2. Making a Pact

From the six-pointed star, flakes of pure white light peeled away.

At first it was nothing more than a great mass of radiance; then, little by little, it took on shape — the shape of a person.

And as that form neared completion, the emotion that seized me was fear. The fear of what might happen if the thing I had called was a being that meant me harm.

…If it was.

Then I'd be dead.

Deciding to save ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that worry for later, I watched the light finally settle into the figure of a woman. Her vibrant green hair seemed to carry the very image of a lush, breathing forest, and her face bore the gentle warmth of a benevolent mother. She had the air of an ancient tree standing at the heart of a great wood, gazing down over every forest in the world — and that image fit her exactly.

The woman looked a shade taller than I had ever stood, and I craned my head up as far as it would go to meet her eyes. Even then, I suspected it wouldn't quite be enough.

"This way, it should be a little easier to meet your eyes."

The summon knelt down herself, bringing her gaze level with mine. A scent of deep forest — utterly out of place in the shabby one-room apartment — drifted through the air, and its source remained on bended knee, as though waiting for me to speak.

To be honest, my first instinct was to freeze. However merciful she seemed, however kindly disposed toward me, an unease I couldn't erase radiated from that figure.

"Hello there, miss."

I gave a light nod to the greeting she offered first.

"…What's your name?"

I asked carefully. If I kept saying "the summon" this and "the summon" that, it seemed like it would be unpleasant for the one doing the listening.

She pondered a moment, then answered with a smile.

"I am @%*&!(("

"…What?"

"@%*&!((, I said."

…It was a name no human vocal cords could hope to imitate. Just as we can't understand the cry of a cat, her name existed in an expression forever beyond my reach.

"Sorry. I can't make it out."

I dipped my head in a small bow of apology. "It sounded layered somehow — like something strange had been laid over the top of it."

"Mm-hm. That happens from time to time, so it's nothing strange."

She explained brightly, still smiling. "This world simply cannot bear my name yet. Even here, you have tales, don't you, of beings whose names must never be heard?"

Her explanation left me aghast. …The being I'd summoned was a Cth*lu? The reason her name couldn't be spoken was that the world itself couldn't endure her? It was an absurd reason. If she'd had the air of Hmph. You would ask one such as I to grant you my name? I could at least have written her off as an arrogant summon — but a Cth*lu who was considerate of me from the very start?

I shook my head, wrestling my thoughts back in line before a madness indicator could flash into being. Okay. A little calmer now.

"Then what should I call you?"

A bond begins with an exchange of names, after all. So I asked first what name she wished to be called. If that was the name she wanted spoken, then even if it tore my vocal cords apart, I'd simply have to relearn them.

"Raia. Raia will do just fine."

Raia. I engraved the name into my memory and nodded. The contract was not yet complete.

"Raia. From the Covenant — I want to form a pact with you."

I extended the back of my hand toward her. The summon need only press a light kiss to it, and the pact would be sealed — that much was the knowledge the skill had granted me.

But Raia didn't kiss it. She simply gazed at me steadily and said,

"It won't do, you know, to write in the lady's name and then skip your own introduction."

And with that, as though administering a playful punishment, she tapped my forehead lightly with her fingertip. It didn't hurt, but the tingling made me pout, cautious.

My name. But wait… what name was I supposed to give?

"Hoon—… nnh. Roon."

Trying to say my old name, my tongue had slipped.

"…Roon?"

"No. My name is—"

In the corner of the room, the status window that had been watching Raia and me went ahead and rewrote my name as Roon.

As if turning me into a girl weren't enough, now it had stripped away my original name too. This wasn't an awakening — it was an outright conquest of the person I used to be. Suppressing the tremor of embarrassment running through me, I decided, for the moment, to defer to the status window's ruling.

"Roon. Yes, that's right."

Introduction complete, I cautiously raised my hand, stretching that endlessly thin arm out to show her its back.

Would it be all right this time? After all, there remained the chance, right up to the very end, that she might refuse the pact.

But contrary to my worries, Raia gently drew my hand toward her. She pulled that thin, small hand close, and pressed a soft kiss to its back.

From that kiss, light seeped into the back of my hand. Over a white sigil that seemed to embody the forest itself, an antique cursive script engraved itself:

"Gladly."

The instant the pact was sealed, memories of unknown origin began seeping into my mind.

Raia stands in a vast forest whose edges cannot be seen. From her lightly lifted hand, countless trees surge up in an instant.

Monsters that seem intent on crossing the forest advance, shrieking. They smash the trees in their path, while the trees Raia has raised now and then ensnare the beasts, binding them where they stand.

A single being commands this entire colossal forest, and that alone is a staggering feat. But the monsters are cunning.

They hurl fire into the woods, and cut down the monsters caught in Raia's trees to make bridges of them. Beasts that seem to possess no reason at all, moving on nothing but fury, at last crest the forest's ridge.

Even then, Raia does not stop. She fights on however she can to protect the forest — until the axe of an enormous monster strikes the base of the tree she stands upon.

After that, everything happens in an instant. The great tree is felled by the monster's hand. And with Raia's source — the root that has guarded the forest — cut through, the forest itself no longer lives or moves.

