The Encounter (6)
The memory remained as vivid as if it had happened only last night.
"P-please, help me…"
Young Silvie had cried out, clutching her hollow belly as she staggered down the street. Her brittle hair and clothes worn to rags laid her circumstances bare for all the world to see.
Yet even at her desperate pleading, the passersby merely flinched away, turning their steps far around her. It was too harsh and unforgiving an age for strangers to spare kindness on an orphan they'd never met.
An emperor struck down by a curse. An order of knights turned traitor. A plague spreading with vicious relentlessness. Witches and corrupted beings lurking in every shadow. Day after day, the only news that traveled from ear to ear was as dark and oppressive as a sky full of storm clouds.
"Please help me… please…"
Amid days of meaningless begging, her cracked voice was losing its life, fading little by little into a pale whisper. And at last, the place where she collapsed, having received help from no one, was beneath some tall wall.
"…"
Silvie lay fallen like a limp blade of grass, staring up at the towering wall with blank, vacant eyes. It rose several times higher than she was tall, stretching on endlessly into the distance—almost as if it meant to seal her away from the world, all alone.
"Hhic…"
And then, as a heavy loneliness seeped into her, Silvie found herself brimming with sorrowful tears before she knew it.
"Help me… anyone, please…"
Her pointless cries scattered like mirages into the air. The beggar girl's fate had been decided long ago. As she was now, Silvie was a candle mere moments from burning out—a fragile wick about to crumble into ash. Once her strength gave out, she would fade away by the roadside and meet a bitter death that no one would ever mourn.
"W-who goes there?"
But what came to her then was a stroke of fortune she could never have imagined.
"I definitely heard someone… was I mistaken…?"
A voice drifted over the wall. It belonged to a boy—youthfulness still unmistakable in its timbre. Silvie couldn't begin to guess who he was. Not his face, not his age, not his name. And yet from that voice, one thing rang out with perfect clarity: genuine concern for whoever was calling for help.
And at the warmth she felt in it, Silvie, without meaning to, pulled herself upright.
"Please… help me…"
"You— you really are there!"
The boy's startled voice came in answer to the words Silvie had squeezed out with all her remaining strength.
"Is something the matter? Are you hurt somewhere? Tell me slowly, one thing at a time!"
"My… my stomach hurts so much… anything at all… please, something to eat…"
"Food… understood! Wait just a moment! I'll be right back, I promise!"
Despite his fluster, the boy quickly gathered his composure. For a moment the sound of him vanished, and then came the hurried patter of feet rushing back. And over the wall, a small bundle came sailing down, landing right in front of Silvie with a soft thump.
"I didn't have time, so I just grabbed whatever was on hand."
"Ah… oh…"
Through the cloth of the bundle, she could make out white bread and a small bottle of milk. To Silvie in that moment, it was more precious than any elixir in the world.
"Eat that and get your strength back, quickly as you can. If you gobble it down while you're starving, you'll only make yourself sick—so chew every bite slowly and carefully."
Though she couldn't see his face, the boy was watching over her with the most delicate of voices. The care in his words carried fully across the wall, and Silvie stretched out her arm with the last of her strength, stumbling and swaying.
And that day's meal was the softest, warmest food she had ever eaten in her life.
"Here, catch."
A familiar bundle sailed smoothly over the high wall. Silvie hopped up to snatch it out of the air, and the boy's voice followed from the other side.
"I put some desserts in today. I hope they suit your taste."
"Whoa…"
Looking at the contents of the bundle, Silvie couldn't help but gasp in wonder. The cookies and cakes were more magnificent than anything she had ever laid eyes on—less like food than like works of art. She timidly picked one up, took a small bite, and shivered uncontrollably.
"It's— it's so delicious…!"
She called out over the wall, her face glowing with emotion.
"I never knew anything in the world could taste like this… ahhh…"
"Haha, seeing you enjoy it puts me in a good mood too."
"I almost can't bear to eat it… they're so pretty too…"
"Nonsense! Don't you dare hold back—eat as much as you like. If you want more, I'll bring some again next time."
Today, for once, the boy was uncharacteristically firm.
"But…"
"Don't think about anything else. I love hearing the sounds of you eating and enjoying it more than anything."
"Hee…"
It was a mystery how that boyish voice could sound so dependable. For no particular reason, swept up in an inexplicable rush of warmth, Silvie found herself wiggling her fingers. And her face was radiant with a liveliness it had never known before.
That, needless to say, was entirely thanks to the boy. What he had given her was a warmth that went far beyond mere food.
"…And that is why I train like this—to be chosen by the sword."
After each meal came the ritual of quietly listening to the boy's stories. As she lounged against the wall, she felt something pleasant and refreshing seep into her, as if on a gentle breeze. It was a special feeling she could only ever sense from him.
"The men of my family have inherited that sword for generations. My father, and his fathers before him. And I, too, will…"
It was an astonishingly precious thirty minutes—thirty minutes, and only that, in a whole week. She had to keep out of sight of the patrol soldiers circling the estate, and above all, the boy's days were busy beyond imagining. The first time she'd heard it, she had half doubted her own ears.
