The Fire Is Kindled

1.

If anyone ever asked me who I was, I would hold up these stockings without hesitation and show them.

Descendant of Fire. Official Blacksmith. Two-star equipment crafter with a real gift for enchantment.

And most of all—

"Owner of Spring Without Frost."

Of course, the ownership transfer to Dolores was about to go through any minute now.

My hands still wouldn't stop shaking. They had been trembling the entire time I cleaned up after the work. Part of it was the dopamine crash, sure, but I had also pushed my body right up against its limit.

I had one goal. Get this to Dolores as fast as humanly possible.

Normally the proper order would have been to swap it into her equipment window first and check the performance—how the stats looked when worn, whether the fit rating held up in practice. Delivery could wait until after that check.

But this time…

"Forget it."

I was just going. I didn't need the procedure. Even without verifying it in advance, this was going to work. The certainty settled over me with a strange, almost unnatural weight.

I would have liked to put it in something like a gift box, but there was nothing of the sort around. So I simply gripped Spring Without Frost tight in my hand and left the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠workshop.

Dolores was on the second floor, in her bedroom. A voice drifted out through the crack in the door.

"…And that is why you must treat a spirit with care and warmth…"

She had Ruby on her lap and was reading to her from a book. Ruby's eyes sparkled as she drank in every word.

"…"

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. Lately I had started to worry that Ruby might feel as though I were stealing Dolores's affection away from her. I didn't want to interrupt a moment that looked this happy.

So I sat down beside the door with the stockings still clenched in my fist.

— Squeeze…

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to quiet the heart that kept thudding in my chest.

How long I sat there, I couldn't say.

— Thup.

The sound of a book closing.

"Shall we go have something to eat?"

"Yes."

Now.

— Bang!

I threw the door open.

"I'm here."

"Lionel…?"

Dolores's eyes went round. From her lap, Ruby spotted me and gave a little fluttering wave of her small hand. Glad to see me, I supposed. I really hadn't seen her face much lately.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let out a soft snort of laughter and started toward them.

"You finished early to—"

Whatever Dolores had been about to say died as her gaze dropped to my hand. There, faintly glowing with a soft red light, was the pair of stockings.

And my eyes, just as naturally, went to her feet.

Those thick, stiff thermal boots I had wanted nothing more than to throw away. The ones I had written off as a failure. She was still wearing them.

"…Ah. Those are a little embarrassing. They were a failure."

"Not at all. They keep me quite warm enough."

I shook my head… and slowly went down on one knee. With both hands I held the stockings out before her.

"…Please take them off."

"…!"

Color flooded Dolores's face.

"And," I said, lifting them a little higher, "please put these on."

"…"

For a long moment she said nothing. Then she bit her lip, and her eyes grew wet at the corners.

"…Of course."

Her voice trembled.

Ruby tugged the corner of her mouth up just slightly, hopped out of Dolores's arms, and came to stand beside me. I had always known she was a sharp little thing.

Dolores took the stockings from me.

— Sss…

She slipped off the leather boots she had been wearing and carefully unfolded the stockings.

"…Oh my."

Her gaze lingered for a moment on the upper edge at the thigh. A small fastening ring was sewn there.

"…I suppose I shall need that for these."

She had noticed. Of course. Stockings of this length needed a garter belt so they wouldn't slip. Exactly as I had intended. To draw them up over the knee, something had to hold them in place.

Dolores seemed to remember something. She rose, went to a drawer by the bed, and came back with a slender band. Then she sat again and began, slowly, to put the stockings on.

— Sss…

Silk caught on her toes, passed over the arch of her foot, and wrapped her ankle. The folded fabric smoothed out and was drawn gently up along her calf.

I watched every second of it without looking away. Not for any selfish reason—only to make sure she was putting them on correctly.

"…Just a moment."

The instant Dolores flushed and lifted the hem of her upper garment at the waist, the pale skin of her stomach entered my field of vision—

— Sss.

"No."

A small palm covered my eyes.

Ruby. I can't see. I really can't see.

— Sss…

— Click.

— Click.

In the dark, sounds that set the imagination racing. When Ruby finally took her hand away, what I saw before me was…

Dolores, sitting with a shy face, the stockings fully on.

Fit rating: perfect score.

With prolonged wear, permanent opening of two meridians.

And most importantly… along with the easing of Nine Yin Severed Meridians, the possibility of a cure had been unlocked.

I had known the functions would be good. I had not known they would be this good. I had made it thinking only of her, for her alone. Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so, I never expected the fit rating to climb this high.

Then—

"…?!"

Dolores's expression began to change by degrees. First came surprise. Second, a dazed look that said she simply could not understand what she was feeling. And third…

"Hic…?"

Tears.

She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, swallowing hard as she stared down at her own feet.

And then—

— Ssssss…

From the toes enclosed in the stockings, a bluish energy began to rise like heat haze. It crawled slowly up over the arch of her foot—

— Hiss…

—and met the vivid red silk, then simply evaporated.

Blue energy rose. The red silk drank it down and turned it into steam that vanished into the air.

Spring Without Frost.

The frost that had locked Dolores in ice was melting in the sunlight of spring.

— Whoosh!

Dolores pulled me into a fierce embrace.

"Lionel… Lionel, how on earth…"

Her shaking voice poured into my ear.

"The severed meridians… how did you…?"

I was reading a hundred lines of text. Dolores was almost certainly feeling every one of them with her whole body. The word "easing" written in the status window—she was living it through her skin. The pain and despair of all the days she had endured… I could not even begin to imagine them.

"This is only the beginning."

I held her in return.

"Everything… is going to be all right."

