The Sleeping Flame (6): Mercy Disguised as a Curse

I didn't know much about the station of a prophet. I had simply figured it was something like a fortune-teller or an oracle. I did know the prophecies were so accurate that the Bicorn clan trusted them without a shred of doubt, but that was the extent of my knowledge. Maybe that was why the news that a prophet had left records on this island didn't shock me much. That was my reaction. For Veronica, however, the feeling was clearly on another level entirely. Look at her—eyes sparkling, chest heaving as she fought to calm herself. After all, the prophet's true body must have died long ago. Even if she wanted to meet and ask questions, it was impossible. And now, here was an avatar the prophet had created to pass her knowledge on to future descendants. No wonder her heart was racing and her breath kept catching.

Veronica kept pressing a hand to her chest, breathing in and out. The prophet's avatar wore a faint, serene smile and waited for questions like a machine. I reached over and took her hand. It might have been crossing a line, but I figured this much was acceptable. Veronica startled slightly at my touch, then gave a small nod as if it had steadied her. The prophet's avatar seemed to observe us both. A magical light flickered through its eyes. It was probably scanning our qualifications—whether we possessed the mana of the old gods or something similar—using principles akin to the barrier outside.

The prophet's avatar spread its arms in an all-encompassing smile. With the same fluid grace, it greeted me before turning to Veronica.

"Follower of the path I once walked, descendant of my clan. The words I left behind—the prophecy—are they still guiding our people in your era? And our friend the unicorn as well?"

"Yes," Veronica answered, her voice ringing with unmistakable pride. "Even now, we use the words you left us as our compass."

At her reply the avatar looked pleased, yet it lowered its gaze like a child who had done something wrong.

"...You called me 'Prophet'?"

Veronica seemed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about to ask something in response to that ambiguous reaction, but stopped herself. She probably realized that firing off questions as they came would muddle the flow of the conversation.

"The fact that my avatar has not been updated means my original body perished during the journey." Once we fell silent, the avatar spoke again, like a program returning from standby. "I was created one hundred and thirteen years after the end of Ragnarok. There were fourteen updates at one-hundred-year intervals from my initial creation. I have waited here a total of five thousand eight hundred and forty-four years without receiving a fifteenth."

It recited the dates of its manufacture as if playing back a recording. Fucking hell, is that time scale for real? Fourteen centuries from the hundred-year cycles, plus another four thousand and forty-four years, put this thing at the tail end of the ancient civilizations' golden age. Given the timing, the prophet must have been caught up in the great war that toppled those civilizations. Or perhaps she had simply reached the end of her natural life.

The avatar offered another faint smile. That seemed to be its default idle expression.

"This... this is an utterly unexpected harvest," Veronica murmured, biting her lip as her heart began to race again the moment she was invited to ask questions. "To think the prophet would have left such preparations on an island that our legends barely mentioned... Did she foresee even this? That a descendant who would one day aid the clan's liberator would come here seeking the Burning Branch?"

Her hands—despite the heat not affecting her—were strangely slick with sweat. Noticing my gaze, Veronica pulled her hand back in embarrassment.

"...Forgive me, but could you ask the first questions in my stead? The tension has made my tongue heavy."

"Uh, sure. I can do that."

I agreed easily enough, but what the hell was I supposed to ask? Unraveling the Bicorn curse was Veronica's role. I needed to choose my questions carefully. After a moment's thought, I started with what had been bothering me most.

"Prophet. Did you create this island?"

"Yes, O Favored Child of Chaos. I shaped it to be hospitable for living beings. However, roughly half of the island's climate and the abundant fire mana throughout are natural phenomena."

The avatar answered as smoothly as flowing water. It might sound rude, but compared to Odin's avatar, the difference in refinement was obvious. This one felt like a high-end deep-learning AI. Still, I had no complaints. Even if it only spat out pre-programmed answers, we were grateful to have them.

"I discovered this island during my travels, isolated the threat within it from the outside world, and left a legacy for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my clan. I believed that one day a qualified individual would cross the barrier and reach this place."

"...The threat you speak of is that thing behind us, correct?"

"What exactly do you mean by 'that thing'?"

Ah. This felt exactly like talking to a smartphone's voice assistant. Once I realized that, the trick became clear. I simply needed to be precise and detailed.

"The black wall visible behind the stone monument. Is that the source of the fire mana flowing across this island?"

"Correct. That is the 'Wounding Branch' that fell upon Midgard. It is a fragment of the fire giant Surtr's sword."

"...A fragment?"

I turned to examine the black 'wall' again. It wasn't fully exposed—parts were buried beneath lava falls—but it was still larger than our house back in Sargadis. That thing is just a fragment? The word usually referred to a broken piece of some original whole. So this was only a shard? That massive wall spewing an endless lava waterfall?

For a second my brain short-circuited. Fuck. The mythic age of this other world is terrifying. If the Sleipnir I'd seen in my dreams had filled my chest with awe, this wall made my balls shrink like a hamster facing down a cat.