"…Last time ended in disappointment, but at the next succession rite, I intend to be chosen by the sword, no matter what."
His voice was brimming to overflowing with confidence. Listening to his vivid accounts of noble life truly felt like a fantastic otherworld unfolding before her eyes. Even as she secretly admired him, Silvie offered nothing more than a slightly shy word of encouragement to her benefactor.
"…I—I'll cheer for you with all my heart."
"Really?"
His delighted cry came at once.
"Hearing you say that gives me even more strength!"
"Hehe…"
It was a mystery how he could rejoice so openly over such an ordinary remark. Thinking only that she had helped the boy in some small way, Silvie simply crouched there, smiling a warm, rosy smile.
"…I'm sorry. If my heart had its way, I would look after you properly, in person…"
Then the boy spoke, his voice tinged with regret.
"I'm not allowed outside the estate until I take up the sword. My father and mother are terribly strict. Even talking to you in secret like this, honestly, I'm half terrified we'll be discovered."
"Th-that's all right."
Silvie shook her head vigorously.
"Just talking with you like this already makes me so happy."
"Well, still—there's no need to worry too much."
The boy, who had been sinking into a faint melancholy, suddenly cried out with a voice full of ambition.
"The moment I become the successor, I'll take you on as a servant of our house!"
"Y-yes?!"
Silvie cried out, startled clean out of her wits. Even she, a beggar girl who knew nothing of the world, could tell that the boy was no ordinary noble. To be taken into the service of such a illustrious house would be nothing short of a thunderbolt rise to fortune.
"The successor is granted more than enough authority for it. The patronage of our house is truly lovely, you know. Someday, I should like to show you around it myself."
Unlike the stunned Silvie, the boy spoke of the future as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"And if you wish, I can have you educated as well. Perhaps one day you might even attend the Imperial Academy alongside me."
"B-but… I'm just a nameless orphan… what right could someone like me possibly have…"
"You have more than enough. Haven't you been listening to my stories every chance you get?"
The voice beyond the wall remained as vigorous as ever.
"You have no idea how much comfort you've given me. Thanks to you, I push myself even harder through my training. If I succeed at the succession, half of that achievement will be yours."
"Th-that's far too much…"
His words were still almost unbearably gracious to her. As Silvie kept shaking her head, a cautious question drifted over from the other side of the wall.
"…Do you… not want to become my servant…?"
"N-not want?! It's not that at all, it's just…"
All his usual confidence was gone; in its place, only anxiety and worry came through, plain and unhidden, in his low voice. And in that moment, Silvie could somehow feel the uncertainty churning inside the boy. If so, then what he needed was not reassurance, but a different kind of comfort altogether.
So Silvie, after a moment's hesitation, leaned against the wall and opened her mouth with a smile.
"…May I look forward to it, then?"
"Huh?"
"You just said you'd take me on as your servant. Or… was that a lie…?"
"A—a lie?! What do you take me for!"
The boy's voice crackled with indignation.
"Don't worry—just wait for me. The moment I inherit the sword, I'll open the gates myself and come out to greet you in person!"
Her choice of words had been exactly right. Before she knew it, the boy was back to his usual self, carrying on with confident, grand declarations. And she loved him all the more for it.
"…I can't wait to see you."
"Me neither."
The two of them talked on and on, backs pressed to the same wall, separated by nothing but stone. The tall, frightening barrier now carried nothing but the warmth of the boy's presence through its cold surface.
But alas, the bright day the boy had promised never came. However hard he tried to hide it, each time they met, his confidence was visibly draining away. The days and hours Silvie spent with him dwindled little by little, and everything she could sense through the wall grew ever more frantic—as if he were being chased by something.
Then, one day—
"…I don't think I'll be able to talk with you anymore."
The boy's voice was unusually dark. From a sky heavy with storm clouds, the first drops of rain were beginning to fall.
"Take this."
"This is…?"
The bundle was far heavier than usual. Inside, along with a modest handful of gold coins, was a gem carved into the shape of a roaring lion—patently, unmistakably valuable at a single glance. As Silvie's face twisted in bewilderment, the listless voice came again from beyond the wall.
"Think of it as a gift. It would fetch a fair price if you sold it. Buy yourself delicious food with it, and some fine clothes to wear."
"D-did something happen?"
"…I'm sorry."
His voice wove between the drumming raindrops, growing fainter and fainter.
"I wanted so badly to bring you into my service… I'm sorry. Truly… I'm sorry…"
The boy only kept repeating his incomprehensible apology to her, over and over. That rain-soaked meeting was a brief one.
And Silvie never heard the boy's voice again. When the promised day came and went and he still did not appear, she paced anxiously around the estate for days on end—until at last the guards caught her and drove her away by force.
"You were… that child from back then…?"
Only after Silvie's long tale had finally wound to its end did Kallen speak. His eyes flew wide in disbelief, and he stammered through the words.
"Yes."
Silvie merely smiled bashfully and nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Kallen stared blankly, looking back and forth between the lion gem in his hand and the girl before him.
"Because of the warmth you showed me, Professor… I was able to survive those days that felt like Hell itself."
Her cheeks were already flushed deep with joy.
"Meeting you again… makes me truly happy."