Prologue: Awakening from a Long Dream
The subterranean city of Atman.
A place that refused to cast equal light upon all things in the world. Thus, a place submerged in darkness day and night through every season of the year. A city that, with no sun rising overhead, depended on artificial light drawn from mineral ores.
The people of the upper town called this place the landfill.
A place where discarded trash was buried and reclaimed.
A boy born in such a place suddenly looked up at the sky. All he could see was a dark, oppressive ceiling. Gazing at the luminous stones embedded there, the boy thought:
It felt as if he had dreamed a very long dream.
In that dream the boy had been a knight, a hero, an unparalleled genius who had drawn Excalibur—truly an existence like the protagonist of a story. But as dreams so often are, recalling the scenery within it was no easy task. It rose only in faint, blurred outlines.
Well, perhaps that was only natural.
How could someone who had never even seen a star hope to paint the shape of one, or the figure of a knight? A dream needed something real to draw from if it was to hold any sense of reality. At the absurdity of it the boy let out a long breath.
A useless dream.
Hadn't Ivan said as much? That clinging to vain dreams only made life more miserable. That the best way to live was to be content with what one was given.
“What are you doing here, Najin?”
“Ah, Ivan.”
As he stood staring upward in that pitiful daze, someone approached with a rough, unhurried gait. A middle-aged man with an eyepatch over one eye—Najin's employer, the man who held the center of the subterranean city, its ruler: Ivan.
“Just… had a strange dream.”
“A strange dream?”
“Yeah. One where I pulled out Excalibur, of all things…”
Ivan blinked at the tale, then burst into a loud, snorting laugh.
“Hahahaha! What's so strange about that? Kids your age all dream that kind of thing. Feeling like the hero out of some novel, right?”
He clapped Najin hard on the back.
“I was the same at your age. Thought I was special. Thought I could pull Excalibur. Thought I could even become a Sword Master.”
“You did too, Ivan?”
“Of course. Boys are all the same, aren't they? I dreamed that way until I was about nineteen. Dreaming is a privilege of children, after all.”
Still, he said, and pointed to the eye hidden behind the patch.
“Don't drown in the dream. Life gets hard that way. Look at me. Missing an eyeball—what kind of mess is this?”
“…”
“You're sharp. I trust you'll take the point.”
“I know. I just… had the dream, that's all.”
Don't challenge anything. Live with what you're given. Stay inside the lines drawn for you and be content with the life you have. Even as Ivan spoke those words, Najin found himself thinking:
Even so… just once.
If he was only going to live and die like this anyway, wouldn't it be better to challenge something just once?
That thought rose unbidden in him.
You awaken from a long dream.
Blink. Najin closed his eyes and opened them again.
He sucked in a sharp breath and pressed hard at the space between his brows. Why did that memory have to surface now? A conversation he had shared with Ivan when he was around fifteen. Ivan muttering that he should “live with what you're given.”
Why recall that moment of all things?
In truth, Najin already knew the answer.
He looked ahead. There lay the ruined landscape of the subterranean city of Atman. Knights and dark agents who had come down from the upper town were setting fire from the city's outer edges, then spearing anyone who fled the flames.
“H-hyaaaaah!”
“Please save us, please, please!”
“At least our child—”
“Sir Knight! We truly know nothing! A-aaaaagh!”
People were dying.
The shopkeeper of the store he used to visit so often. Old Jack who ran the street stall. Big Brother Harry from the family who had always been especially kind to him. The children who sold newspapers on the corners. Adults and children alike—everyone.
Everyone was burning.
The subterranean city of Atman was engulfed in flame.
The cause of this catastrophe was none other than Najin himself. He had drawn Excalibur, and the Holy Light Church, sensing the fact at once, had led their forces down into the subterranean city. At first they had pursued him; when the chase failed to catch him, they chose an extreme measure.
They set fire to the entire city.
As if it did not matter how many died so long as they could seize Najin—or as if they meant to cleanse the subterranean city while they were at it—they drove their spears through the citizens who escaped the inferno and shoved them back into the fire.
Burn to death or die on a spear.
Watching the acrid smoke rise over the subterranean city, Najin's eyes trembled.
“Cough—kh—hhk…”
At the sound of coughing from Old Man Hogel's forge, Najin forgot even to stay hidden and ran toward it. He meant to plunge into the flames and pull the old man out, but—
Thwack.
Even as he coughed through the smoke, the old man struck Najin's hand away without mercy. Hatred filled those eyes. A look that asked why he had done such a thing. Najin's lips moved. In the end he could not save Old Man Hogel.
Atman was burning.
Pitch-black smoke billowed upward.
As he walked through the city thick with chaos, some recognized him. They rushed at him screaming. It was all your fault. Do you know how many people died because of your selfish act? My child, my parents, and I—we—
They clawed at him while they screamed. Even as the heat cooked their lungs they cursed him.
He walked on, and on.
There was Oppen, bleeding out as he died. Leaning against a wall, Oppen looked up at Najin and gave a bitter smile. He did not resent him.
“Why'd you do it, Najin?”
He only asked the question.
“A kid who knows better… why?”
That troubled gaze cut deeper than any of the countless curses. Then Oppen's head drooped. No more breath could be heard.
A little farther on.
The heart of the burning city. There stood Ivan, staring out over it with hollow eyes. At the sound of footsteps he turned. When he confirmed it was Najin his eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.
“You selfish little bastard.”
Bloodshot veins stood out stark in Ivan's remaining eye.
“Because you just had to cross the line, now we're all going to die. Didn't I fucking tell you? Don't cross the line. Be content with what you're given. Don't challenge anything!”
Ivan raised his voice.
He strode forward and seized Najin by the collar.