Making sure she never had to feel those things again—that much, at least… I ought to be able to do.

Because this life was for no one else. Only for you, Dolores.

Probably.

— Sniff.

Over my shoulder, moisture gathered at the corners of Ruby's eyes as well. As I had always said—she was a sharp little thing.

I crooked a finger and called her over.

"Hiiing… Master…"

"There, there, Ruby…"

Her small body burrowed in between us. The three of us stayed like that for a long time, holding on.

"Lionel… thank you so very much…"

"Thank youuu…"

Dolores's gratitude and Ruby's soft mumbling. In the air that slowly grew quiet around us… I opened my eyes.

And then—

A rather shocking set of numbers rose before my eyes. The moment I understood what they meant, my heart lurched and nausea climbed all the way to the back of my throat—

— Zzzt…

The numbers suddenly wavered.

— Bang!

If what had just appeared before my eyes was true… then right now, simply by putting on this equipment, Dolores's remaining lifespan had increased by four years.

"…"

No words would come. In silence, I simply held Dolores tighter against me.

Her lifespan had grown. Eight years. Still a desperately insufficient number. I could not let her live only that long and then leave.

…Four years from a two-star piece of gear.

My thoughts began to race. What floated before me was the reward for a title earned by reaching the absolute end of two-star fit rating. The maximum for two-star fit was sixty.

So then—what if it were three-star? Four-star? What if it went all the way to five-star equipment?

No. Not even that as an endpoint. If I could take the highest grade of equipment I was capable of reaching, drive every piece to the absolute peak of its fit rating, and place them all in her hands…

Just how far could I push her lifespan back?

— Thump.

My heart beat. Mine. Ruby's, held against me. And Dolores's as well. Three pulses sharing the same warmth.

So.

I would hold on to this warmth, this rhythm, for as long as I possibly could.

2.

The sky stretched without end.

Famous for ceiling heights that left even the clouds underfoot, the 89th Floor was called the Roof of the World. And in the middle of that vast open sky, a single enormous volcano rose alone.

What looked like a volcano was, in truth, a colossal forge.

The sacred ground where the Descendants of Fire had worked flame for generations: Sacred Mountain Kargon.

And at its summit, on a throne carved from the crater itself, a dwarf sat without the slightest movement.

Ricardo.

Master of this mountain. Great Chieftain of the Sun Dwarves.

Eyes burning red looked down upon the ground of the 89th Floor far below. Across the earth of that floor, a vast grid was etched all the way to the horizon. Hundreds, thousands of empty cells, and into every one of those enormous squares a different pattern had been carved.

Each of them was a seat of glory that only those chosen by fire could claim. And even then—only those who had crossed the wall of apprenticeship were permitted to inscribe their names.

Yet for a span of time beyond counting, no new light had been carved into any cell of that grid.

Time itself had stopped for the Sun Dwarf race.

Even so, Ricardo kept staring endlessly at the empty squares still waiting to be filled—as if he believed that even today, something might yet be written there.

"…Lord Ricardo."

The tribal chieftain standing at his side spoke carefully.

"Even if a new Descendant of Fire truly has appeared… the climb from apprentice to Official Blacksmith takes ten years at the least."

"Then," Ricardo answered without even glancing away, "those ten years can be spent waiting right here."

"…"

The aide closed his mouth. He knew all too well that this stubborn Great Chieftain really would hold this seat for years if he had to.

"…I only hope that now—"

The tribal chieftain had opened his mouth for one last attempt when—

— Huummm…

The sky began to clear with crystalline brightness.

"…?"

The corner of Ricardo's mouth lifted.

The tribal chieftain scanned their surroundings, puzzled by the sudden clarity of the heavens. The Great Chieftain looked at him, gave a short snort of laughter, and said,

"…Has the tribal chieftain never seen it?"

"…Seen what, my lord?"

"Ah well. That much time has passed, after all."

He raised a hand and pointed at the sky.

"The heavens."

The sun began to pour out more and more light. The tribal chieftain looked up with a blank expression—and in that same moment—

— Bang!

A single shaft of sunlight drove down like a spear into one of the empty cells of the grid.

"…That—?!"

Where the light struck—

— Zzzt-zzzt.

—a pattern began to draw itself. First a round sun, then eight tongues of flame ringing its edge.

"Th-the apprentice's mark…!"

"No."

Ricardo stroked his chin and shook his head.

— Zzzt…

Beneath the sun pattern, a single bent stroke of golden light, as if guided by someone's fingertip, rose to support the apprentice's mark from below.

"…The Official's… mark."

The tribal chieftain's mouth slowly fell open.

Someone, as a Descendant of Fire, had become an Official Blacksmith—and had carved a pattern into the record of the Sun Dwarves.

Ricardo rose slowly from the throne.

"…He's come."

His red eyes burned hotter than they ever had.

"A Descendant of Fire has come at last."

And then Ricardo lifted his arm.

— Sss.

From deep in his sleeve, his right arm emerged—and below the wrist, there was nothing. Only the long-healed trace of something severed long ago.

Ricardo's gaze turned to the cell where the new mark had just been carved. More precisely, to the square immediately to its left—where two faded strokes of a masterwork mark already lay etched. A mark carved in a distant age, when both of Ricardo's hands had still been whole.

Ricardo, Descendant of Fire. The man who had once carried the fire of his entire race alone upon his shoulders.

"This old man's forge went cold long ago. The fire in it burned out years past."

His shoulders trembled faintly.

"…At last. The fire has found its next master."

A future for the race that everyone had believed reduced to nothing but ash—began to burn again, hotter than it ever had.