The First Sense (1)

"Then I shall take my leave for now. Lady Erzena, I will see you tomorrow morning."

Click.

With the sound of the door closing, the Central Officer left the office. Katon and Hailin watched him go with complicated expressions, then let out a sigh between them.

"I suppose... on a day like this, he'd want to talk with the Sight Officer."

"There are words one simply cannot say to the living."

Erzena stared blankly at the closed door for a moment. Only after the sound of receding footsteps had faded entirely did she turn to the two men in the office.

"Who is this Sight Officer?"

"Ah, of course—Lady Erzena wouldn't know. Have you by chance met the examiners of the Southern Border? They're called the Five Senses Officers."

She reached back into her memories. She tried to recall the time she had crossed paths with them during her pilgrimage, at the border.

The howling of a werewolf maddened by blood. A tiny nomad girl scurrying about, muttering to herself. An elf resting a wine cup on a table. And the Touch Officer, whose face she never saw, who had sent over the cargo manifest.

The Five Senses Officers must be named after the sensory organs, she thought. Which means there should be five of them.

But she only knew of four.

"I believe I've heard of them once or twice. But the Sight Officer, not at all..."

"That's only natural. He wouldn't have spoken of it unless the Central Officer himself told you."

Hailin nodded as if he understood, then continued in a low, heavy voice.

"The Sight Officer died in the line of duty, some years ago."

"Died... in the line of duty?"

The news was so abrupt that Erzena echoed the words before she could stop herself.

"An Immigration Officer, killed on duty? What on earth could have—"

Then, suddenly, a piece of news surfaced in her memory—news that had been splashed across every headline in the Mahalan Kingdom years ago. An event so extraordinary that even Erzena, who paid little heed to the affairs of the world, still remembered it.

A mana rampage. A phenomenon in which mana accumulates abnormally within the body until a violent, uncontrollable energy erupts outward—an agonizing cascade of energy storms far more powerful than the wrath of an enraged spirit, tearing through the rampager's body in a chain reaction. The result is a release of magical force upon the outside world, devastation on the scale of a natural disaster.

There are only two ways to end a mana rampage: wait until the rampager's life force runs dry, or kill them.

Don't tell me that was the Sight Officer. Could that incident be connected to this? A grim premonition crept over her. But she could not bring herself to ask.

"..."

"..."

The eyes of the two men were already speaking the answer for them.

So instead, Erzena asked the one question she most wanted answered.

"Then that Sight Officer... what was she to the Central Officer?"

What manner of person could she have been, that he would insist on going alone like this? If the Sight Officer had been merely a subordinate, the two men before her would not be reacting with such tangled sorrow. And yet the Minister and the Director had spoken as though the Central Officer had lost someone precious to him.

Besides, when Erzena had offered to accompany him, the Central Officer had refused at once.

No. I wish to meet her alone.

She could read it in his expression. This was no mere professional connection. Longing, regret, guilt—and threaded through them all, the faintest trace of a smile. Those were emotions that could never arise from a purely administrative relationship.

Erzena asked carefully.

"Did they... love each other?"

Was he mourning a lover ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had lost? If so, what was she supposed to do?

"Love?"

But the two men only frowned at the word, as if considering it, before bitter smiles crossed their faces.

"Hmm. Whether you'd call it love, I couldn't say."

"It was far more complicated than that. They were as close as husband and wife, yet never as deep as lovers."

Flustered by the twisted description, she stammered.

"I— I don't understand what you mean."

Hailin rose from his seat, gazed out the window toward the cemetery, and spoke quietly.

"Sight Officer Renee Ilia was Nathan Kell's first junior officer, and his direct superior. That is—before Nathan Kell became the Central Officer."

His first junior officer. His direct superior. Contradictory words, both of them defining her.

Flowers may bloom across the whole world, grasses may rise, leaves may fall, snow may descend. The winds and trials of the years may gnaw everything away and fashion new life in its place. And yet there is one place that never changes at all—a space as desolate as though time itself had stopped there.

I walked toward it, carrying a small handful of white baby's breath I had bought only moments ago.

A merciless inscription carved into the stone pillar greeted me.

My gaze lingered a long while on that final sentence.

"...Remember."

I stepped inside. Dozens—hundreds—of gray headstones rose densely around me like a forest, each one carved with a name. Those who died bravely. Those who made noble sacrifices. Those who labored for their country. I passed them, and kept passing them.

The place where I arrived was the farthest, most secluded corner—the section where the fairies were buried. And at the very last plot of that section, I stopped before a single grave.

