Indra's Net
Tell me, tell me... 'Why do I remember her?' That thought had sunk even heavier than when it first surfaced. Once a question arises, it doesn't fade easily—especially one without an answer.
I kept circling back to the same idea, over and over. With no vague recollections of my past life left, she was the only figure etched clearly in my mind... 'Take... good care... of the child...' The 'child' she'd entrusted to me. The girl with radiant golden hair and peculiar star-shaped pupils. The child of salvation. Espera.
'...Though I have no idea why that's her name.'
I rolled the name around in my head once more. Espera. Even unspoken, the syllables rang sharp and clear. It felt unfamiliar—not quite Imperial in style, yet not entirely alien either. Like a word I'd heard somewhere before, but couldn't pin down where.
That made it gnaw at me all the more. Memories have direction. A where, a when, a who. Those coordinates complete a scene. But this name had none. No connections anywhere. It just floated. Fixed in place. Unsettlingly so.
At the very least, it wasn't a normal memory. Real ones always have context before and after. Why I saw the child. Where. The situation. All of it was missing. As if I'd just seen her moments ago.
I drew in a slow breath. Air filled my lungs—neither cold nor warm. A sensation of reality. It anchored me to the present, making the truth sharper.
"By chance, does Espera have any... special abilities?"
"Dunno!"
The answer came too fast. No hesitation. As if I'd asked something trivial like "Are you hungry?", she replied with bright, airy cheer.
I glanced at her briefly. Espera wore an utterly clueless expression, no inkling of my intent. Or rather, she didn't care to guess. Just blurting out whatever popped into her head. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, shimmering lightly. Between those strands, her eyes still held those star-shaped pupils.
They'd struck me as odd at first sight, but up close like this, they were even stranger. Less like human eyes and more like fragments of the night sky carved out and set in place.
Yet that strangeness held no menace. If anything, it was eerily clear.
I let my gaze drop. Her hands came into view. Small. A child's hands. She'd been fiddling with the hem of my sleeve since earlier. Not deliberate—just a kid's habit, touching whatever was nearby to confirm it was there.
I eyed those hands for a moment, then looked back to her face.
"...You don't know."
I murmured it softly. Espera nodded vigorously.
"Yeah!"
Then, with bold confidence, she added, "Mom didn't tell me, and I don't know either!"
Too honest. No trace of hiding a lie, no guarded vibe. Pure truth as it was.
If she were aware of her uniqueness, it would be simpler. I could guess she was concealing it, wary, reluctant to speak. But no—this child truly didn't know.
Which meant she was using it unknowingly. Or manifesting it in a way even she couldn't perceive.
I sorted through the thought, slowing my steps deliberately. We were walking the village outskirts now. After the incident, while the children were being relocated to a nearby settlement, I'd handled the aftermath. Espera and I were just catching our breath.
The sun had begun its descent. Scents mingled: burning firewood, boiling water, drying laundry. The smell of human habitation.
I neither liked nor disliked it. Just... unaccustomed.
Espera was different. As if her recent imprisonment in the underground cell had been a lie, she was already glancing around eagerly—repeatedly. Smoke from a chimney. Flowers blooming by the road. Cats lounging on a roof. She noticed every little detail.
And with each, her expression shifted: surprise, a smile, a tilt of the head. The changes were so immediate, watching her stirred an odd feeling.
Eyes that accepted the outside world without a shred of hesitation. It had been ages since I'd seen any like them.
"Then."
I spoke up, and Espera instantly looked my way. She'd been eyeing roadside flowers moments ago—no call of her name needed. Sharp focus? No caution? Probably neither. She was just quick to react.
"When you were little," I continued in as neutral a tone as possible, "have you ever experienced anything strange?"
Espera pondered briefly. Truly briefly. Then answered.
"Lots?"
I stopped. She beamed innocently.
"Super lots of weird stuff!"
"...For example."
"Hmm..."
Espera glanced skyward, digging through memories. Even that looked unserious—like a kid picking the funniest story.
"Once, the baker gave me bread," she said, folding a finger. "But before I could eat it, a cat snatched it."
