Ailn made a promise to meet up with Ceric the next day to see the results of his question to Nightwriter.

Before the two had left the tavern, Ailn considered asking Ceric for where he was staying in case Ceric got cold feet. The guy had said a lot after all. But he wouldn’t be too hard to track, anyway. In fact, Ceric Windrider might just be the easiest man to track in all of Varant.

So, for now, Ailn just took Ceric at his word.

He wouldn’t say he had high hopes exactly, but he was more than just intrigued. The main thing that stood out to him was that the handwriting on both pages was the same. Maybe the answer side’s handwriting looked a little neater?

The man seemed genuinely enamored with his own ‘superpower,’ though. If it really ended up being complete nonsense, it was more likely to be Ceric’s personal delusion than a malicious lie.

The sun was starting to set, and Ailn started shivering. They’d hit a warm spell in the middle of winter, but it was still awfully cold, and he’d sweat some while he was trekking uphill back to the castle.

Given those imperfect conditions, he was surprised to see knights gathered outside the front gate, and the coach of state waiting for an ill-disposed Sophie to board.

“Y-you’re leaving right now?” Ailn’s teeth were chattering.

“Do you not live in a cottage?” Sophie asked, expressionless. “Why is your constitution so delicate to the cold?”

He stayed in the barracks now, actually.

“Why are you setting out now when you should’ve left in the morning?” Ailn narrowed his eyes, answering her jab with one of his own.

They both knew the answer. It’s because she took too long writing her sermon.

Sophie’s lips pursed just barely, but she turned away, deigning not to respond. She was about to board the carriage and head out without so much as a goodbye, though Ailn got the feeling she would’ve done that, anyway.

A squire came shuffling in with the carriage’s step stool. Giving Sophie a quick, respectful bow, he took a few steps back as the knights formed a saber arch for her.

And then he lingered around near the carriage, in a way that made Sophie’s brows knit.

It was the squire that Renea had healed the first time Ailn had seen her—during the castle’s reception for her return. The kid had another black eye, probably from sparring, and he was hanging around the carriage with all kinds of nervous expectation.

Didn’t he have a crush on Renea? The turnaround on that one sure was fast.

In response, Sophie brushed past one of the knights forming the saber arch. Then, stooping down to clump together a snowball, she walked briskly right back to the squire and held it out in front of his face.

“There,” Sophie said, monotone. “In Varant, we are blessed with snow in abundance. We would do well to make good use of the gifts with which God has blessed us, no?”

Then she swiftly boarded the carriage, without so much as a glance at the squire, now depressed and slumping while he held some snow against his black eye.

Actually, all the knights visibly deflated. The conclusion of their saber arch was so gloomy it looked like the arch itself was moping. When they’d mounted their horses—because they were headed to a settlement a fair distance away—even their steeds seemed to sigh.

The carriage gently set off into the cold sunset, and the knights followed behind in a sad, woeful procession.

This wasn’t the type of thing he’d usually feel, but Ailn hoped it made them regret how they’d treated Renea. The holiest child in the city turning out to be its unholiest brat was the least they deserved.

As usual, he reported Sophie’s behavior to Renea.

“Does it make her feel like she’s being used?” Ailn asked. He couldn’t really understand why she didn’t just heal the kid’s black eye. Seemed like no skin off her back.

“Well… using the divine blessing does take a toll, and there are limits,” Renea said, nibbling at some honeyed pears that Ennieux had brought her. “In principle, the Saintess has to triage, and pick for injuries that would impair combat. But…”

She put down her tin bowl of pears after eating just half of one. “Sophie’s well of holy aura is so bottomless it really wouldn’t be a problem for her,” Renea continued. “It’s more about the physical sensation.”

“It hurts her?”

“...It makes her face itch,” Renea admitted.

Renea did think that Sophie was being just a teensy bit selfish here. Even their mother, after harsh battles, had sometimes laid up in bed gasping and moaning.

The worst Sophie ever got was furiously itchy, and it never even spread past her nose.

Now that Sophie had the license to use her holy aura as she well pleased, she was happy to ignore injuries she found trivial.

“Your sister…” Ailn paused, thinking of a nice way to say it, “—never really learned to share, huh?”

“Our sister,” Renea said, a quiet seriousness in her expression.

“Speaking of sharing,” Ailn ignored her, and changed the topic, “I hate to ask this, but… I do need a little more cash. A few tin coins will do this time.”

“What?!” Renea raised her voice. “Are you actually acting ignobly? I won’t stand for that—”

“I’m not, calm down,” Ailn turned his eyes away. “I still have a whole silver left but I don’t want to use it all.”

Renea’s face hardened. She knew what family members who kept borrowing money turned into. Even if her new brother saved her life, she had to nip this in the bud. In fact, pruning his slovenly behavior would be to his benefit.

