Chapter 646: Afterglow
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 646: Afterglow
“I am fire. And you are the angel who delivers it.”
Over the years, the demon had whispered many things to her. Among them, that specific temptation stood out the most.
It was a temptation riddled with lies, yet even with an elf's heightened sensitivity, she could find no flaw in the demon's words. They rang with the resonance of absolute truth.
Words have power.
Repeated often enough, words linger in the mind, eventually shaping one's very actions. That was the true weight of speech.
“Did I burn it? Or did you?”
Was it the demon's doing, or had she summoned the creature herself? If so, was the fire the demon set ultimately her own fault?
Pitch-black ash flowed through Sinar's veins. That ash gnawed at her heart and sowed the seeds of terror. Even so, Sinar had managed to endure. Her pride had long since vanished; what remained was a desperate, ugly struggle for survival.
Facing the flames and feeling bone-deep terror, yet pretending otherwise—that was Sinar's rebellion.
It went without saying how shocked she had been to see what Encrid did in that moment.
Setting fire to the tent?
It was utter madness. Yet, for some reason, she had felt it was okay. The fire, which had once been a symbol of dread, terror, and the demon, did not seem so monstrous then.
The reason? She didn't want to know. At a time when she was too busy guarding her heart and concealing her emotions, she had no leisure to ponder the 'why.'
All an elf cursed to never face flames could do back then was keep her mouth shut.
And then, the fire started.
Though she had turned away, unable to bear the sight of the blazing inferno, it hadn't been agonizing enough to kill her.
Should I say it was thanks to Bran?
Her master and long-time friend, Bran, had taught her that she must not fear fire. He conveyed his intent in the traditional elven manner: imparting lessons through action, attitude, and life itself.
A Woodgard smoking tobacco. It was a sight as jarring as a ghoul eating chocolate pudding, yet Bran had done it. It wasn't that elves never used fire, but Woodgards—elves derived from trees—did not keep it close. Avoidance was engraved into their very instincts.
Wood and fire.
An incompatible combination if there ever was one.
And yet, Bran had held the tobacco in his mouth and lit it.
Sinar felt time accelerate. Simultaneously, she realized this was a lucid dream. A long-held shackle was finally coming undone. It was a curse woven together by hammering the iron of words and winding the threads of time.
For a long time, the demon had gripped Sinar, nibbling away at her soul bit by bit. That demon was now dead. As reality and dream blurred, memories of the past invaded her subconscious.
“Fire. It's fire.”
A serpent made of flames wrapped around her ankles once more, searing her flesh. Crackle, crackle. The pungent scent of burning grass and flowers filled the air.
Cold sweat poured down her skin. It felt as though her physical body in the waking world was also drenched. One could not escape a demon's lingering curse all at once. Such was the nature of a curse bound not by sorcery or magic, but by the weight of words.
“Do you still feel like just dropping dead?”
Another voice pierced her ears. As dreams often do, her surroundings shifted rapidly. Before she knew it, she was sitting in the heart of a forest. Sinar saw that her hands had shrunk, returning to how they were when she was a child.
She stared at the pale backs of her hands. If she rolled up her sleeves, she knew there would be a fresh scar waiting there.
“If I must die, I will.”
Just before she reached adulthood, Sinar—who had become a child of the curse—had uttered those words. Her father had told her then that it wasn't her fault. She saw him now, leaning his back against a tree. He was the owner of the voice she had just heard.
“Or have you changed your mind?” her father asked again.
Sinar stared blankly at him. Usually, when her father appeared in her dreams, he was a mere voice speaking from the darkness. But today, he stood before her, bathed proudly in the sunlight. The faint light filtering through the forest canopy swept from his face down to his toes, bringing him into sharp focus.
“She has.”
The answer came from her mother. She was standing beside her father, though Sinar hadn't noticed her arrival. Her eyebrows, eyes, the bridge of her nose, and her lips all closely resembled Sinar's own. When they were young, her sister used to say that she resembled their father, while Sinar took after their mother.
