Episode 1-A: Letters Rain Down on Litera

Living is the process of striving to obtain what one desires.

You meet the person you love, amass wealth for a life of abundance, acquire hobbies to enjoy, and feel happiness from all of it.

Such is the story of one person's life, filled with what they wanted.

People live because they desire.

They continue their lives to pursue those desires.

But living is also the process of clinging desperately to those desires and tumbling down.

Your loved one inevitably dies, the wealth you've built crumbles away, no shred of interest remains for your hobbies, and despair engulfs everything.

Such is the story of one person's end.

People die because they cling desperately.

They hang themselves on what they desperately crave.

Desire and desperation—clearly the same emotion, yet distinctly different.

And in Litera, there are always those who hang themselves on desperation.

People with hollow eyes, desperate enough to loop a noose of longing around their necks.

A week passed faster than the blink of an eye.

"…."

"…."

The long silence was broken by the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bearded elder Horn.

"…A week has passed."

"Yeah… that's how it is."

Between us, perched on the inn beds, a tangle of complicated emotions swirled.

Emptiness, perhaps. Regret, maybe. Or a dash of bitterness mixed in.

"Time to pack up. Can't do anything about not getting letters, but we gotta keep moving."

"Yeah, let's do that. Elder, check the wagon for me."

"Right. I'll head out first then."

Horn grumbled as he shuffled out of the inn, followed by the thud of the door and a heavy sigh from beyond.

Not wanting the silence to return, the kids grinned brightly and toddled over, hugging my legs one by one.

"Ain bro, then Tori and I will go say bye to the other kids!"

"Don't be too sad, Ain oppa. She said always succeeding makes you crumble easier!"

Seeing them pout with regret yet try to comfort me like this, I wondered if the children weren't growing up too fast.

"Yeah, grab some bread to share and play marbles while you're at it."

"“Yessir~”"

I swallowed my emotions, ruffled their heads wildly, and answered with a smile.

With the kids gone from the inn, I turned to the one still lingering.

Aberly, in his white robe, was at the desk spreading out materials, researching without a trace of gloom.

"Aberly."

"Y-Yes? Wh-Why are you calling…? The ash suppressant research is pr-progressing steadily…."

"You don't need to check on your patients? We're leaving today."

"I-It's fine. I already gave them their last farewells and extra medicine yesterday…."

He could've been hoping for a letter too, but he awkwardly lifted the corners of his mouth and nodded.

"Alright. Well… you worked hard this week."

"Haha… y-you too, Ain. And don't be too d-down about no letters…. You've done great so far."

"…Yeah."

Aberly smiled at my words and returned to his desk battle. He was a weird guy, but straight as an arrow, so he didn't waste time on regrets and bitterness like me.

So, leaving him behind, I stepped out of the inn and wandered the crowded streets for a bit.

None of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us had received letters.

The week wasn't fully over, but even by the final afternoon, we weren't chosen.

And no letters came to the people we'd helped diligently for days, which only deepened the unease.

Their bittersweet smiles and hesitant waves, sensing our departure, lingered vividly in my mind, flickering as I walked.

I felt like the sparks we'd kindled in them would snuff out once we left.

A mere week's effort couldn't wash away years or decades of numbness.

We'd deliver silence back to people who'd clung to life on blind desperation alone.

"Adventurer, you're leaving today, right?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"I'll always cheer for you."

"…Thanks."

Meeting the eyes of children I passed on the street felt guiltier than usual today.

"We're the thankful ones."

"…."

"For real. You're the first adventurer to help like this."

Their once barren, hollow faces now smiled at me, stirring needless bitterness.

I kept walking.

Packing wouldn't take long anyway; I needed to clear my cluttered head.

A small village. Skies filled with letters.

After 10 minutes, 30, then a full hour of aimless walking, people greeted me.

Some called me a weirdo, others a foolishly kind idiot.

One said I was a self-punishing moron, another dubbed me a hypocritical adventurer.

They were the people I'd seen over the week—adventurers too stubborn to leave after a week, elders who'd warmed to me and helped out.

But not one of them had received a letter.

No one got one during my stay.

The ancient magic seemed to declare none of them would leave a mark on the world, endlessly lifting letters into the sky.

My bold claims to my companions that we'd get letters now seemed ridiculous.

We loaded the wagon.

We'd unpacked little to begin with, so even after two hours of strolling and goodbyes, preparations were quick.

The sunset that had dyed the sky crimson sank behind the mountains, twilight now tinting purple.

The village skies were too packed with letters to see the horizon clearly, but day's end approached.