“This is why.”
Flames surged and rolled.
“I said it because I knew it would end like this. Great job. Thanks to you we're all going to die. And you along with us.”
He let out a hollow laugh.
“Hey, Najin. Was it that hard a request? In this city you ate and lived better than anyone except me and the likes of Horce. Was that not enough for you? Huh? Najin? Say something.”
“Th-that is…”
“Answer me, damn it!”
Ivan roared and hurled Najin to the ground. He himself sank down powerlessly and dragged a palm down his face.
“Why.”
Everything burned.
“Why did you do it? Why? A kid who knows better, a smart kid—why…”
Because he had crossed the line.
Because he had dreamed.
Because he had challenged something.
“It's your fault, Najin.”
Everything was burning away to nothing.
“Watch it with those two eyes of yours. Exactly what you did. Exactly what happened because of you.”
Only then did Najin understand what Ivan's warning had meant. What the price of challenge truly was. Deep in Najin's mindscape a burn scar formed. Watching the city go up in flames, he closed his eyes.
You awaken from a long dream.
Why was it? Every time he dreamed, every time he tried to challenge something, Najin felt his heart throb with pain. He never knew the reason. He ignored the throbbing and challenged again each time—but the results were always catastrophic.
Old Man Hogel was murdered. Oppen tried to kill him, or he killed Oppen; his arm was cut off by Ivan, or he cut off Ivan's; Ivan's hatred-laden blade pierced him again and again.
Those things repeated over and over.
You awaken from a long dream.
Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.
You awaken from a long dream.
Every time he challenged something, Najin paid the price. And each time, the burns in his mindscape spread farther.
You awaken from a long dream.
He dreamed. He could not remember what the dream had been, but Najin no longer looked up at the sky. Instead of the heavens he looked at the ground. Only at the places where his feet were allowed to step, the places he was permitted to walk.
Nothing good came of dreaming.
It only made his life more wretched.
His steps turned naturally toward the deeper alleys. As if fleeing the light, he entered darker and darker places.
Nothing good came of challenging anything.
You only lost.
Now Najin was afraid to challenge. He no longer knew what else he might lose. He feared the resentful stares. He no longer challenged anything at all. He no longer even looked upward.
Najin's first star wavered.
It was because the very knight who had carved the star of Challenge into him was denying Najin again and again. Denied at its very root, the star shook as if it might fall at any moment.
…For anyone at all, the meaning of a first is immense.
Najin was no different. Every one of his constellations had begun from Challenge, and what was carved into that star of Challenge was the prologue that announced the beginning of Najin's story.
Denied at its starting point, Najin's constellation wavered.
In the endlessly repeating tale he still held on to himself, yet his mindscape was slowly reaching its limit.
“…”
An alley where no light entered. An alley where discarded things had been piled and piled again. Najin, who had walked into it on his own feet, sank down among the heaps of trash.
It felt as if he had dreamed a very long dream.
His clothes hung in tatters. He was skin and bone, and the light was draining from his eyes. The stage of Najin's story was shrinking from the edges inward.
At the end of the long tale, the Revelry Emperor was certain of her victory.
Just as she moved to bring the curtain down—
A spark.
Something in Najin's breast shone. A Star Relic that held someone's star. For a moment the relic scattered light.
“Hey, boy.”
Then a voice rang out.
“What are you doing looking so pathetic in a place like this?”
A voice that should never have been heard.
At the sound of the voice, Najin turned his head.
There stood a young man in an adventurer's garb. A man who did not belong in a subterranean city like this—someone who seemed almost to shine. He flicked the conical hat on his head with a finger and grinned.
“What are you doing here?”
He dropped down beside Najin in a casual sprawl.
“Honestly. It's so dark you can barely see a thing.”
Then he lightly tapped a mineral lamp that had long since reached the end of its life and could no longer shine.
Flash.
Light kindled in the lamp that should never have glowed again. The alley brightened, if only a little. Najin looked at the man sitting beside him and asked:
Who are you?
At the question the man hmmed, stroked his chin, and answered lightly.
“You already know that, don't you? Who was it that told me my own name when even I had forgotten it?”
You already know.
Having said so, the man asked Najin a question of his own.
“Why are you sitting like this in a place like this? The you I know isn't the sort to mope around looking pathetic in an alley.”
I'm afraid to challenge anything anymore. If I challenge something I only lose. My master's words—that I should live inside the lines given to me—were not wrong in a single point. That was what Najin said.
“Ah, true enough. Challenge is a frightening thing. The more you've built up, the heavier every step becomes. Even a bird that can fly anywhere loses the ability to soar high once it experiences a fall while still young.”
The man smiled bitterly.
“Because falling is terrifying. The higher you fly, the more frightening the fall becomes. You're afraid of losing everything you've built, everything you've lived.”
He adjusted his hat as he spoke.
“I was the same.”
“…”
“I could have flown all the way out there, yet at some point I stopped looking at the sky. Afraid of falling, I lived looking only downward. Yes—just as you said, content with what I was given.”
But, he smiled,
“Then one day my one and only friend asked me this.”
Najin looked at the man's face.
“Icarus, when is the next journey?”
Only then did Najin remember the man's name. Meeting his gaze, Icarus gave a small laugh.
“Remembered now?”
The Wandering Star, Icarus.
“Then I suppose it's my turn to give something back to you.”
The one who had formed Najin's eighth star.
If ever Najin found himself in the same state—if ever he stopped looking at the sky—
Just as his dear friend had once done for him, this time Icarus meant to push Najin's back. That was why he had left the Star Relic behind. It shone in Najin's breast.
“It's time to set out on an adventure, Najin.”
He flicked his fingers.
The star of Adventure shone.