Chapter 370: Nest (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 370: Nest (4)
The sky was exceptionally high and clear after the rain.
Under that clear sky, two birds diligently carried twigs in their beaks. Every time one flew past the window, a small shadow flickered across the room and vanished.
They were building a nest.
Somewhere in Chermil Palace. In a place those tiny creatures deemed the safest.
"It seems they're building a nest in the palace. If it bothers you, shall I have someone find and relocate it?"
Noticing that Randel’s gaze followed the birds’ shadows every time they passed, his attendant, Den, asked cautiously as he adjusted Randel’s clothes for an upcoming meeting.
Once those birds nested and laid their eggs, it wouldn't be long before Chermil Palace was filled with the noisy chirping of chicks and the busy fluttering of their parents carrying food.
Yet, hadn't Randel recently ordered all the clocks removed from his room, complaining their ticking was too loud? That was why Den was worried the birds would also be a disturbance.
Randel’s gaze shifted from the newly replaced window to his reflection in the mirror.
"Leave them be. It's not so bad."
"Yes, Prince. Understood."
Answering with a slight bow, Den dismissed the other attendants and maids before performing a final check of Randel's attire.
This was the first time Randel was showing himself to the nobles after a long period of seclusion, which had begun right after the Crown Prince and the 3rd Prince returned to Kairis. Den was thus overly concerned that even a single loose thread would be seen as a flaw.
But in truth, Den had a far greater worry than Randel's appearance.
"Um… Prince."
"Speak."
"I am concerned that if you appear before the nobles right after the Crown Prince and the 3rd Prince have left again, ugly rumors will start circulating once more. Perhaps it would be better to…"
"Ugly rumors?"
Although he had not yet held a formal investiture ceremony or moved to Camillon Palace, the 2nd Prince had clearly been granted the position of Crown Prince by Lemain. And until last winter, the 3rd Prince had been the one closest to that position. It was obvious what kind of rumors would spread about the 1st Prince, Randel, who only showed his face when those two were absent.
They would say that ever since Lemain had practically expelled the Tensil delegation during last year's Royal Birthday festival, the 1st Prince had been tucking his tail between his legs and walking on eggshells around his younger brothers. Or that he was secretly joining hands with Gray of the Brissen family—whose influence had been severely shaken after Evan's death—to turn the tables, but even that wasn't going well. No matter how you looked at it, such dishonorable stories were bound to spread.
"They are not ugly rumors."
"They are, Prince."
"Is there anything incorrect in what they say?"
"Nothing they say is true."
These rumors were dreadfully unpleasant for Randel, who knew exactly who was responsible for the death of his mother, former Queen Aisha. Den was suggesting that Randel skip the meeting this time as well, rather than letting such talk crop up again.
Of course, Den did not know the actual reason for Aisha’s death. He only spoke this way because, having cared for Randel for so long, he knew how little interest the prince had in the throne—or more precisely, in the entire kingdom.
Turning his head toward the chirping from the open window, Randel’s eyes landed on a side table in the corner of the room. He stared at a neatly folded black robe resting upon it.
"Don't the nobles only ever see what's right in front of them?"
"What do you mean by that, Prince?"
"I mean they only care about what is immediately and prominently visible. They're incapable of looking even a little further ahead, aren't they?"
Just like those birds, trying to build a nest here in Chermil Palace with nothing but garden rosebushes and landscaped trees, even though a lush, predator-free forest lay just a short flight away.
"Could it be, Prince, that you are doing this on purpose…"
"We're short on time. Hurry."
Randel cut Den off, his words dripping with contempt for the nobility. Soon, leaving behind the clamor of the birds now permitted to nest in Chermil Palace, he stepped outside.
The 1st Prince, who only appeared when his brothers were away.
He did this so the nobles would see him and gossip to their hearts' content about the struggles of a prince pushed out of the succession. This would leave them no time to ponder whether the Crown Prince and the 3rd Prince—who had once again left their posts for no clear reason—were truly fit to lead the kingdom once they ascended the throne.
