The Truth That Could Not Be Spoken

"Found him."

As the imperial knights turned to look at me, sighs of relief mingled with deeply furrowed brows.

Well, of course. The prince had vanished without warning and caused an uproar at the main gate — they could easily have mistaken it for a kidnapping.

Still, the fact that it had taken longer than I expected was precisely what had allowed me to acquire all the consonants and vowels I needed. Surrendering myself quietly to the imperial knights had been for that very reason.

"...Whew."

The unpleasant emotions written across the knights' faces were painfully transparent. They probably wanted to give me a piece of their minds, but since I was the prince, they couldn't say a word.

It was four in the morning. Roughly seven hours remained until my mother's execution.

Judging it not merely sufficient but downright excessive, I returned to the imperial palace in that state.

And the very first thing to greet me upon my return was my father—

Crack!

His palm struck my cheek.

The blow was delivered with genuine force, and my swaying body gave out beneath me, collapsing right where I stood. I felt as though I might lose consciousness at any moment.

The burning pain in my cheek was one thing, but beyond that, my body was simply exhausted. I had set out at lunchtime yesterday and been dragged back in the dead of night — nearly twenty-four hours without sleep. A seven-year-old's body, roaming that vast capital the whole time; how wrecked must my flesh have been?

"Even if you wanted to delay Euphemia's execution by stirring up some other incident, it's impossible. If you keep degrading yourself like this, you'll end up as nothing but prey, Rohen."

My father's expression was twisted half with worry, half with rage.

Gazing up at him, I fished out my pen with a limp hand and wrote.

The letters were crooked, barely legible scrawl — but they would serve to convey my meaning.

Once I left my father's chambers, I saw Mary waiting for me up ahead.

She had no doubt suffered no small amount of stress from all the commotion, and I did feel a little sorry for her — but my mother came first, above everything else.

Every consonant and vowel required for Truth had been gathered. Now was the moment of reversal — the time to flip this entire situation on its head.

"..."

But the world was not as generous to me as I had thought.

No — generous wasn't even the right word. In this case, cruel would have been far more accurate.

'Why?!'

I stopped in my tracks and stared blankly into the air, my pupils trembling violently.

Why was the word Truth impossible to assemble?!

How—! Why—!

Variability?! How could Truth possibly contain variability?!

Grrk—!

I clutched at my soundless throat and let out a wretched, silent howl in the depths of my heart.

"Your Highness?"

Mary hurried to support me, my condition visibly deranged even from the outside.

And it was only then, at the end of her outstretched hand, that I belatedly understood the blind spot of the word Truth — what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it meant for variability to exist.

Suppose, for instance, that A killing B is the truth of a certain incident. But if you asked someone involved about that incident, and they believed A had killed C, they would answer that A killed C.

Because they never knew that A killed B — and from their standpoint, A killing C is the truth.

Yes. That was the variability said to exist within the word Truth.

...But humanly speaking, wasn't this a convenience-flawed system that seemed almost designed to wish misfortune upon me?

And now, with barely any time left, my final trump card had turned out to be useless. The shock was considerable. How could it not be, when every hope I had carried until now had just betrayed me?

Not a single thought would come.

'There's no way to... save her?'

Listlessness and despair wrapped themselves around me, dragging me down toward some unseen abyss.

"Rohen!"

Mary's voice barely reached my ears.

'So cold.'

My vision blurred; beneath it, the floor rushed up to meet me. Far away, at the sound of Mary's cries, crowds of people came running in a breathless scramble.

Ah.

Maybe it would be fine to just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠die like this.

Before I ever had to learn the sorrow of losing the mother I loved.

And with that, I lost consciousness.

"..."

A stark white ceiling, embroidered with a familiar pattern, swam into view.

When I forced my upper body upright, my body tried to push me back down, pleading with me to rest a while longer.

Through that crushing fatigue and my half-dreaming haze, I turned my head to look around. A single knight stood there.

'Did they station someone inside now, in case I run for the window again?'

