Those Who Shunned the Sun (1)
A long procession stretched out, fleeing a disaster that had struck without warning.
In the hands of those turning their backs on the land where they had been born and raised, only the lightest of burdens remained. The crushing urgency of time had granted them neither a chance to prepare nor the leisure to gather even the most treasured of their belongings.
Children took to the road of exile without understanding why they were leaving home, pulled along by their parents' hands. The elderly shut themselves in their rooms, declaring that they would rather die with Montegras than abandon this land.
It was a wretched feeling.
This was human territory, won through countless years of struggle against demonic beasts — a homeland forged by the blood and sweat of their ancestors. There was no place their footsteps had not touched, no corner unmarked by the wear of their hands.
And yet, just like that, they were being driven from their home.
The refugees, who had spent their entire lives in Montegras, kept looking back as they walked, pressing tears from their eyes.
"..."
"My lady..."
Friga was no different from the rest. If anything, her grief ran deeper. At the very rear of the refugee column, she staggered forward with lifeless steps.
It was a side of Friga that Kenis had never seen before. She approached carefully, but Friga's face was already steeped in listlessness, despair, sorrow, and self-reproach.
"Guide the people in an orderly fashion! Hurry! We have no time!"
Duke Lushan ran back and forth, shouting orders. In the early chaos, when news of the avalanche had thrown all of Montegras into turmoil, the evacuation would have been far slower without his command.
Of course, the Duke himself was deeply shaken and despairing.
If demonic beasts came, they could fight to the death. No northern warrior would refuse to stand for their homeland against an enemy. If demons schemed, they could stand with the Holy City and drive them back. Darkness always vanished before a great light.
But an avalanche — a natural disaster — was something beyond human hands. No matter how many demonic beasts a man defeated, a hundred or two hundred, he was utterly powerless before the wrath of nature.
So Montegras falls in my generation. Forgive me, ancestors... O great Sixth God. Please, grant us your mercy.
Yet he was a duke. The father of Montegras. Its sole leader. His iron will made it possible, at least outwardly, to present the figure of a trustworthy commander. He covered the anguish in his eyes with resolute determination and buried his bitter sighs beneath a booming voice.
And so Duke Lushan led the refugees from the very front.
I will lead my people from the front, and follow them from the rear.
Only when, at the final moment, not a single soul remained in Montegras — only then would Duke Lushan leave.
With heavy eyes, he surveyed his surroundings. The bent backs of those urging the evacuation along stretched out in a long line. Taking a few more steps, the Duke turned once more to look upon the city.
"Your Grace."
"...Who is there?"
A voice rose from behind him without the slightest presence. Flat and toneless, it carried not even a fragment of emotion. Among the retainers Duke Lushan knew, none possessed a voice like that — and to approach from behind with all sound extinguished, no less. Had the situation been any less desperate, his sword would already have been drawn.
The Duke rested a hand on his hilt and scanned every direction. Nowhere could he see the one who had spoken to him.
"There are still many who have not gotten far. Soldiers alone will not be enough to move every citizen to safety..."
"A demon?"
"No. I would prefer you not compare us to such filthy creatures."
"Show yourself and speak. If you hide in the dark and address me like this, I will take you for a demon."
A cold chill flowed along the stretched shadows — a coldness of a different grain from the frost of ice. An artificial, manufactured cold.
The Duke's suspicion deepened. He narrowed his brow. Even if it meant death, he would never make a pact with a demon simply to survive.
"Show yourself at once! If you are a demon, I will carve out that false heart of yours! Come out!"
"...Not a demon — sigh. Very well."
With the weary voice of a man, something began to rise from the shadows with a soft rustle. Even Duke Lushan, who had seen countless bizarre demonic beasts, flinched despite himself.
Black shadows twisted and coiled together, gradually taking on a human form. The figure that emerged was a man. Despite being male, his beauty was striking — though the deep dark circles under his eyes and skin pale as a patient's made him look more like a handsome corpse. Most striking of all were his white hair, which was not of human origin, and eyes red as blood.
"A demon! You filthy creature!"
Knowing full well that demons were the cause of the avalanche, the Duke's eyes blazed. In a fury, he swung his sword.
How dare a demon set foot on this land!
A long black mass shot from the shadows and blocked the blade. The thickly gathered substance possessed the hardness of a shield. The rebound that traveled up the sword set the Duke's hand ringing.
Shaking out the tingling in his hand, Duke Lushan eyed the unknown man warily.
"You show me sorcery like that and still claim you are not a demon?"
"...Hah. Your kind never changes, no matter how much time passes. One look at a face and you cry 'demon.'"
"Look at yourself and say that. You look like a walking corpse."
"A corpse... Well, that is not entirely wrong."
The man gave a faint laugh. Or had he? Strangely, though his tone was mocking, his expression barely shifted — as if he were wearing a mask.
A low rumble reached them, the distant sound of the avalanche. Duke Lushan's face hardened. He had no time to brawl with this unknown figure.
"There will not be enough time to evacuate every remaining citizen."