It was Randel's own way of repaying a debt; he had no intention of owing anything to the bastard who had arbitrarily blocked his just-as-arbitrarily opened window. He hated being indebted to that person far more than he hated being the subject of the nobles' vicious gossip.
* * *
For the first time, he had such a thought.
He was glad he wasn't stupid. He was glad, at least for today, that he possessed a clever mind—one he had sometimes resented and occasionally cursed.
He was glad he could recall every word without forgetting a single syllable: the mumbled phrases from his foolishly, overly understanding younger brother; the consolation offered like a grudge by the king of a neighboring kingdom; the single remark from the ancient dragon who had faced him.
The sensation of an unfathomable beast’s fangs sinking into his throat; the feeling of staring into the eyes of a creature that had swallowed the world. Franz was taking the full brunt of Calian’s killing intent and Peer’s pressure erupting simultaneously. In this absurd situation, he squeezed out every ounce of strength just to breathe, barely managing to lift his head. And he could think of only one thing.
He saw Calian, who had already drawn close to Sispanian’s side.
Even now, when it wouldn't be strange for him to collapse on the spot, when he was barely suppressing the urge to retreat, Franz’s mind kept working.
—I had a thought that perhaps things don't change much unless they are directly related to me.
Events Calian did not interfere with happened exactly as they did in the ‘past.’ And Calian had not interfered in the slightest with the awakening of the sleeping Serenti. This meant that in the past, Serenti had also opened their eyes before this winter. It meant they had watched everything that would unfold in the ‘past’ seven years from now.
And they did nothing to help.
—Serenti.
A person died.
A kingdom fell.
Sure. They could watch from the sidelines. Whether one person died or ten thousand, they could just watch. Because they were a god. Because they weren't human. Because they were a god who had to watch, no matter what. Though he didn't understand it perfectly, he had been taught that a god was such an existence.
But.
—The Franz of that day cannot be forgiven by--.
But it wasn't just a war.
Time moved. The world collapsed. It turned back. Instead of stopping it, Serenti, who had not been asleep, erased a single life. They worked so diligently to erase it that they even silenced the mouths of others, so that the name of the forgotten one could not be freely spoken.
They had watched the Franz of the past move the Axis of Time, and though they could have stopped it, they didn't. Instead, they paid the price for everything with the life of a completely different person.
—"It is enough now…" they said.
As if.
As if undoing a poorly played move in a game.
As if wiping a game board that could no longer be won. As if sweeping aside a match that couldn’t be won with the current pieces and seizing a white piece to launch a preemptive strike with a new, flawless move. As if preparing the stage for a newly arranged play.
Yes.
As if playing a game.
—Serenti.
Could such a thing be called a god?
Did they call that a god?
…That.
That was surely what Calian was thinking right now. With his clever mind, Franz perceived all of Calian’s inner thoughts. And he understood.
"Stop."
So he stopped him.
—I'm going to throw a tantrum when I meet Serenti.
—If I do meet them, I must vent my anger.
The bastard who had collapsed after pushing everything he tried to protect behind him. The bastard who must have lived more desperately than anyone. The bastard who lost everything he had protected with a life that was more a struggle to survive than actual living. And even after all that, the bastard who had to live again, unable to properly resent anyone, only worrying about the empty space he left behind. The bastard who was only permitted that much.
Because Franz knew that this bastard was someone who couldn't lie to save his life.
Because he knew this man was a crazy bastard—a completely unhinged bastard.
Step.
Because the insolent madman had forgotten who was standing behind him and let his anger erupt, Franz clenched his wildly trembling hands into tight fists and forced himself to take a step forward.
He was worried. Worried that the boy intended to point his sword at Serenti, even if it meant the life he had barely clung to would crumble and vanish once more. Worried that he was harboring a resentment so deep, he would rather disappear than be toyed with by such a being. Just like his own older brother, who had once kept a sword under his pillow with those very thoughts.
