“Relay everything to Lord Edric.” An unknown voice came from behind, “I’ll clean up the rest.”

  Cain turns around, unable to see the piercing flash of a blade, hurtling towards his eyes… the moment he blinked―an arm stopped the impact―an assassin attack, sent by Richter City’s lord.

  Right now he’ll just get in the way, so he paced further back―

  “―Haaa!!” As if shouting his pain away, Francis pressed with the attack.

  He brandishes his rapier, and the assassin covers for his own retreat. Cain couldn’t see with Francis blocking the view, but in the next half-second―three sparks flew around his form, the furious arc of his blade deflecting what seemed to be knives painted in black!

  The assassin’s feet touched the ground, and all at once, the both of them stopped moving, probing for their opponent’s moves.

  Assassins, hitmen, maybe bounty hunters . . . there were a number of names Cain could call them, but according to what he heard, they must be spies. They are draped in a dark, heavy cloak―the same color as the knives they threw. He has no business of fighting here, not without a plan at least.

  Not too far and hidden behind a clothed table was Lorana and his father, Sadao. He walked and knelt right next to them.

  The wisefox noticed that look on his face, “Seems we’re on the same page. We need a plan going forward. What are we working with?”

  “Assassins have entered the temple, they’re looking for our patient. But there are still two civilians within the temple, the ??????? Raseyla came with, and then Miss Emeline who is Francis’ wife.” Cain said.

  Without pause, Sadao continued. “My son’s half-Alda, people from his mother’s world seem to have a strength comparable to a Blythe’s. For my part I’m a licensed healer. I also know this temple’s layout better than our enemies, we can take a few hidden paths that’ll take us closer to Raseyla without risk.“

  “Then I suppose we’re all of the same mind to protect the girl? Never thought I’d go against a city ruled by Blythes, but here I am.” The wisefox had a toothed grin, “Cain will assist Sir Francis in securing his and the patient’s ??????. I’ll escort Mr. Sadao to Raseyla and we’ll keep her safe until you two gather where we are.”

  Without a single word of complaint, the two nodded.

  “Alright gents, we’ve got work to do.”

  As the two left, Cain returned to Francis’ side―as the two began their fight, magic glides along his veins, glowing a verdant green―his muscles clenching along the powerful hum of a skyship’s turbine――――――――――――

  △▼△

  ――――――――That’s enough, it’s way more than she can stomach.

  Sixteen souls, either lost or dead. Including Cain, 4 others threw their lot with her, damning themselves to the cities’ wrath. Why . . . she didn’t understand.

  Raseyla and Cain walked the illusory halls, unable to recall the detail of each brick of stone, or pavement that she walked on. No, her eyes were simply on Cain’s back, just three paces away. They walked as he continued their story, if she didn’t walk as he spoke, she’d sooner hurl at the weight of the lives on her.

  “. . . Why-... do all this?” At last, she got it out.

  “Hm?” But he didn’t hear right, he was in the middle of his story.

  “I–... don’t understand, why did Miss Lorana decide that I shouldn’t die?”

  “Oh… she never said why.”

  That makes it all the more confusing, why does he sound so sure?! Anyone could have made that call, anyone who hasn’t seen how bad the world can get! He’s an Alda, he’s been an outsider right from the start, so he must know not to trust so freely…

  “Is it really worth frowning over?”

  “Yes! By Lusine– you guys might die because of me!”

  Cain stopped walking and turned to her, keeping his hand to his chin and his gaze pulled towards the sun-kissed courtyard to her right.

  “I mean, I get what you’re coming from. I really do. But when we’re at the end-times and the lords have yet to regain control of the city, it’s really hard to think that way, you know?”

  “. . .”

  Ah… right. The city’s less of a city and more of a ruin, most of its communities are fragmented into like-minded tribes it seems like and . . . everyone’s forgetting to be kind in these trying times.

  “But I take your meaning. You wanted to know why we chose to fight for you?”

  Raseyla nodded, and then Cain sighed.

  “Alright…”

  She felt her heart start to beat, the very words he would say, she’d make sure to catch them first-hand. Understand them at the first hearing. There has to be a reason, some sort of plan that they have in mind in order to save her from this development. Her being a swarm was a nightmare, hell, the world itself affirmed she would end this world!

  So there’s no way they would just―

  “―The more I think about it, the less anything comes up. Sir Francis said something, he’s well… more put-together than the rest of us, but when it comes down to it, there’s nothing selfless or heroic about his choice or his reasons.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  . . .

  “It’s the end of the world. We might burn tomorrow, but today we breathe that good wind. Maybe we’ll regret this down the line, but… I don’t think any of us can think of the future, all we know is that right now, it’ll hurt to let someone die despite having the power to stop that.”

  Raseyla watched as he spoke animatedly, in her eyes, watching as these souls threw away their wisdom just to live a bit prouder of themselves.

  Hearing his reason, or lack thereof . . . yes, it was like breathing that good wind.

  She turned to the moonlit gardens on her right, and looked at the same view as him. Watching as the bell-shaped flower hung low, and glowed blue, purple, and yellow.

  “. . . Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  This won’t solve everything, not by a longshot, but he’s laid it out so simply that it’s the first time she felt as if she could breathe. The first time she could think. The very first even after Vesaila visited her in that dream.

  △▼△

  She awoke to a nostalgic ceiling, the very same at the start of her dream, only it had ended upon Cain’s request to the wisefox.

  “. . . Ah, I’m here again.”

