Everyone's Wish
"There are children here, you say?"
"Y-yes! It's true!"
Huh.
Philia stared at the man, whose attitude had flipped in an instant, with utter disbelief.
Just moments ago, he'd been quite bold. Spouting rules about this tavern... telling outsiders it was best to drink quietly and leave. Warning that causing a fuss would bring trouble. He'd laced his words with veiled threats.
But now? Completely different.
He was on his knees, palms flat against the floor, back hunched so low he couldn't straighten up. His shoulders trembled faintly. Blood still trickled from his nose, pooling on the ground and mixing with spilled liquor into a dark crimson stain.
Other men lay sprawled beside him. A table lay in splinters. Chairs with broken legs were overturned. Shards of glass littered the floor. Shattered bottles rolled amid the chaos. Bodies tumbled between them—one slumped against the wall, unconscious; another clutching his gut and groaning; a third staring blankly into space, still not grasping what had happened.
And at the center of it all stood Philia.
Her breathing was steady, undisturbed. Her clothes barely rumpled—just the hem of her robe swaying faintly.
She brushed off her hands briefly, then looked down at the man again.
He couldn't meet her gaze. He tried, but his body wouldn't obey. So he bowed his head lower.
Philia watched him for a moment.
Then she spoke again.
"You people are really..."
"I-I just guide them! For real! The ones who bring the kids are others, and I—"
Philia raised a hand, silencing him. He clamped his mouth shut.
"I don't care about that."
Her voice remained low. Calm. As if she hadn't just laid out a room full of men.
"One more question, then."
She tilted her head ever so slightly. Silver strands shifted over her shoulder.
"Where's the basement."
The man's eyes flickered. A brief silence.
Philia's eyes narrowed just a fraction.
He couldn't bear it. His mouth flew open.
"B-back there!"
His trembling finger pointed toward the tavern's rear. Behind the counter. A shadowed wall. A small door that looked like a storeroom from the outside. Weathered wood. No markings.
Philia's gaze shifted there. Then back to him.
"...How many."
His lips quivered.
"I-I don't know exactly—"
Her eyes narrowed further.
"Fifteen...! No, around ten to fifteen!"
Philia said nothing for a beat. Her eyes closed slowly, then opened.
"...Understood."
She turned and walked toward the counter's rear. Toward the door he'd indicated. Her steps were silent.
No one in the tavern moved to stop her.
They couldn't.
She paused at the door. Old wood. The handle was slightly rusted.
She grasped it.
Click.
Locked.
Locked from the inside.
Philia glanced down at it. Exhaled softly.
"...Of course."
And then.
Bang.
Her foot shot up. The door—and half the wall—flew inward.
"Any able-bodied adults still in one piece, come out now."
The sooner they were smashed, the better.
Sniff.Sniff...
'Is it... really over now?'
The girl with bright golden hair—Espera—held back sobs that threatened to burst free. Each inhale stabbed at her chest. Her throat burned like fire.
Tears welled up endlessly. She bit her lip tight to stifle any sound.
But holding her breath didn't make the sobs vanish. They only swelled larger.
Until finally.
Sniff.
A tiny noise escaped. Espera clapped a hand over her mouth.
So the other children wouldn't hear.
So those people wouldn't hear.
Footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond the cell. Heavy ones. Mingled with the clank of metal.
Clank.
Armor scraping.
Each time, Espera's body stiffened. She breathed even shallower.
The floor was cold. Damp earth clung to her palms.
The walls were colder. Stone against her back, chilled as if it had absorbed the night air for ages.
Espera hugged her knees. Lowered her head. Golden locks spilled forward, faintly gleaming even in the dark.
The light was feeble. But it endured.
A few children glanced her way. Some sobbed quietly. Others muttered the same words over and over. Still others sat frozen, silent.
Time barely passed here.
The only light: a single torch at the far end of the corridor, outside the bars. Its flame flickered faintly, despite the still underground air.
