IBTRFL Chapter 29

The leather-gloved hand closed on the sword's hilt without hesitation. The blue-white edge, bared, aimed straight at the unprotected line of his throat.

Kardo had shut his eyes without regret, an instant from driving the blade through his own neck—

The sword, keening ominously, threw off a burst of blue-white energy and wrenched itself free of his hand. It flew off and clattered down into a far corner.

A jarring pain flared across the skin of his throat. Blood welling from the wound fouled his collar.

Kardo lowered his gaze to his tingling, numbed fingertips. Fury at having his purpose thwarted surged into that hand.

The sword on the bare earth trembled faintly, as if screaming at him to stop right now. But eyes gone blind with despair couldn't take in anything at all.

Kardo rose to his feet, face pale and dull, his gaze fixed uselessly on his stubbornly loyal sword.

"On this dark night, in a place people avoid—what is it you're doing?"

A voice like rusted iron scraping struck at his eardrums.

Kardo, stopping without meaning to, turned to find the owner of the unfamiliar voice.

A shabby old man, wrapped in a robe steeped deep in the smell of earth, his back bent at a strange, twisted angle.

The end of his cane tapped the ground with every laborious step he took.

His old, cracked hand—fissured like sun-dried mud—clutched the cane. Into every wrinkle of it, a lifetime's dealings with death had seeped deep.

The old man drew slowly closer and spoke, at peace.

"Sleep wouldn't come, so I stepped out for a night's walk—didn't think I'd find another soul already here before me."

Late at night, in a lonely graveyard, meeting a stranger.

Perhaps handling the ends of human lives for so long left a person unbothered.

There was nothing in the old man's tone, his expression, his gestures, that carried caution or fear.

"I've lived a good long while in Solbo, but yours isn't a face I've seen before, that I can tell you."

The old man studied the unfamiliar boy quietly. There was still some childishness left in him, but his face was rare in its striking beauty.

"Your face is thick with despair, I see. But it runs too deep—I cannot begin to fathom the bottom of it."

The blue eyes gave off no light at all.

A despair, thick and clinging, that didn't belong on a face that young.

He'd come across it now and then, doing this work. The eyes of someone alive, but not living. Someone waiting for the end.

Fate doesn't treat everyone fairly. To some it hands over everything, generously. From others it tears away everything, without mercy.

What had fate stripped from this child—not even yet grown to manhood?

The old man clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Your mind's made itself up, then—nothing I say will reach you, I'd wager."

Kardo couldn't answer. The old man, as if it were nothing much, turned and went to look at the special grave.

Living alongside death is a way of slowly killing yourself. Bit by bit. Only a little at a time.

You had to smother yourself, the way smoke seeping into a room chokes a man to death.

Those who couldn't manage it met an end more wretched than even a lowly gravedigger's miserable life.

They'd break, in the end, under the emptiness the end brings, and lose even themselves.

The young gravedigger who once trembled violently at the sight of a corpse had become the old gravedigger who now kept death, his life's work, close at his side.

In that ceaselessly passing, impermanent flow of time, feeling had corroded away until only dregs remained.

And yet—even the threadbare scraps of feeling left in him could, on rare occasion, still ache with grief.

The first: the deaths of those who hadn't even had the chance to bloom. The second: the deaths of the good, who sacrificed themselves for others.

The owner of this grave, so heavily mourned by so many people, belonged to both.

The old man asked.

"The owner of this grave—Aer. Did you know her?"

The blue eyes, light gone out of them, twisted in pain. Kardo nodded, slowly.

The old man set right the flowers that had scattered out of place. A sorrowful fragrance clinging to the white blossoms drifted, neat, on the passing wind.

"I heard tell she was a brave one—informed on the orphanage priests' corruption to protect her friends, she did. Thanks to her, the church here in Solbo was able to change, or so they say."

Reported the corruption. Kardo asked, urgency bleeding into his voice.

"Would you—could you tell me more?"

There was no reason not to. The old man nodded at once.