Smaller than any of the other headstones. A wooden marker barely reaching the height of my waist.

Thud.

I knelt on one knee, bringing my eyes level with the grave. Upon it, in the fairy tongue, were written these words:

Today is not the anniversary of her death. It is neither the day of that incident, nor the day she first took her post. And yet, not once since has there been a day I longed to see her as much as today.

"It's been a long time, Sight Officer."

I gazed down at the grave for a long while before murmuring the words. No answer came back. Only leaves swept along by the wind stirred the silence.

Sight Officer Renee Ilia.

She was a fairy, and she had wings of shimmering silver. She was the woman who joined as my first junior when I was a lowly trainee examiner.

The contrast between that overflowing passion and her stiff, trembling posture—how could I ever forget it? I remember it still. The words I spoke to her, holding her in place, dozens of times over.

Now, repeat after me. An Immigration Officer does not compromise. You must always proceed by principle and regulation. An examiner who does not waver under any outside pressure—that is what makes a proper officer.

The sort of textbook sermonizing that came with being a senior. She listened to it for hours on end.

We ground through so much together as the lowest of the low. Back then, the two of us toiled diligently beneath dozens of senior examiners, desperate to be of use to the nation and the Administrative Office.

Then one day, out of nowhere, news of her promotion arrived.

Barely any time had passed since her commission when Renee became my direct superior. Her becoming the Sight Officer was the natural course of things—fairies are supremely sensitive to mana, able to see the flow of invisible energies. It was the right call on ability alone, and with how quick she was to learn, there was no reason it shouldn't be. So I had no complaints. I was simply... sorry to lose her.

I spoke quietly to the headstone.

"A great many things have happened recently. Almost as many as what you went through."

"I was tempted, exactly as you were. By the man they call the Pope."

"And just as I was about to give in and stamp my seal, I thought of you."

After becoming the Sight Officer, Renee saw much, learned much, and endured much. Until she saw the one thing she was never meant to see.

Gerard Monarch. My predecessor as Central Officer. The man who had seized the seat the moment his own predecessor was executed. Renee had witnessed him smuggling an illegal drug known as the Mana Rampage Drug.

What followed was the Sight Officer's disappearance. When I saw her distress signal, this is what he said to me:

That was when I understood. Gerard had been in league with the smugglers for a long time. And that Renee's disappearance was bound up in it.

But I—a trainee examiner—bowed to Gerard. Because I had no power. Because I was terrified by his threats, by his warning that we would all die. The tragedy did not end with a single act. And in the end, the vanished Renee appeared once more—in the form of a fairy in the throes of a mana rampage. Her body blazing violently amid the pillar of fire at the heart of the criminal syndicate's lair.

I close my eyes. And her voice comes back to me, clearer than ever.

Even in the instant her own body was being torn apart by the rampaging mana, she was worrying about me. Even after her rank had risen above mine, she called me Senior to the very end.

She died in my arms. Force-fed so much of the Mana Rampage Drug in that syndicate's den that her body did not even remain behind.

I remember. How could I forget? The resolve of that moment. The feeling of a dying Sight Officer turning my own glib sermonizing—aren't you glad you made senior—back upon my head. How could I ever forget?

Holding her body as it slowly turned to ash, I made a vow. If the world is this twisted—if it is a world that cannot protect even one upright person—then if it was I who bowed my head to that damned world and let it come to this, I would never bow again. I would never compromise with anything, ever again. And the bastards who made you like this—I would not leave a single one of them standing.

An Immigration Officer does not compromise. You must always proceed by principle and regulation. An examiner who does not waver under any outside pressure—that is what makes a proper officer.

The principles I once spoke to you—I carve them into myself anew.

Gerard...

I call the name of the man who made you what you became.

Gerard Monarch...!!!

I remember his voice, proclaiming himself the Central Officer and demanding obedience. The voice of a man who should have guarded the border, who should have protected those beneath him. I will not forget the voice of a man who sold Renee to the criminal underworld to save his own skin.

You are no Central Officer... You have no right to bear that name...!!! If the whole Southern Border has rotted through—if it is a place crawling with men like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you—then I will tear it all down and rebuild it from nothing!

A debt to be paid. This is my penance. The sin of killing you. The sin of looking away. For eyes that will never open again. So that the name of the Sight Officer is never forgotten. For you, my first sense—I will not compromise with the world.

On that cursed day when the rain poured down without end, the thousand fires in my heart never went out. From that day forward, the trainee examiner Nathan Kell ceased to exist. Only the Central Officer Nathan Kell remained.