"Understood. I'll be careful."

Even touching the rocks melted them—how was anyone supposed to covet the damn thing? With that kind of output radiating constantly over such a wide area, it could probably power a thermal generator and make someone filthy rich. But it felt cursed as hell, so no thanks. It was way too much even for a research paper. This was like meeting an alien from Mars. I didn't have the courage to put it in an academic thesis. Especially not with some shadowy group like the Compilation Battalion already hunting scholars. Betting my life and my degree on the same scale wasn't exactly smart.

"Then the next question... Ah, is it all right to ask multiple questions?"

"Reaching me here means you—or all of you—possess the necessary qualifications. Anyone unworthy who broke through the barrier would have been burned to ash by the fire mana saturating this space."

The avatar delivered that chilling statement with a gentle tone. So if we'd smashed the final barrier, we would have been roasted by the ambient mana. It went on to provide an additional reason.

"Moreover, my eyes have confirmed your worthiness. Descendant of my kin and O Favored Child of Chaos who bears infinite potential. You are precisely the visitors I hoped for."

"...What exactly does 'Favored Child of Chaos' mean?"

Favored child. Someone especially loved by another. By itself it sounded positive, but attaching 'chaos' to it gave the whole thing an ominous ring. The question slipped out because the phrase felt so unsettling. The avatar answered without hesitation.

"The Favored Child of Chaos is the title Lord Odin bestowed upon the human race."

"...So ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it's basically just another word for 'human'?"

"Correct. Is there a problem?"

"Nope. Nothing at all."

That fucking edgy one-eyed German chuuni goddess. Next time I saw her I was definitely going to smack her upside the head. She'd scared me for no reason. I let out a sigh of relief. So it really had just been that eyepatch-wearing edgelord's hobby. Then again, what could you expect from the chief god of Germanic myth—the one who fascinated Hitler and the Nazis? Naming humans the Favored Children of Chaos was peak edgy adolescent aesthetic, the kind that attracted brooding teens and lunatics.

"But why are humans the Favored Children of Chaos?"

"Because, unlike the gods, humans are not bound by fate."

Whoa. What an incredibly curt explanation. From that single short line I immediately sensed that this particular question was something the avatar—and by extension the prophet who had created it—preferred not to discuss. It was basic interrogation technique I'd learned from 21st-century Earth movies. When someone had been happily vomiting up alibis and extra information but suddenly started giving one-word answers, that was the secret they wanted to hide.

"Prophet. I, too, have something I wish to ask."

It was then that Veronica spoke, apparently having steeled herself to seize the unexpected opportunity.

"Why did the gods of Asgard place a curse upon us—upon the Bicorns, the Unicorns, and Grani?"

I had assumed she would ask how to break the curse, but Veronica's question went straight to the root of the matter.

"The reason, you say?"

"Yes. According to our legends, we were cursed without knowing why and driven beneath the World Tree. Even if we are later saved through your prophecy, we must not forget the sin we committed."

The reason they had been cursed. I recalled Hildegard, who had burned me at the Bicorn sanctuary, and the words of that young Bicorn.

Forgiveness would be nice, but it might be disappointment instead. There is nothing more terrifying than indifference from the one you wish to serve. You know that well, don't you?

Veronica had worked harder than anyone to lift the Bicorn curse. It seemed she believed they had to understand what they had done wrong before they could be forgiven. What a diligent personality.

"Therefore we must remember. What sin we once committed."

The avatar did not answer immediately. I couldn't tell whether it was processing the question or whether the hesitation belonged to the original prophet whose consciousness it carried.

"Normally, the answer to that question must not be told to a descendant of the clan... However, if you are traveling with the one who bears infinite potential, then you have the right to hear it. I can well imagine the hardships you must have endured to meet him."

Fortunately, she did not dodge the question. The avatar glanced at me as it spoke. Once again I swallowed the sense of unease it gave me.

"...What do you mean by mercy?" Veronica asked, her voice tight with urgency. The avatar lowered its gaze.

"Descendant of my clan. Have you never found it strange? According to my prophecy, Ragnarok meant the fall of every god. Neither the Sumerian gods nor those of Narmer-Nile escaped it."

I'd heard something similar before. Wasn't that roughly what Odin's avatar had said? Back when I asked if I had been brought to this world because of her? Odin had denied it, saying that in this world most gods were already dead or defeated and had grown weak. I couldn't remember the exact words, but the gist was the same.

"Yet we still live. Though we are divine races, we escaped the doom that was meant for all divine races."

That part had always seemed odd. The Bicorns called themselves the last of the divine races, and even lifting half their curse allowed them to regain a fraction of the power they should have possessed. So why did they continue to thrive in the modern otherworld where the gods had been massacred?

This was the answer.

That was why the prophet had called the curse placed upon the Bicorn clan an act of 'mercy.' And that was the reason the curse had been laid upon them in the first place.