Seeing that she wasn’t convinced, Ailn assured her again: “I promise I'll explain what I’m doing soon.”

“Why not explain it to me now?” Renea demanded. “Why are you always back so late?”

“How about you remember how to get out of bed and then I’ll tell you?” His voice wasn’t overly stern, but Ailn looked serious too.

Pulling her covers around her more snugly, Renea glared at the floor. Her behavior was no excuse for his behavior. And it was her money he was using.

“I swear to you, I am not just wasting your money,” Ailn sighed. “I made good on my last promise, didn’t I?”

“... You did.”

“Get back on your feet, okay?” Ailn pointed at her, and she subconsciously bundled up even further. “There’s a reason I’m being so adamant.”

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“...Why?”

“Because you’re wasting away,” Ailn said with a raised eyebrow. “Besides that, Ennieux’s been bugging me. She wants to make sure that, by the time Sigurd returns, you’re not still rolling around in bed all day looking like—”

Ailn pointed at Renea, still in her floor length wool nightgown, replete with a floppy-eared cap that looked like a trapper hat.

“Like that.”

Apparently, the thought of being seen like this by Sigurd frightened Renea. Growing pale in the face, she shivered and wrapped herself in blankets again.

“That behavior’s what you’re supposed to stop doing,” Ailn frowned. “Are you really that afraid of your brother?”

“...Our brother,” Renea mumbled. She grabbed a pillow and curled up, suddenly languid, anxiety scrunching her face.

That was all it took for her to lose her desire to talk. At a glance, it looked like she was retreating into her head and disasterizing.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine,” Renea said. She gave him the kind of look that asked to be left alone. “You—you can have a couple more coppers. Please just… tomorrow when you go out, come back before sunset, alright?”

“Thanks. Oh,” Ailn scratched the back of his head, “I’m gonna grab a cruet from the abbey. Just so you know.”

Renea let out a deep sigh.

----------------------------------------

Surprisingly, Ceric was waiting eagerly at the tavern right when it opened, just like he’d promised. Ailn had wondered if the intrepid explorer might have turned resentful about being plied with drinks once he sobered up.

But Ceric just waved to him like any old friend.

“I actually thought you might not come,” Ceric said, scratching his cheek and looking a little embarrassed.

That’s what Ailn should be saying.

“How could I not?” Ailn asked. “I was so curious to see what Nightwriter had to say.”

“You know you’re the first person to believe in Nightwriter?” Ceric asked, excitedly. “You’re the first friend I could share it with! Oh—”

Ceric suddenly looked at his cloaked friend oddly.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Ceric said looking mortified. “I’ve done you a great disservice by never asking your name.”

“It’s Ailn,” Ailn replied, waving his hand to let Ceric know it was fine.

“Ailn… as in Ailn eum-Creid?!” Ceric stared at Ailn in bewilderment, before frantically turning to the latest page of his journal. “My friend, are you telling me you’re in danger?”

That’s what he asked? No thoughts about being the second son of the duchy’s ruling family?

“It’s a long story, but it’s over now,” Ailn shook his head. “I was just curious to see what Nightwriter would say.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ceric let out a sigh of relief.

Turning to his usual barmaid, Ailn put down a couple of coppers. “How about just two mugs of mead this time?” Then, seeing the disappointment she had at her best customer getting such a modest meal, Ailn sighed and threw down an extra tin coin. “Some meat pies, I guess?”

The girl happily walked off, throwing them into her jar. Honestly, compared to the other barmaids’ it was basically bursting.

“Guess I’m a sucker for pretty faces,” Ailn muttered. Then he turned his attention back to Ceric. “So, what’d Nightwriter say?”

“Here’s what I got back,” Ceric said, placing his open journal onto the table.

‘Q: Who tried to kill Ailn eum-Creid ten days ago?’

‘A: Hatred is a terrible thing that twists mankind against itself.’

“Sometimes Nightwriter can be vague,” Ceric said sheepishly. “It’s not always so explicit and clear as when it told me to look into the depths.”

“No, you’re good,” Ailn said absentmindedly, while mulling over Nightwriter’s answer.

It wasn’t exactly direct, but assuming this wasn’t complete bull, it was better than Ailn hoped.

Hatred wasn’t a uniquely identifying detail, and it wouldn’t have helped much in catching Aldous. But it was a salient emotional point in the case, not some complete non-sequitur like ‘the killer enjoys strawberries.’

Ailn thought the chances this was legit were pretty good.

The guy was a self-admitted reincarnator, and as far as Ailn understood it all reincarnators had jeweled eyes. He’d even said when he first woke up in this world that his eyes looked like gold nuggets.

