and they were aided in the effort by the emiri of Alderia.”

“Tradden…?” Izumi repeated that familiar name, furrowing her brows. “You mean—But, that place has been deserted for many decades! Just how old does that make you?”

“I’m ninety-six,” the man answered, though he didn’t look even thirty.

“Talk about well-preserved!” she said. “So you really are half an elf then?”

“Yes,” Faalan nodded. “My mother was one of the emiri who collaborated with the people of Tradden, bringing them supplies, grain, and working the land. In her time with them, she apparently developed something of an infatuation with one of the men of the village, with predictable consequences. Or not. What happened there was far from natural, and beyond anyone’s ability to foretell. The emiri hold nothing but contempt for men. The notion that one of them could develop romantic feelings for a human being should have been inconceivable. Moreover, it should not be possible for our races to mix any easier than a dog could have offspring with a goat. Yet, there and then, whether by a miracle or a cruel jest, it happened. And I was the result.”

“It does seem incredible,” Izumi commented, meaning no offense.

“As you may surmise, my childhood was not particularly conventional either,” the man explained. “Sponsoring the village of Tradden was nothing but a game for the emiri, the human inhabitants subjects to some manner of an experiment by their arcanists. Once they were done with their business, the village was destroyed, the people slaughtered to hide the truth. Though not absolutely everyone, of course. In spite of my unnatural birth, my mother did seem to hold something beyond just loathing and horror for me. Ere the villagers were killed, she took me out, and brought me to live with her in their kingdom.”

“So you lived in there?” she whispered, recalling the futuristic city in the jungle isle.

“Yes,” Faalan said. “They raised me as one of their own, though it became very soon apparent that I was not. I was weaker. I was slower. Smaller, not as resilient. Not as quick to learn or recover. But they wouldn’t simply accept my inferior nature and adjust their expectations accordingly. On the contrary. They were determined to make a hunter out of me, apparently feeling that they would do me a favor by beating my humanity out of me in the process. From my point of view, it was nothing but endless torture and abuse. And in the end, I had enough of it. One night, I swam across the Sepris, escaped the city, and never looked back.”

“You swam across that…?” Izumi recalled the wide channel with its fierce current and twisted her face.

Yet, the man didn’t seem to hold it as much of an achievement.

“I spent months wandering in the marsh, hovering on the verge of madness, no different from a feral beast. But eventually, I stumbled onto imperial territory, and made my first contact with humankind since early childhood. Many unfortunate misunderstandings took place, which I regret to this day, but I eventually discovered that my once paltry abilities were what you would consider ‘abnormal’ among men. There was only one possible path for me thence—that of a warrior—and for the longest time, I did not mind. Fighting as a human was seductively easy for me. People are...soft. I took lives and thought nothing of it. I fought for no soul, but only coin, my own benefit, and so I would likely remain to this day, had I not met my wife on the way.”

Faalan raised his gaze from the flames and looked at Izumi.

“Through my wife, I found my life meaning, the will to seek better, just as you did. And through my son, I learned the meaning of time, of the significance of the future.”

“Future?” Izumi repeated.

“I am not immortal,” the man told her. “I may live perhaps another century or two, but I can already sense the presence of Death in my bones. What will be the legacy that my son and his sons will inherit from me? It was my pursuit of this answer that led me to join the expedition. Never will I want to see those I love be made slaves and humiliated, the way I was, first by the emiri, then by the poisonous luster of gold and fame. I want them to be free to discover their own justice, a true cause to fight for. But because of this, I can’t bring myself to wish ill upon the Dharves either. No. I believe that by failing their endeavor in Eylia, I will ultimately do them a favor.”

Izumi found no reply but looked down, absorbed in thought.

Perhaps the true hero worthy of admiration was not someone who fought for lofty ideals handed from above, outside the grasp of the common people, but the one who had found those ideals in his own personal life? She felt she still had a long way to go before she could claim to fully understand any of it.

“Rest well tonight, Izumi,” fixing the coals with a stick, Faalan told her. “Something tells we will need all of our strength yet, if we are to ever see our homes again.”