When I opened my eyes, it was not the Renee of that day waiting for me, but the headstone once more.

"It is thanks to you."

I spoke as though whispering.

"I remember every word you said to me back then. Do not compromise. Do not bend. Do not bow. They were all words I once said—and words you gave back to me."

I hesitated a moment, then opened my mouth slowly.

"Thank you."

So much carried in so small a phrase. Words I had never once been able to say to her. How desperately I had wanted to say them.

Slowly, I lowered the flowers from my hand and laid them before the headstone. The language of white baby's breath: death, and a promise. And sorrow. Flower meanings that suited Renee with a cruelty almost too perfect.

"...I miss you so much, Renee."

I laid down the truth I had kept buried in the deepest chamber of my heart, alongside the flowers. Your place is still empty. I never had the courage to give it to anyone else.

My vision blurred. Ah, why does my heart tear itself apart like this? The fact that I can do nothing for you—you who even in death held me upright—cuts deeper than any cold. Why is it that those who leave carve their names into the ones who remain, and go? Time that has stopped is so terribly cold. Even these tears falling down my face—none of them can be given to you.

Everything I had held back came pouring out. Everything I had suppressed burst through. And so, in this place where no one ever comes, I grieve for you. Here, the only place I am allowed to show my true heart, I call your name until my throat gives out.

How much time had passed? The storm of emotion had settled, and the tear tracks on my cheeks had begun to dry, when—

Rustle.

A sound of movement came from behind me. A woman in a rather fine dress was making her way across the headstones toward somewhere in the distance.

Few people visit the cemetery at this hour, with dusk falling like this.

I turned my gaze toward her destination. Far off, I could make out a section built more grandly and solemnly than any other.

Who is that? A noblewoman heading for the Royal Tombs with no guard to protect her? I couldn't place her. If she were a great lord's daughter, bodyguards would surely accompany her. And if she were not nobility, she would have no reason to go there at all.

I rose slowly from my place. There was no reason I had to follow. I didn't even know who she was, to begin with. And her destination—the tombs of royalty—had nothing to do with me.

But now that King Rio had awakened, somehow I found myself curious. Does the wrathful king still mourn him? The way I mourn the Sight Officer?

I moved, slowly, step by step. Perhaps visiting Prince Lassen's grave would tell me.

Meanwhile, uneasy whispers flitted back and forth in the Queen's audience chamber.

"What do we do now?"

"If His Majesty resumes the governance of state affairs..."

"The Holy Order says nothing at all, I hear."

Tension and confusion were written plainly across the faces of the Queen's faction vassals. The situation had shifted so violently that those men, always so composed, now repeated meaningless phrases to one another, as if they no longer knew what to do.

The Pope's sudden silence. The King's fury. And now the nullification of the trial. With three colossal events erupting at once, the Queen had sunk deep into thought behind her fan.

"If this goes on..."

Irritation flared in her. The blessing the Pope had promised her concerned the Latent Talent Manifestation of Princess Elaine Castor. Considering how her power had run rampant once before, they needed a force capable of keeping it in check. And that was meant to be the Pope's blessing.

Now the Pope had vanished completely. Worse, for reasons unknown, the King had flown into a rage and looked ready to return to active rule at any moment. The Queen's plans had come apart at the seams.

And the Saintess had gone over to the Central Officer's side entirely—there was no asking to borrow her divine power now. To have made a political enemy meant that mending the rift would require bowing her head. That, above all else, she despised to the point of death. How could royalty lower themselves before a mere examiner?

She snapped.

"Elaine. Where is Elaine right now?"

It didn't seem she would calm down at all unless she vented this unease onto her daughter. The girl who killed her own brother. The girl who killed her son. She needed to drive that truth into Elaine's heart once more—no, she had to. Only then would her heart settle. That wretched girl who couldn't even control her own power needed to have her sin carved into her all over again.

But the answer that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠came back was entirely unexpected.

"She has gone out, Your Majesty."

"Where?!"

"That is..."

The vassal hesitated. The Queen snapped her fan shut and spoke with a low threat.

"Did I not tell you? Wherever Elaine goes, whatever she does, you are to report it to me—without exception!"

"Y-you were at the trial, so there was no way to inform you at once..."

"And now you can tell me, can't you? Where is that girl?!"

Cornered emotionally, the Queen shrieked—almost a scream. Staggering under it, the vassal barely forced the words out.

"Sh-she has gone to Prince Lassen's tomb."

Helena Castor's expression twisted.