"Just when everyone thought all was well again, mind you. She'd gone into the forest with her younger siblings to gather flowers, and they say she crossed paths with a magic-beast. She stayed behind so the little ones could win time to flee, and—sadly, she never came back."

The old man brushed the dust off the top of the headstone. His touch was courteous and warm, as if paying respect to someone still living.

There was one more reason this particular grave lingered in his heart.

"Couldn't even recover the body. It's always the way with those the magic-beasts take—but it still tears at the heart all the same."

"No body?"

"Indeed. Tragically, the funeral had to be held with no body at all. Word reached a person of noble standing, who came in person to lay flowers here as well."

He answered, flat and even, then straightened the knees he'd bent.

A body worn down by age didn't listen well to its owner anymore. The old man turned slowly, leaning on his cane.

Bewilderment welled up in the eyes buried beneath his drooping lids.

The blue eyes, once wandering without focus, now shone calm and clear. His face, which had gone sallow and bloodless, sprang back to life fresh and vivid, like a wilted plant drinking in welcome rain.

Just where had the boy found his hope? The old man wondered, but held his tongue. Whatever the reason, someone who'd recovered the will to live was a beautiful thing.

Kardo bowed deeply at the waist.

"Elder, truly—thank you."

The old man waved a hand, lightly.

"I've done nothing worth thanking. Go carefully, now."

"No. Thank you. Truly, again."

Kardo, having bowed courteously, picked the fallen sword up off the ground. He wiped the foolishness that remained on its edge and returned it to its sheath.

Confirming its owner had come back to life, the sword pulsed in a steady, relieved rhythm.

"I'm sorry."

Kardo took a deep breath and set his legs moving.

The fog that had shrouded his mind cleared to brightness. Using his heavy despair as fertilizer, an imperfect hope sprouted.

Kardo calmly traced back through the conversation in his memory.

He remembered every one of Aer's stories, without a single gap.

Her childhood. The corruption and abuse the orphanage priests had committed. Three children who'd died horribly, killed by a magic-beast.

But the story he knew had changed. Kind, faithful people were guarding the orphanage now, and instead of the three children dying, it was Aer who had vanished.

Every one of them had been a tragedy Aer had desperately wanted to change.

The god had said an anomaly could exist. That paying a vast price to turn back time meant variables from an unknowable force could not be ruled out.

Then was this simply that—an anomaly?

No. It couldn't be.

He'd been given a new life, but the world went on flowing exactly as he remembered it. The Extinction Cult. The various conflicts breaking out across the continent. Even the figures who'd made a name for themselves.

Only his own path was walking a different direction; the scenery around him hadn't changed at all.

Unless someone made up their mind and twisted it on purpose, everything moves forward the way an arrow moves once it's left the bowstring.

And somewhere his own hands had never touched, the current had changed—for the very first time. That was how he could say it.

Aer had come back too. With every one of those bitter memories intact.

Kardo, having fully left the city, let out a long breath. His steps slowed, gradually, and then stopped completely.

"...Aer."

Before he'd come back, the night sky, thick with silence, had been packed full of stars. Beneath it now, his blue eyes wavered, sorrowful.

Shame, frustration, regret. His head sank limply, unable to bear the self-blame within him.

This time, he'd wanted to make her happy. Even far apart, even if their paths only brushed past each other, he'd wanted nothing more than for her to smile somewhere safe and at peace.

And someday, once everything was finally over—

But pitiless fate hadn't allowed even that.

Aer had come back too. Acting, as always, like she was the worst, most difficult woman in the world—when she was, in truth, someone that devoted, that kind.

This time, she'd probably throw herself, body breaking, against the catastrophe that would swallow the whole world.

He believed it. She was the strongest, most solid person he'd ever known—and the most radiant, too.

Kardo shut his eyes tight.

"......."

That was exactly why this time had to be different.

If she was alive, someday, they could meet.

Their paths were different, but they were surely moving toward the same direction.

And surely, waiting at the end of that road, Aer would be there.

His resolute blue eyes shone, sharp with intent. His clenched fist held a will that would not be moved.

He had to move forward—so that someday, before the Aer he would meet again, he could stand without shame.