Shadows danced. Torchlight stretched long across the floor, overlaid with the children's trembling silhouettes.
Espera stared at them. They quivered slightly.
Because the children were trembling.
She closed her eyes briefly. Maybe it would help.
But other images flooded in: the village. Sunlight. The smell of bread. And Mother.
Sniff.
Then.
Kaboom!
The underground shook. Stone walls roared.
"Eek!"
Espera flinched. Her heart pounded.
What was that?
Again.
Boom!
Closer this time.
"..."
The children held their breath. No one moved. The air in the cell froze.
And then.
Step.
Footsteps on stone. One step. Another.
Step. Step.
Approaching slowly.
Espera stopped breathing. Eyes wide. She peered through the bars.
End of the corridor. Torchlight wavered.
And in that light, a figure emerged.
Silver hair first. Gleaming faintly in the gloom.
Cold eyes below. A long sword.
Espera gasped sharply.
And stared, forgetting to cry.
If angels existed. If gods were real...
They might look like that.
So she thought.
The figure stood in the torchlit corridor. Silver hair shimmered subtly with each flicker—not blinding, just the dim glow of a single underground torch.
It floated quietly in the dark, like moonlight settling thin on water.
The face beneath was startlingly pale. From the underground air? Or her natural skin? Espera couldn't tell.
But it was clean. No dirt, no blood, no dust. As if whatever had happened upstairs hadn't touched her.
Those eyes: cold. Quiet. Devoid of emotion. More like chips of carved ice than human gaze.
Yet Espera didn't find them frightening.
Strangely. Incredibly strangely.
They weren't scary.
"I'm sorry for the delay in keeping my promise, Miss Espera."
"Wha... wh-what..?"
"Your late mother's final words—I must accompany you for a while, as she requested."
The voice didn't match the dank prison air at all.
The children froze, sobs halted, listening.
Some eyes widened. Others stared blankly, uncomprehending. Still others trembled, knees hugged tight.
And at the center.
Espera gripped the bars, rooted in place.
Golden hair shifted faintly on her shoulders. Her eyes grew wide.
The tear-streaked face now wore shock. And confusion.
"...Huh?"
A tiny sound escaped her.
Her gaze slowly rose to the silver-haired woman.
Just moments ago, she'd been a stranger who appeared from the dark, smashing the prison door.
A bit intimidating. But somehow trustworthy.
"Huh...?"
Her mind turned slowly. She'd been lost in tears.
Her words tangled.
"D-do... you know me...?"
The silver-haired woman regarded her quietly. Emotionless eyes.
But. Ever so faintly. Infinitely faintly.
They softened.
"...Yes."
Short answer.
She stepped toward the bars. Silent steps.
Step. One. Another.
Stopped close. Very close to Espera.
Her hand rose. Gripped a bar.
Cold iron in her palm.
And.
Crunch.
The children gasped in unison. Thick bars bent like soft wood.
The silver-haired woman pried them aside casually. Metal screeched.
A gap wide enough for a person.
She stepped through.
The children recoiled.
But Espera didn't move. Just looked up, eyes even wider.
"...Mother."
Espera spoke slowly. Catching up to her thoughts.
"Mother told you, Sis?"
The silver-haired woman tilted her head slightly.
"Yes. Her request was delivered."
Espera paused at the words.
Then.
Her eyes lit up suddenly. Like a realization struck.
"Ah!"
She cried out. Beamed radiantly. Unbelievable for the face that had been crying moments before.
She slipped through the bars.
And without hesitation.
Ran to the silver-haired woman.
Thud.
Hugged tight.
The woman's body stiffened subtly. Hand hovered midair. Eyes widened a fraction.
Espera ignored it. Squeezed harder.
"Great! Anywhere but here!"
Fresh outside air wafted through the hole.
Espera hugged Philia tighter.
'Sis, huh.'
Philia had other thoughts, though.