"Shoulda set off quick-like, you damn pup. What're you dawdlin' for? Gonna smash the wheels on a rock in the dark?"

"Ah… this dwarf elder's at it already. Totally fits the dwarf stereotype."

"That's dwarf discrimination."

Horn and I bickered as usual to mask our bitterness.

Me on the driver's seat, reins in hand. Horn in the cargo, polishing his shield.

The twins dozing off, heads nodding after playing hard. Aberly reading research books.

So I said,

"We're heading out now. Destination…."

I glanced at the sky's letters one last time, about to murmur quietly, but paused ridiculously and gripped the reins tight.

Thinking about it, what was our destination now?

Where should we go next?

I'd sought a signpost here but found none, so my choices felt uncertain.

One decision could twist the fates of my five companions and the woman waiting in the Empire.

Until now, I'd charged ahead on instinct alone.

Deep down, I'd hoped for letters to guide us higher.

Like those staying in the village, should I linger another day, two, three?

I was hesitating over just one missing letter.

And then voices came from behind.

"Don't waver on choices, idiot. Hesitation gets you nothin'—just charge like always."

"“So! What's our next ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stop?!”"

"Haha… ju-just a little delay, goals are the same, right…?"

"…."

Four voices teased me like a scolding, then they chuckled among themselves.

"Get goin', pup."

"“Yay~ Let's go!”"

"Haha… pl-please, let's head out."

Their eyes held regret, but their words comforted me.

So I chuckled too and continued.

"We're really leaving now. Next stop is east, the city where night never falls, Tebris…."

It was right then, as I tried to say it.

The purple twilight stirred, the sky cloaked in dark veil.

"…Ah."

The letters filling Litera's skies, hiding their beautiful hues, began to flutter in symphony.

Once drifting calmly in the same flow, now they beat wings fiercely, glowing with light.

This was it.

The flight of letters I'd never seen in a week.

What I'd wanted to show them—what I'd wanted to see.

Waaaaah—

Every soul in Litera gazed skyward, exclamations like sighs spilling out.

The scene once mere words poured down.

A single letter's descent would've been mystical; now dozens of light trails headed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to people.

"Ha… this crazy pup actually did it."

"“Wooow….”"

"Truly… a dreamlike sight."

They lit the dark night.

Letters flying one by one to their recipients.

Those precious things went to.

Children huddled in alleys, the starving scratching festering wounds.

The girl who'd smiled thanks in farewell, the boy who wanted to be like me.

And to the elderly woman by the fountain.

Landing on trembling hands, shining bright.

Letters delivered.

Recipients carefully tore open, unfolding paper, faces twisting.

"Hic…."

"Sniff…."

Years, decades of desperation.

It overflowed in raw sobs of mingled emotions.

To some, worthless scribbles; to others, desperately craved.

A lost fragment to one, forward drive to another.

"Sniff, Mommy… sob, hic…."

Letters to orphans brimmed with untransmitted love.

"Leo… Abba… I… I love you so much too…."

To the old woman who'd lost her children decades ago, filled with their love.

Just emotions. Just feelings.

You might think so, but no letter was needless.

Each sheet held only treasures.

Flutter—

Letters flying like birds carried each person's desperate wish.

And to our wagon, six in total.

One each to Horn, the twins, Aberly, nestling into arms.

Three to me, ending their glowing flight.

People murmured at our letters—especially my three—but louder to me were mutters from the wagon rear.

"You damn fools… a hundred years late…. Useless lot…."

Horn's emotions.

"“We… we love you too. Mom, Dad….””

The twins' tears.

"Haha… I see. So I was on the right path after all."

Aberly's smile.

So I.

I quietly watched the scene, then opened my letters one by one.

"Cough…."

Perhaps her loving heart from the near future.

And so.

As our wagon departed, Litera's night filled with joyful sobs.

Seeds of hope sprouted.

Possibility began to bloom.

Letters.

That tiny sheet of paper holds something immense.

Love and affection, memories and bitterness, longing and wistfulness.

Indescribable emotions and stories words can't convey.

Or prophecies.

From past, present, future—or beyond death's river—they fly, reconnecting faded bonds.

Thus.

All become protagonists.

Tiny possibilities.

Stories starting small.

They declare you protagonist because it's your story—one only you can write.

The dwarf clan chief Horn, despaired over lost kin.

The war-orphaned twins Yaki and Tori, adrift.

The plague doctor Aberly, forever doubting himself.

And elderly Tersi, waiting decades for children's letters, along with orphans who'd lost hope with their parents.

Leave your mark on the world, write your words with it.

Ain.

Fools who've joined the journey for the gray.

Your stories have begun to sing.