89 – I Miss You

A single snowflake touches everyone

equally, melting away,

but the resulting chill that creeps in

is absolutely not equitable.

While there’s a man wrapped in layers of clothes

and even a scarf,

on this frigid day with the wind howling,

there are children lying on the streets,

with nothing thick, not even a blanket but a thin piece of cloth.

Unusually cold snow

blankets the entire street.

“Hoo… bloody b*stards…”

‘…Cold.’

And the snow was burying

not just the street.

It relentlessly buried

everything on it.

White, powdery snow

lingered near a small child.

The snow’s chill warmed

by only a thin cloth the child wore.

“..Fucking… damn, cold…”

‘….’

Though harsh words spilled from the boy’s lips,

the snow offered no reply.

Silently guarding his side,

it only melted.

A coldness embraced my body.

A thin yet unwavering coldness.

So cold, frigid.

Bones ached and thoughts grew dull.

I felt as though my body existed, crushed,

inside a cramped box of cold.

The boy’s fingers twitched.

I tried moving my own fingers as well.

His fingers remained still,

but mine moved just fine.

Yet, I could say with certainty, the chill felt identical.

It was a cold that lingered even in my memories.

“That… fucking, pig b*tch…”

‘….’

The boy muttered about someone.

Someone also in my memory.

The young lady who treated the old me worse than a dog,

exploiting me mercilessly.

The boy curled up even tighter.

Like a little hedgehog.

“..It’s okay…we’ll live, again…”

‘….’

The cold burrowed deeper into my body.

White breath escaped

Flitting, drifting, carried away by the wind,

fingers and toes had now

reached a point beyond all sensation.

Skin, a stark and livid blue,

no longer offered its gaze to anything.

Before he knew it, snow was

piled high upon the boy’s shoulders,

but the boy possessed not even the strength

to register such a thing.

The snow falls deeper and deeper.

Like some nascent snowman.

A weight now settles on shoulders and hair.

A cold and heavy weight.

Fingers and toes, all of them, inflamed and scarlet,

and some seemed no longer capable of their purpose.

The boy bows his head, and at the same time

buries his face in his knees.

More time passes.

Time enough for the boy to freeze solid.

“Haa…haa…”

‘….’

The boy remained seated in that spot,

and I remained lying there.

My entire body frozen stiff,

unable to move.

I had barely managed to collapse in that spot

before moving became impossible.

Limbs numb,

my entire body blanketed entirely in snow,

and breathing grows ever more labored.

With each inhale through my nose,

a maddening chill pierces my trachea,

and with each exhale, I can see

my breath crystallize into frost in real time.

Eyes are shut tight, unable to open.

The tears shed from a primal fear of death

have frozen solid in place.

The boy’s helplessness, his utter inability to act,

permeates even to me.

Perhaps it is only natural.

That, too, is a life.

With the agony of necrosis creeping through every inch of me,

the scenery shifts once more.

To the final moments of my third existence.

*

Clink-clatter, rustle-hush.

Something scurries, busy with its task.

Ash-grey hair brushes against crystals of every hue,

and bone-white hands and feet, jarring against the dark backdrop, become visible.

She, who bears a name utterly at odds with her pallid skin and amber eyes.

Ibedia, the Mistress of Cinders.

Her elegant hands patiently dissect and sort the towering crystal spire, piece by piece,

her slit pupils focused on each crystal, each a unique color.

And so, the sorting of all the crystals comes to an end.

With astonishing swiftness.

“..Just who *is* this one, truly?”

Looking at the assembled crystals, she clicks her tongue again.

Though her appearance might belie it,

Ibedia is one of the ancient dragons, millennia old.

She has lived through such eons,

and existed as well.

And yet, even she has never experienced death so many times.

To transcend death is a feat

so difficult, so fraught with peril.

Even more so for a creation.

“..Clearly touched by divine power…

But then, why this?”

She mutters, holding up a crystal not quite black, but shadowed enough.

The more agonizing one’s experiences and memories,

the darker the hue of the crystal in the inner world.

And before her now, were crystals,

numbering at least several hundreds.

All in somber, darkened hues, at that.

“..To be blessed by a god’s power, and still

be so utterly wretched?”

By her reckoning,

it simply wasn’t possible.

Even if the power came from an evil deity,

it shouldn’t be to this extent.

For even the wickedest god cherishes their followers.

There would be no point in bestowing a power

that only served to harm one’s own devotees.

“..Then what could it be?

Is he some kind of ghoul or undead thing?”

But she quickly dismissed the thought.

He didn’t seem that way at all.

He could scream properly,

and though his nerves were frayed, they functioned.

Color flushed in his skin.

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t he be emerging about now?”

She spoke, her gaze fixed on the spot

where the dark figure had stood just moments ago.