"...That's not strange."
"It's not?"
She looked a touch disappointed, then thought again.
"Then..."
Her eyes sparkled anew.
"Once, I knew it was gonna rain before anyone else!"
I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly.
"Before it rained?"
"Yeah!"
She nodded big.
"Sky was totally clear." She spread her hands, mimicking the heavens. "But I just knew. Like, 'Oh, rain's coming soon.'"
"And?"
"It really did!"
Her voice bubbled with excitement.
"So everyone called me weird."
"...Another."
I prompted curtly. Espera thought again. Our steps didn't halt. Our shadows stretched side by side on the path—hers small and swaying lightly, mine longer, steadier.
After a long pause, she spoke.
"Sometimes."
Her voice slowed a fraction. More deliberation this time.
"I'd see something new, but just know about it."
I halted completely. Espera stopped too, looking up at me.
"...Weird, right?"
She asked softly, a hint of hesitation creeping in for the first time.
I drew a slow breath. Real air filled my lungs—neutral temperature. Present sensation. It held me firm.
I met her eyes.
"No."
I said it deliberately slow.
"Not weird."
Her face softened. She smiled again.
Truly, so straightforward... Had I ever encountered a life this pure?
"Then, let's find lodging first."
"Yeah!"
It was nightfall by the time we found a place.
"...Two."
I said shortly.
"One night."
The woman nodded.
"We have rooms."
Her gaze flicked to Espera. Golden hair. Smiling face. An air utterly unlike mine.
"Ooh...!"
"Dinner?"
she asked.
"No need."
I replied at once. Espera started to speak beside me, glanced up, then closed her mouth. I saw it. Couldn't unsee it.
"...Prepare dinner too."
I added belatedly. Espera's eyes lit up.
"Yeah!"
The woman eyed us once more, nodded, and stepped from the counter. Wooden floors creaked softly.
I glanced at Espera again. She was already scanning everything—ceiling, walls, stairs—like it was all brand new.
"...Espera. Wash up and come out."
"Ugh, fine."
She puffed her cheeks, clearly loath to bathe, but stared at me steadily.
"Sis, something's glowing on your forehead?"
"...I don't see it."
I answered, but instinctively touched my brow. The feel was normal. Skin. Body heat. Nothing special.
"Nooo... right here. Here..."
"Here!"
Espera chirped brightly. With those words—
Pop.
It receded. My vision, everything ahead, pulled far away. Information. Sensation. Memory.
This time, it poured in from above, like falling rain. Light. Sound. Temperature. The space reconstructed.
Walls formed. Pillars rose. Floor solidified. Light poured in—golden. Not eye-searingly bright, but an undeniable hue. A color of authority.
I knew it well. In the empty space, shapes took form. Fixed indelibly, like a scene etched beyond erasure.
I stood at its center. In the old Imperial Palace. Witness to a declaration from the past—one that locked the future's course irrevocably.
"What you sever is guilt; what you halt is error."
The Emperor raised his hand. An attendant moved. Lifted something from a cloth.
A sword. The Execution Sword. Same form as mine now. But new. No crusted blood. No tears from rending steel-hard things. Untouched.
"Thus, the Empire's final pillar position—'Executioner'—I entrust to Philia."
"Y-Yes... sire!"
'Then this voice... no way.'
What filled my eyes wasn't my present self, but my past one. Freshly inducted, when rank weighed heavier than name.
I watched her awhile. Eerily unfamiliar. A memory I knew, yet viewed from afar, she seemed another person entirely.
Not just build. Her very stance differed. Straight-backed, but awkward. Forced. Tense. Arms not relaxed, subtly rigid. Fingertips nearly still, but trembling faintly on close inspection.
Small quiver. Big enough to hide with effort, ambiguous enough to slip by unnoticed.
I knew it. What that tremor meant.
Was I that unsteady? That shaken?
Past-me bowed deeper after replying. Reflexive. Eyes averting, yet bound in place.
Ah. Now I remember.
'Espera's ability.'
Forcing confrontation with the target's painful past.
'Indra's Net.'
That was it.