Raia watches it all with a face twisted by terrible grief. At that burning forest. At what was once her reason to exist.

The status window pushed up a fresh page of information.

"…So the contract… actually went through."

Whether it was the strain of my first attempt at a pact, strength drained from my entire body. My small frame swayed under the recoil — had Raia not flung out a hand in haste, I would have gone down.

Raia took hold of my arm and slowly looked my body over.

"…Nothing but bone, this body."

Accurate, but it stung a little.

"Arms so frail they look as though they would snap if you leaned on them just a little."

I didn't stop her as she ran her hands over me. Less out of resentment than a small courtesy — she, too, was probably still bewildered. Though her bewilderment didn't seem to be about being summoned into this world, or about the contract itself.

…It was more that every time her eyes landed on my body, a disapproving little "oh dear" clicked into place — exactly like the worried tuts my mother used to make at the television.

"How did my master… my contractor, ever come by such a precarious little body?"

"…No idea."

I'd only just woken up this way myself, you know.

As though my answer had shocked her, she headed for the kitchen.

"Wait just a moment, please. It seems I must put some food into you."

She ended up rummaging through the refrigerator and producing an assortment of ingredients. Ingredients was a generous word — everything was teetering on the last of its shelf life, one step from spoiling — and I opened my mouth to tell her as much.

"Awaken, now. I have need of your aid."

The ingredients standing on her palm flushed green with fresh vitality.

…No, wait. Some of them looked fresher than they had the day I bought them.

"By the way, Raia. Do you know how to use this world's tools?"

"But of course? I have my young mistress's memories now, after all."

Oh.

Of everything that had happened so far, that was a shade more frightening than waking up as a girl. It meant she had seen it — that I had been a man before I became a girl.

I wrenched my head away, trying to hide the heat climbing my face. Fortunately, Raia said nothing more, quietly tending to the ingredients.

"You must eat more. On a body that skinny, walking is about all you can manage."

"…I'm not quite that feeble."

She seemed to be worrying so hard that I got a little petulant about it. The mood was awkward — somehow ill-fitting, as if it didn't belong to either of us.

It wasn't that I had never spoken with people. I had simply rarely talked with anyone long enough, or deeply enough, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to forge a real bond.

But I had seen her memories. And she, presumably, had seen mine. That subtle difference made the figure in front of me someone else entirely.

Toward Raia — diligently dicing vegetables, beginning to make something — I spoke with care.

"…Thank you. Raia."

Words I never used. In the past month especially, I hadn't let a single "thank you" out of my mouth.

Hearing that clumsy little sentence, Raia smiled.

"Think nothing of it."

It was still only morning. Perhaps because events that felt days' worth had come crashing down on me all at once, drowsiness began to gather.

"…Mm. I'm going to sleep a little longer…"

This young body, no different from any child its age, couldn't hold out against sleep; my head began to bob. I toppled onto the bed face-first and, in no time, lost to the sleep demon that surged over me.

I gazed down at my young mistress, gone wholly to sleep. That slender body, no match for the sleep demon, had drifted off almost at once.

Raia studied the sight for a while, the memories of before rising in her mind.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

A body she had believed dead had surged skyward, and a consciousness long asleep had opened its eyes. The figure of that small child looking up at her had seemed like loneliness itself given form.

A body already dead. A world already dead. As though to mock a fate with nothing left to protect, this world had called her forth once more — and set a failed guardian before a girl of boundless fragility.

The malice in that was vicious. And yet she could not bring herself to turn that pact down.

The girl had trembled at her first summoning, terror welling up at the very sight of her. So Raia had bowed her head and lowered herself to meet her eyes. Only then did the girl look back with eyes that held no fear.

She had asked for her name. It was a name that could never be given in answer. A forest from which the trees have vanished loses its name; all that remains is the fact that it once existed. Even wrapped in such graceful words, the answer left the young lady's face clouded with disappointment.

So she had offered a name that was not her name — the word "dryad," bent just slightly out of shape.

Raia.

Relieved by it, the young lady had held her arm out to her. For Raia's part, she knew that if she let her composure slip even a little, worry would move her to gather that frail ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body into her arms — so she had settled for gently tapping the girl's forehead.

She had heard the name. She had asked for the pact once more. From the moment she first laid eyes on her, she had felt how much the girl needed her; there was no reason left to refuse the covenant.

And after that — the scene before her now.

A warm soup was simmering. A clear broth with vegetables diced so fine they left no trace — the kind of soup a little girl would like. Soon, when her sleeping young mistress woke, she would have to nourish that body back to health with it. To Raia, who had once been a great tree herself, that slender frame looked hardly sturdier than a twig.

In her memories, her young mistress had worn two shapes. One: a somber, gloomy man. The other: the child before her now. But Raia let none of it show. Her eyes had seen the soul within, after all. Drawn as she was to that soul — one that wore its loneliness openly, that seemed to yearn — she might yet come to regret it someday.

For now, at least, she had decided to watch over this young mistress of hers.

"…Still. While I'm at it, perhaps I'll make her a few cute outfits."

The child had turned out adorable, after all. Prepare something cute for her to wear, and surely she would be delighted.

Smiling, Raia stirred the soup.