Honestly, from the start, she hadn’t believed Jennison

could complete this trial so quickly.

In truth, it was self-evident.

Her trial was never something to be overcome easily.

The Lord of Ash, from whose realm no weed or tree sprouts,

the vilest of dragons born from the ash, Ibedia.

Her trial was none other than Death itself.

That intangible presence everyone must face in their life,

the finale to their existence, and at the same time,

an entity so deeply etched into a creature’s instincts,

that all fear it: Death.

Even those who had lived a comparatively comfortable life

couldn’t bear the prospect of their own demise.

A mere boy faced with that specter, seven times over.

For him, this trial was absolutely impossible

to simply breeze through.

And so, she had expected him to emerge quickly,

consciousness drowned in torment.

Thirty minutes passed.

Honestly, she thought he was enduring longer than expected.

An hour had passed.

From this point onward, perhaps she felt a flicker of admiration.

Even for a human who had lived a life of immense hardship,

she hadn’t expected them to endure it for a full hour.

Three hours had passed.

From here, she sensed something was amiss,

Had he fainted from the torture or something?

She considered the possibility.

More time elapsed.

Convinced something was terribly wrong, she

prepared to intervene directly.

Toward what might become her familiar,

the first, and possibly the last, life to hold such potential.

But her attempt proved futile.

Only after half a day and four hours beyond that,

did his figure finally begin to emerge.

Completely unharmed, with venomous glints in his eyes,

she watched him walk out.

The total time elapsed: ten hours and twelve minutes.

A truly astonishing duration.

He had passed the trial.

Endured the suffering of ten long hours.

It was unbelievable.

She couldn’t believe it.

She, who had lived for ages and had rarely seen

even those called heroes display such resilience.

Not even they could have

withstood that length of time in such agony.

“…Remarkable.”

“….”

“Truly… remarkable.

How is such a thing possible…?”

It was pure admiration.

Admiration for a life that she had never before experienced,

in all her long years.

For the arrogant, aloof dragon kin,

whose very nature was so eccentric, this was

the highest form of praise she could offer.

“….”

“…What are you doing?”

Yet, it seemed he did not feel it.

The venom in his eyes hadn’t faded.

Without a word, he continued,

Jennison, never halting his advance toward her.

Finally, reaching her very front,

Jennison’s hand moved.

Toward the crown of her head.

Crack—

Thwack—

“Agh?!”

“..You damned crazy dragon-spawn.”

Hardly profound words, coming from one who had brushed with death.

*

“Here, fetch me some bandages!!”

“Ah, yes!”

Still, countless wounded lay

stricken within a tent in the Great Forest.

Within it, a woman, though no Elf herself,

could be seen changing the Elves’ bandages.

“Th…thank you. Human.

May I ask your name?”

“My name is Ella. No surname,

as you can see, I am but a servant.”

“..I see. Thank you.”

In one hand, a bucket filled with water,

in the other, medicines and towels for the patients.

It was Ella.

Fortuitously, saved by the help of a nearby

individual, she had survived.

Today, she ended her tasks and

started on her way to see her master.

Toward Jennison, who had been collapsed and

unmoving for days now.

“Master, I’m here…”

“….”

“When will you awaken..?

Surely you’ve slept enough by now… Hehe.”

The reply, of course, never came.

He couldn’t possibly answer, not in his unconscious state.

Still, it was alright. He was breathing, at least.

To have survived that battle was a blessing in itself.

“…Still, I wish he’d wake soon.”

“May I enter?”

“Ah, yes!”

A voice she didn’t recognize

sought permission from outside the tent.

Somewhat aged,

it was a voice she hadn’t heard here before.

“Ah, greetings, young lady?”

“Ah…greetings, sir…

But…who might you be…?”

“I am Azah, the Imperial Foreign Minister.

May I step inside for a moment?”

“Ah, yes…yes! By all means…”

“Haha, thank you.”

The moment Azah entered the room,

he took in Jennison, observing him slowly,

while Ella remained in a bewildered daze.

‘The…the Foreign Minister? That’s someone incredibly important!’

“Haha, the more I look, the more surprising it is, wouldn’t you say?”

“…?”

“Outwardly, he appears unchanged, but

this man defeated such a monster all on his own?”

“….”

“The stain on the ducal family, the wastrel young master they called him…truly, intriguing.

I feel I understand the reason for those sudden words.”

“Um…”

“Ah, forgive me. I’ve been rambling for quite some time.

I apologize if I’ve been a nuisance.”

“Ah…no, not at all! H-how could you be, to a mere servant like myself.”

“Haha, I appreciate you saying so. Ah, that’s right.

If that one awakens, could you relay this message to him?”

“Pardon? Uh…what kind of…”

“Tell him the Sun wishes to see him.”