“How would you know that?” her father asked.
Her mother stood tall, her blonde hair reflecting the golden sunlight. “We share a connection, after all.”
“I share one too.”
“Yes, but I feel a bond with her that is much deeper than that.”
“I feel it too.”
Though their tones were flat due to elven emotional restraint, Sinar recalled from her childhood that her father and mother used to bicker often. An elven-style argument, one might call it—which mostly consisted of her father stubbornly insisting on a point while her mother calmly ignored him.
“You are being stubborn,” her mother replied. Her gaze remained fixed on Sinar. Though her mouth moved to address her husband, her eyes held a warm, gentle light meant only for her daughter. She was the same mother as always.
“No, I am an elf. I speak only the truth.” Her father did not back down.
“A distortion, more like.”
“No. That is truly how I feel.”
“You are distorting your own heart.”
“My heart is telling me so.”
The bickering dragged on. Even knowing it was a dream, Sinar enjoyed watching it. It was a heartwarming sight.
“Both of you, stop. Bloodline influences us, but it isn't everything.”
Now her sister had appeared as well. It was Naira Kirhais. She chimed in with her signature cynical tone.
“Naira, you are cold,” her father said.
“I am just an ordinary elf.”
“Bran did say you were exceptionally skilled at restraining your emotions.”
“I can take care of my own affairs.”
“How sad.”
Just because emotions were not shown did not mean they did not exist. Elves felt emotions through their innate sensitivity. When the range of those emotions widened, they would fluctuate wildly, grieving or rejoicing over the smallest things.
Frok easily accepted limits because he read talent, while elves easily sympathized with others because they felt emotions so readily. In other words, their psychological structure was fragile. They were like a pure white canvas, easily stained by any color.
If Frok lived intoxicated by the desire to break through limits, elves learned emotional restraint to protect their fragile psyche. Thus, elves whose psychological foundations had grown solid would once again reveal a portion of their emotions. Just as Sinar's parents did.
Even if the two of them expressed their emotions to that extent, they did not harm each other. However, other elves—especially young ones—would be shaken by such displays. So, it was also a form of restraint meant for raising a sensitive child.
But what about now? Their child was fully grown. That was why they could act this way now.
And her sister, Naira. She had been exceptionally talented since childhood, comprehending anything in an instant. As stray thoughts mingled, they drifted toward a painful conclusion. Originally, the one who should have survived was not Sinar, but—
“That's a useless thought, Sinar. If the one with superior ability was meant to survive, it should have been Mother, not me. If Mother had entered the Labyrinth knowing she couldn't use vital energy, she would have slain the demon and then some.”
It was as if Naira had read her mind. She comforted Sinar in her usual blunt tone. Her words made sense; countering logic with logic was an elf's specialty. Her mother was the genius of geniuses born of the elven clan. That was what Naira meant.
Naira looked at her, her gaze carrying deep worry. Her eyes spoke to Sinar: You don't need to get better all at once. Just hold onto even the smallest thing and endure.
It was no different from what she had said before she departed.
“None of this is your fault. Understand?” She spoke the words aloud this time.
Hearing this, her father chimed in with another comment, and her mother spoke of their bond once more. It wasn't boisterous. Elves had no reason to be loud, even when gathered. Yet, just because it was quiet did not mean it lacked warmth.
Sinar enjoyed the peace, if only for a moment. She did so even though she knew the truth. This was a lucid dream. They were dead. She would never see them again. They had died at the hands of the demon and become its nourishment.
As her thoughts deepened, gloom reared its head.
Rustle.
She heard a sound. Someone was cupping Sinar's cheek. It was Aden.
“I never expected you to go to another guy instead of me.”
Aden enjoyed elven-style jokes. Even now, he spoke such nonsense. Why would he say that, when he had treated Sinar like a sister rather than a woman throughout his entire life?
“Flames are both destruction and birth. That is the meaning of Lafratio. So, flames are not something to be feared. They are merely something to be cautious of,” Aden said.