Step.
So, stubbornly, he took another step.
The bastard who had been looking up at Sispanian turned his head. Red eyes, shining with a light utterly different from the one Franz had memorized—a light unlike anything he had ever seen before—flickered toward him.
"Don't come. You can't handle this."
Only then did an answer come.
At last, Franz realized one more crucial fact. The reason the boy hadn't answered despite being called so many times.
"...Ha."
That this completely unleashed bastard, his younger brother, had gone truly mad—so mad he had reverted to the man he was before his death.
* * *
Everything had turned out for the better.
Everything had become good.
Hina was alive. Casting aside all other reasons, he could live on with that single fact alone. But that wasn't the only thing that had improved.
The Brissen family's evil deeds had stopped. Kyrie was able to keep Hina by his side. Yan kept smiling. Because of that, the three members of the Siegfried family did not lose another loved one. Melfir's life was saved. Ririe was rescued. The nameless child of Secritia, who had once been the sole survivor, continued to live.
Kairis would never invade Secritia. The delightfully mad bastards of Valkan would remain just as delightful, and innocent blood would never stain the hems of their robes. Teilan, who had died blocking them, would now only need to remember that he had protected Secritia and his king alongside them. Arianne would not have to witness her fiancé's final moments, and Louise would not have to feel her heart being ripped out again.
Eila could be kept close. Alan gained a new son.
As a result, Chase did not lose his younger brother.
And Franz began to live.
He breathed. He looked forward. He lived his life.
Everything had turned out for the better. Everything had become good. All because one person's death was buried, and another's life was forgotten.
—Ah. So this is what you call a practical sacrifice.
That is what I think.
But.
What about you?
What do you think, Serenti?
* * *
Sispanian did not move.
One would have expected her to do something—scold, get angry, attack, or at the very least, send the egg in which Serenti slept somewhere else. But she did nothing.
She simply looked down at Bern, who cradled Serenti in his arms. She gazed at him as if she would receive the pouring resentment on Serenti's behalf, just as she had nurtured this land in their stead.
"Please, stop."
And she made a request.
Instead of the thoughts that had been transmitted directly into his mind, a quiet voice reached his ears. It was a voice that seemed to carry the same warm wind that had blown when the ancient dragon thoughtfully said things were different from usual.
"What are you telling me to stop?"
"I speak of the words you hold inside."
"Why do you tell me to stop?"
"Why do you refuse to stop?"
"Isn't this what you wanted—for me not to stop?"
"This is not what I meant."
A wind that seemed to summon spring blew once more.
"Serenti is different from me."
"It doesn't matter if you don't understand my actions right now."
"Serenti is different from Danu."
"I already know my blade will not reach them."
"Serenti is different from you all."
"Even if our ways of thinking don't align, I will meet them."
"They have not awakened yet."
"Didn't you say their will is present? I will speak with them. Step aside."
"You have already conveyed your message."
Bern had already made his intentions known to Serenti.
He had made it perfectly clear that he could not endure this, that he was angry, and that he had questions. He had also conveyed with his entire being that he would not submit to Serenti's will.
"Yes. I conveyed it. But I… have not heard anything."
Bern had not heard.
"I haven't heard a single word. Not me."
He had not heard any words at all.
"Whether it's alright for me to live again. Whether it's fine to hand me a new life like an opportunity, so I can save others, protect them, teach them how to live, and finally live my own life watching over them, making everything better. Whether I would be grateful if my life—which I ultimately didn't consider unhappy—was arbitrarily judged and erased, only to be replaced with a new one like a gift. Whether I would obediently follow. Why I must do so. I haven't heard. I haven't heard a single thing about what I need to know. Nothing."
The light green eyes of the one who shouldn't have had to go through this. The crimson eyes of the one who shouldn't have come to this place. The closed, unseen black eyes of the one who didn't bother to answer what they were thinking while they slept. From Sispanian, who looked into all those eyes, a wind blew once more.