Ergo, inaptness of the moniker ‘jeweled’ aside, Ceric was an owner of gold eyes, and gold must represent an aspect of the world soul. Calling the combined fragments ‘the gold’ didn’t sound quite right, unlike calling the combined ruby shards ‘the ruby.’ So, Ailn figured he’d just call it ‘the ingot.’

What did the ingot represent? Good question. Wisdom, maybe? That was an abstract concept that matched reasonably well with Psyche and Union.

He had a lot of questions. Ailn really thought the young god would show up after he retrieved Renea’s ruby eyes, caught Aldous, and solved his own murder, but ‘till now he’d still seen neither hide nor hair of him.

Next time the kid had the decency to show up, Ailn would make sure to grill him for answers.

“Ailn?” Ceric asked. “Could I ask what you’re contemplating so deeply?”

“I was just thinking that I wanted to make an investment in you Ceric,” Ailn said. He didn’t miss a beat despite being pulled rather abruptly out of his thoughts, and unhooked the cruet from his belt and placed it on the table. “Still got that appleseed?”

“A glass jar!” Ceric exclaimed. “And a rather nice one at that…” He picked up the fine piece of glassware and examined it.

Another thought occurred to Ailn when he considered yesterday’s answer from Nightwriter: ‘The seed of an appletree is no different from the seed of an empire.’

Nightwriter could have soothsaying capabilities. It was a longshot, imagining Ceric going from a bumbling adventurer moonlighting as a merchant, all the way to an emperor—but why not see how it goes?

The young god said the urgent jewel was the ruby, right? Not that he wanted to dally around, but Nightwriter could be useful for finding other reincarnators. So Ailn had a strong justification not to take Ceric’s shard just yet—he didn’t want to lose access to its powers. He hadn’t gained Cairn or Renea’s influence over others after taking their shards, after all.

Plus, Ailn just liked the guy, and felt some guilt over ruining his dreams. if the time really came when that bridge needed to be crossed, Ailn wouldn’t hesitate, but for now he could kick the can.

Accepting the appleseed from Ceric while handing him the cruet, Ailn stipulated a few conditions.

“If it’s no issue with you, I’d like to ask you more about Nightwriter… and ask Nightwriter some questions myself for the next few days. How’s that sound?” Ailn asked.

“It sounds like I’ll be making lively conversation with a good friend for a while yet,” Ceric grinned.

“Perfect.” Ailn shook Ceric’s hand.

Then, he paused in thought for a moment, wondering if he could make things more convenient for himself.

He hated having to borrow money from Renea. It chafed at his self-esteem everytime he asked for another coin.

So far, he’d been badgering her into it. Ailn had clued into the fact that Renea was afraid of being a hypocrite. Everytime he pointed toward her current slovenly tendencies, she relented on the matter of lending.

Which… made him pretty scummy, actually. But it went a long way in nudging her out of her rut, while also providing him with money he genuinely needed.

At the end of the day, though, it made him feel pathetic. So, he had a better idea.

Ailn slipped a piece of paper across the table, with his next question for Nightwriter. “Ceric, you ever stay in a castl—”

“Ailn, how would you like to go on an adventure with me?” Ceric, enthusiastic about his new business partner, interrupted Ailn.

“...An adventure?” Ailn arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if I really have the ti—”

“Adventure’s what this enterprise is all about! And you’ll be able to see just how I’ve been using Nightwriter to chase the mysteries of the world first-hand,” Ceric said. “You don’t want to waste this opportunity. Trust me.”

Ailn didn’t trust Ceric all that much, frankly. But it did make sense that he could get a better grasp of how Nightwriter worked, and maybe he could even guess what the ingot represented.

The sun was still high up in the sky. Well… what harm could it do? They had all day.

----------------------------------------

Renea didn’t wish to call her new brother Ailn. That wasn’t out of disrespect toward him—if anything, it meant she wanted to individualize her understanding of him.

Ailn was Ailn and her new brother was… well, she was trying to figure that out.

Al made sense, but it reminded her of Aldous. Whenever the face of that man crossed her mind, a wave of hurt would reverberate from her chest. Almost invariably, it would lead her down a path of thoughts that ended with her sleeping away the hurt.

Alien? No… That was needlessly meanspirited. So was Ail, or Ailing, even if she found both amusing.

A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, but it’s the name which lets everyone know they’re referring to the same flower.

Renea wanted to ensure their two existences never blended in her head. It would be improper to the memory of her brother who’d passed, and unfair to the brother who had gone so far out of his way to save her life.

He could be Ailn to the rest of the world. The real Ailn had more or less given his blessing, so she didn’t mind.

Reaching vainly for the tin bowl of pears that by now had grown cold, she gave up because it was too far for her to reach without sitting at the edge of her bed.

“Not-Ailn…Nailn? No, that’s stupid,” Renea mumbled. “Oh. Maybe…?”