She knew. Because she knew, she had repeated it to herself countless times. That she had to be careful with fire. It was an expression of her will to handle it with caution rather than avoid it.
To teach her that single truth, Bran—despite being a Woodgard—had overcome the fear engraved in his instincts to light that tobacco.
And Lafratio, the surname of Aden's family. Aden Lafratio—the name of a family of elven blacksmiths. To translate Lafratio literally into the common tongue, it meant "Undying Fire." To paraphrase it, one could call it "Regeneration."
Regeneration—meaning to survive and live again, even if broken.
“Igniculus, spark the embers. Breathe soul into the extinguished fire,” Aden said.
That was exactly what Aden used to do. Hammering iron to give it life, breathing breath into the flames. It was an exceptionally sentimental dream.
Then, with a sudden flicker, the surroundings darkened as if the world were about to go out. Within the forest that served as the backdrop for her family, black soot gathered, flowing and coalescing to fill the woods. The sunlight vanished.
“Cursed child.”
“Everyone died because of you.”
An elf's emotional restraint was only perceived as such by humans; among elves, this level of expression was more than enough to convey intent. The subtle venom laced within their tone was enough to communicate everything.
These were random voices emerging from within the soot. Resentful, blaming, and complaining. Shifting all responsibility onto her. Sinar had not yet escaped her curse; she was merely enduring it. Just as she prepared to bear the weight, her father stepped in front of her.
“If you are dead, just quietly turn into pollen,” he commanded.
Her mother stepped forward too. “You toxic potato sprouts.” She spat out the harsh insult with disdain.
“Shall I burn you all to ashes? The demon isn't the only one who can use fire,” Aden added, stepping forward as well.
Her sister squatted in front of Sinar and met her eyes. “How is that man?”
Though Naira was exceptionally good at hiding her emotions, she had never done so with Sinar. Until her death, she used to talk about such trivial things. It felt like a typical conversation between sisters.
“He's a stubborn madman.”
“Right, he'd have to be at least that much,” her sister said with a smile. Then she stood up and blocked the path ahead. Soot coalesced over the curse-like resentment.
What was it that Encrid had said? Had he said a demon appeared in his dream and babbled something, but he forgot?
The soot spoke, manifesting its will. “You fucking bitch, hurry up and call my name. You know my true name, so call it now!”
In her dreams, she had always been chased and torn apart. But now, there would be no need for that. Sinar steeled her heart. She couldn't overcome it all at once, but she could make a start.
“If you stop because you think it's too late or impossible, nothing will happen anyway.”
Enki, you are right. You are correct, and I respect your resolve.
Sinar forced her mouth open. Because she needed courage, she dragged it out from deep within. That courage became her will, giving her strength, and she spoke to the demon.
“Who were you again?”
If it was time to forget, she would forget now. Those were words spat out with absolute resolve.
“You fucking bitch...!”
The demon unleashed its fury, burning the forest. Massive flames filled her vision. Sinar had terrible burns on her back and arms; pain flared up once more from those very scars. The family blocking her path caught fire. Neither Aden nor her sister could stop the flames. The fire consumed the dream, burning her as well.
Yet, amidst those flames, a blue light crept in, parting a portion of the fire and holding its ground before her. Was it thanks to that? It was hot, but bearable. So she would do just that. She would endure.
“One day, a day will come when you too will laugh, Sinar. Do not forget how to smile for that day,” her father said as he burned.
Yes, Father. That day has come.
No longer a faint smile, Sinar beamed like a flower in full bloom.
Waking from her dream, Sinar felt her eyes were moist. She had cried in her sleep.
“Ah, it wasn't a bad dream.”
She got up with a murmur. Various thoughts brushed through her mind, and she vaguely recalled Encrid mentioning before she slept that he was going to enter the spring.
Sinar stepped out of the wooden house. The air was cold, but the sunlight was beautiful and refreshing. It was a day that made her want to soak in the water for no particular reason.