  It was here that she came face to face with her mother, saw her for the first, and admired everything that was her. Her stoic looks reminded her of the old walls that safeguarded their home―the medals on her formal uniform were constellations telling each of her valorous epics.

  But then she laughs, and smiles, makes jokes and jests with all her colleagues and fellow knights. Humoring and being humored, and tried as she did to deny it―

  ‘Ah, you’re still here?’

  She blossomed like a beautiful flower, a walking hearth and joy to everyone she was friends with, often becoming the person who made their day.

  ―But Rignette never looked at her that way, her stoicism was a lie to keep citizens admiring.

  “You’re awake,” It’s mother’s voice. “Good, any longer and the people would have gone restless.”

  Raseyla sat up to look at her, those wheat-blonde locks and those green eyes, she’s the spitting image of an Everett-Knight. The slight difference in saturation in the color of their eyes was all it took for Rignette to treat Raseyla differently.

  “Let me guess, they want to see me executed on the spot.”

  “So you’re aware.”

  The corner of the girl’s lips dragged down, while the Knight remained steadfast and indifferent. Hate me, Raseyla thought, disown me, do not see me as one of your own, at least then I’d have the measure to return it and fight back!

  And yet years after, this was all she amounted to, just another citizen―just one more duty to uphold. For the sake of the kingdom’s peace, she is to be a shit mother.

  Memorial Castle was as large as she remembered, every hallway, and every step she took was upon a hundred hours of careful, labored hands―and to the walls beside them were much less portraits of the many knights who served, but rather intimidating sentries that kept guard even after their term had passed.

  All in the same pose, with their hands resting upon the pommels of their sword―each blade struck against the floor―all in remembrance of the ancient hero who first struck this pose. Compared to the lineages of elvish and half-elvish Blythes, this hero, whom Richter city was named after―was simply human. Who thought to do good as the common ancestor once did.

  I’m sorry, Raseyla thought to herself―

  ―But before she could finish, a tomato splashed upon the floor next to her. She stopped walking, turned to the railings and walked towards it.

  Her mom didn’t stop her from seeing it―

  “How dare you show your face!” “We’ll worship you, just don’t kill us!” “You killed my son!” “Die!” “Please don’t end this world!”

  ―Their shouts, the way they pleaded. Most of it reduced to little else than noise, but of the few she picked out, this was it.

  How many died in the earthquake? How many died when the world spoke and named her a Newborn God? How many could she blame for their feeling this way? Well, who knows . . . no one’s going to do a headcount. This is just… a funny way for people to show their true colors.

  She turned to her mothe– Rignette, and watched blankly as she’s raised by the collar and slammed to the wall.

  “Y?o?u? ?t?o?o?k? ?m?y? ?f?r?i?e?n?d?s?!?” "???Y???o???u??? ???m???u???r???d???e???r???e???r???!???"??? "???I???? ????s????h????o????u????l?????d???? ???h????a????v????e??? ????k???i????l????l?????e???d??? ?????y???o???u??? ?????w????h????e????n??? ???I????? ?????h???a????d???? ?????t?????h?????e????? ???c?????h????a?????n?????c????e????"?????

  There’s no point trying to understand her now. Rignette is no longer Rignette, she's one with the city’s fury and their pleas to survive―the people who call this place home are joined in a strange harmony―a hysteria where their voices and minds literally melt together.

  Perhaps in writing she would read her words as vengeance itself―yet her ears interpreted her words as the plea for survival, how they would enshrine her like a Goddess―yet by the way her lips moved, she said neither of these things.

  “Where did I go wrong, huh.”

  It’s such a terrible question, up until this point, this despicable woman had never once questioned the good in her choices.

  Reina was right, this is a funny way to see people for what they are. Such a reaction was the domineering force and magic that allowed the sapient races to subjugate the world and claim it before the other creatures of this world. ―They felled dragons because of their hate, plundered the might of the gods with their rage, ruined worlds all for the sake of their own safety―and ostracized people like her from this unholy melting and grafting of the minds.

  Raseyla is no longer one of them, she will be tirelessly hunted like a dog while being feared as a dragon in the most literal sense possible―just escaping won’t be enough.

  She enters the memorial castle’s throne-room with her mother leading the way―it was a large, empty space. The whole of the area was supported only by four large pillars near the walls, and nothing more. She’s never been here, but she got the sense that rather than dine in opulent foods―many multitudes of the city’s best knights trained in these halls, guided only by the Knight-Exalted who is entitled to this city.

  There’s a clear path ahead, leading towards the throne―but the path everywhere else is dark and poorly lit.

  “I nearly killed you back there,” Rignette said. “That was improper, a breach of our proud city’s traditions.”

  If it wasn’t for the cloud which blocked the red star up above, perhaps she would have been in greater danger. That works for her. Only…

  “I don’t know you that much,” Raseyla began. “But I never had the impression you cared for… traditions . . .”

  Her mother kept walking, and walking―

  ―And walking, all the way until she stopped before the empty throne.

  And slowly, a sinking realization began, “Mother, don’t tell me you–”

  “You are not my child, just as I am not your mother. We are strangers in a world that has begun to slit its own throat ― the only identity you may regard me with is as the new Lord of Richter City.”

  Several steps sounded right next to Raseyla, and she pulled her hands to her left hip… grabbing air―holding nothing . . . feeling her heart dropped, she turned to the shadows―seeing a row of fully armored knights light up their torches and cast their steely gaze at her.

  A military takeover . . .

  “As per traditions, all prisoners are to be executed within eyeshot of the citizens. And furthermore, you may choose how exactly you want to die.”