The man's words caught the Duke as he made to leave.
"If I — no, if my clan helps you, we can move everyone left in this city in time. To a very safe place, no less."
A suspicious offer from a man who insisted he was no demon. Duke Lushan suppressed his revulsion and asked the question. At this rate, they would all die.
"By what means?"
"Like this."
The man seized the Duke's arm and whirled into the shadows. Duke Lushan, caught by the arm, was sucked into the darkness for an instant — and when he opened his eyes—
A cold wind howled.
"Wh-what is this..."
They were at the summit of the Mount of Demonic Beasts. He poked his face out from a shadow between the cliffs and looked around. Far below, Montegras looked tiny.
"What... what are you people? Are you truly not demons?"
Had they crossed space? Or was this itself a demonic illusion?
At the Duke's question, the pale-faced man murmured in a voice like a faint breeze.
"...We are merely those who were buried by time and forgotten."
From within the shadows, blood-red eyes stared blankly at the sun — as if yearning for something they could never reach.
The soft crash of gentle waves was the only sound on the sandy shore. The Great One lay in deep sleep, showing no sign of waking.
Anxiety began to settle over Kenelm's face. She had not expected him to remain asleep for so long.
"O Great One, please wake up. You must open your eyes now! O Great One!"
She steeled herself against the sacrilege and dared to touch his sacred form, shaking him — but he did not stir.
Kenelm's gaze darted frantically between the mirror and the Great One. Time flowed differently between the Sea of Souls and the surface world. She had assumed that if he slept a reasonable while, he would wake on his own.
She had misjudged.
The Great One had fallen into a sleep deeper and longer than Kenelm had anticipated.
I thought he would wake before the avalanche reached the city...!
She bit her nails in agitation. The avalanche that had begun at the mountain's peak was swelling rapidly as it bore down on Montegras. The refugee column stretched out in a long tail, but they had not yet gotten far enough. They had not escaped the avalanche's range.
If things continued like this, a terrible catastrophe would unfold. Countless innocent people would die, and many of the lamps of hope that had settled upon the surface would be snuffed out.
It could not be allowed.
Pale with dread, Kenelm shook the Great One even more urgently and cried out.
"Please, please! Wake up, O Great One! Please!"
This was not a matter she could resolve with the ocean's help. Whether the ocean would even aid her was doubtful. With its rightful master present within the house, would it lend its power to Kenelm?
"Mmnh. Hhh—"
No response. Having performed a miracle of creation that forged an entire new dimension, such exhaustion was only natural — but the timing could not have been worse.
Something — there has to be something...!
Kenelm sprang to her feet. The Great One, who had been sleeping with his head on her thigh, hit the ground with a thud. He twitched once, then sank back into sleep.
Kenelm paced the beach, fretting and biting her nails. Her sharp mind raced without rest, searching for a solution.
After a long while—
She began digging madly at a particular spot on the sand. Fine grains lodged beneath her elegant nails, and dirt covered her elegant clothes from the frantic excavation, but she paid it no mind.
Peculiarly, the terrain where Kenelm dug was a vast circular depression, as if a giant meteor had struck. The point she was excavating lay at the very center of the crater. Had a shooting star fallen, it would have landed precisely where she stood.
Please, please... it has to be here!
As the hole grew deeper, the desperation in her eyes intensified. She dug until the sand under her nails cut into her flesh and a little blood began to flow.
"Th-there it is!"
Kenelm found a small orb of light.
While desperate struggles against disaster unfolded on the surface and in the Sea of Souls—
"Ppi-ii..."
Iver the Frost Dragon was, as usual, soaking in a hot spring and enjoying a leisurely stretch of time.
Iver's position in the Holy Land was a peculiar one. She was not the sort who crafted things to offer up like the other workers, nor did she engage in any other productive activity. All she did was warm herself in the hot springs and dance near the mines or the forest.
That was all the Great One had ever asked of her.
"Ppi-ik—"
The hot spring's heat melted Iver into a limp, boneless puddle. Even with her special status, the dwarves and elves held no particular grudge. Iver was extremely cute and full of charm, and watching her dance amid hard labor was as refreshing as a cold beer.
"Hey, Iver! When are you coming to dance today?"
"Don't be too late! Everyone's waiting!"
"Ppi, ppi-ik—..."
Passing dwarves called out in greeting. Iver, drunk on the languid warmth, merely bobbed her head in a halfhearted reply. Her dance might have looked like random flailing, but it was a dance of deep meaning and profound symbolism. It was not the sort of thing one could simply perform whenever one felt like it.
"Ppi-ik... huff— ppi... huff—"
Before long, she began to doze off. How many times did Iver's head dip toward the surface of the spring and rise again, nearly touching the water?
"Huff... ppi?"
A sudden sense of something amiss pulled Iver from sleep. She looked up at the sky. A ticklish sensation, as if something were prodding her. She thought the Great One might have arrived — but there was no Milky Way, so that was not it.
"...Ppi-ik?"
Something was poking her in the back. What on earth was this?
Iver tilted her head.