He had thought it was a laugh, but perhaps it was a sigh. The sigh of Sispanian, who had come to understand everyone present and could no longer rebuke anyone.
"Serenti is different from us."
"How are they so different? A bastard who doesn't care about seeking understanding, who doesn't feel the need to explain or act, and who thinks nothing of a small sacrifice for the greater good. A bastard who keeps others in the palm of their hand to watch, and if things go wrong, tries to start over from the beginning. A bastard who spouts bullshit about some grand purpose behind it all. You can find bastards like that littered across the dregs of the world."
Flutter.
Giant wings, like a canopy that formed the sky, spread open for a moment. Then they folded back, as if wrapping around Serenti. They shielded Serenti from Bern's sight.
Or perhaps, Franz suddenly thought, it was to shield his younger brother from Serenti.
Bern didn't care.
"The fact that I'm choosing to listen first instead of drawing my sword is the greatest understanding I can show right now. It is the maximum patience I can muster. Since they are a god, I will personally ask them what grand, lofty purpose they have that demands I lower my head, shut my mouth, and just live. I will hear it myself."
"…Stop."
A low voice cut between them.
Bern didn't care why Sispanian’s wings blocked the space between him and Serenti, but the one who cared far too much to let him continue stepped forward.
Because he had learned long ago what the owner of a hand does when the thing they watched over in their palm slips from their sight. Because he was worried Serenti might be just like those people scattered across the world, as that bastard had said. Worried they might think nothing of sweeping away a tiny, ridiculous creature trying to escape their grasp, only to pick up a new piece. He was worried.
Suppressing the sensation of his own flesh being carved away with each step, he finally closed the distance. He grabbed him. He didn't stop to consider if the blade-like resentment he was blocking would turn on him instead. He just grabbed him.
—It's not your fault, brother.
Because whoever that bastard was, it was true he couldn't lie.
He didn't care about such things anymore.
"Don't do it."
The shoulder he grabbed tensed completely. But that was all.
The gaze fixed on Serenti did not turn away.
No blade flew, nor did any resentment.
"Stop this. Step back."
"I can't die. I can't die now, either. I have things to do."
"…If you truly mean that, then stop."
"My resentment is over. I'm done with it. But there is something I want to ask. Something I must confirm. So I cannot stop now. Before they wake up, before they disappear again, while we are facing each other. Right here, right now."
He had poured out his emotions and cursed to his heart's content.
Knowing better than anyone that it was all irreversible, he had long since abandoned any thought of stabbing Serenti in the back. He had only vented his rage.
Now that he had laid it all bare, he had questions.
Before Serenti opened their eyes. Before they departed to a place he could never reach before this body died again, to look down upon the world once more. He had things to ask and confirm.
"Calian."
There was still no answer.
Instead, a voice that seemed to carve something out of him returned to Franz, who continued to block his way.
"I told you. I told you that you can't handle this."
The killing intent, the pressure, Bern's words.
The truth he had to ask Serenti.
Was it indeed Franz who turned the Axis of Time?
If that disaster happens again, as I suspect it will, will Franz truly be left all alone inside that frozen time?
If I make sure time doesn't turn back again, if I find and eliminate the reason Franz turned back time… is that all I need to do? Is it really enough?
If I destroy the Axis of Time by any means necessary, so that it can never be turned again, is it true that the same thing won't be repeated? Is it true that everyone, except for those already lost, will be better off?
—The Franz of that day cannot be forgiven by--.
You, who put down the black piece and undid the game—is it true that you picked up the white piece this time because you were certain the same result would not repeat?
I will overlook what is already lost, so at least answer me that.
—The Franz of that day.
If not, then I…
"Don't ask. Don't speak."
Something he must not know.
Something he must never know.
Even though not a single memory of the past had returned to him.
Even though not a single question had escaped Bern's lips.
Knowing that sometimes ignorance is bliss—the clever Franz, who understood that much better than Bern, grabbed hold of Calian's leash once more.
"…Bern."