Come to think of it — why had I suddenly collapsed? I forced my aching skull to churn through my memories, sifting for the answer — and the moment I found it, my entire body went rigid, and my gaze snapped frantically to the side.

The sand trickling down the hourglass marked 10:40.

Which meant only twenty minutes remained until my mother's execution.

The instant I realized it, I thrust out both hands and snatched up the papers strewn nearby. I gripped my pen and began to write — but my hands were shaking so badly that nothing would form properly.

I flung paper and pen both carelessly aside and made a rough, sideways gesture at the knight watching me: move.

"I have received His Majesty's direct order that Your Highness never be allowed to leave this room."

Of course. If they didn't lock me up like this, I would be forced to witness my mother's death with my own two eyes.

What pointless consideration, I thought.

But what could I possibly do now? There was no means at hand to stop my mother's execution.

...And yet, I refused to compromise with reality and simply sit still. If they wouldn't let me out, then I would make it so they had to let me out.

"..."

My dagger was gone — confiscated, apparently. So I sprinted to the window, seized some nearby object, and brought it crashing down against the edge.

Craaack—!

Shatter!

Irregular fissures spidered across the glass in an instant, and the window began to splinter into countless fragments.

"Your Highness!"

The scattering shards embedded themselves in the soft skin of my knuckles, shredding wounds into my hand. But what I wanted was the shard of glass at my feet — a blade every bit as sharp as my dagger — so I reached for it without hesitation.

Thwack—!

Grrk—!

But I was tackled mid-motion and thrown down onto the bed.

Creeeak!

"I apologize for the pain, but please endure it a little longer."

A grown man pinning down a small child, speaking in a tone utterly devoid of sincerity.

And even now, the clock kept running. There was a knight in the room, yes — but only one. Which was to say, if I could shake off this single knight, escaping through the window would be no difficult task.

So without delay, I poured the power of Overwhelm into my kotodama and hurled the knight pinning me down against the wall.

BOOM!

Bang!

"Your Highness!"

When the racket inside refused to die down, the knights standing guard outside finally threw open the door and rushed in. Seeing them, I felt the pressure of dwindling time and hurled my body straight through the shattered window.

Whoosh—!

A height incomparable to my last fall.

CRUNCH—!

A harsh, wet sound of flesh meeting stone spoke the scream my throat could no longer voice.

'...'

For a brief moment afterward, I must have blacked out. If not for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠indescribable pain radiating from every inch of my body, I doubt I would have come to at all.

'Ghh...!'

There was considerable internal bleeding in my abdominal cavity — my lower belly had swollen up like a distended grub. But when I heard the knights' urgent footsteps clattering closer from far away, I forced out the blood pooling at my lips and poured the power of Heal into my kotodama.

The wounds and pain vanished from my body as though they had never been.

Truly a dissonance I could never get used to. But I had no leisure to dwell on it. I pushed myself up and began to run, slipping free of the knights' pursuit.

My destination: the rear of the imperial prison within the palace grounds — the execution grounds, where sentences were carried out.

Executions were often held publicly before the people, but when that was impossible, criminals were beheaded there, in that place.

'No time.'

The sentence would be carried out any moment now.

Knights would surely be guarding the entrance to the imperial prison, to bar outsiders from entering. So at this point, I used Incineration to raise a massive firestorm within the palace.

Acrid smoke flooded the corridors in an instant, making even my own breathing laborious — but the knights guarding the entrance to the imperial prison had all stepped away to investigate the cause. Seizing the moment, I used Freeze to harden the standing water nearby, sealing off the road back.

Creeeak!

Rising onto my toes, I pulled the door handle — and with a spine-chilling screech, the prison door swung open.

I descended the stairs, where an eerie stillness lingered in the air, and at the far end of the prison, another door came into view. That was probably the way to the execution grounds.

Flinch!

The moment my hand closed on that door's handle, I reflexively ripped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it away.

Bloodstains, darkened and hardened by the passage of years. Traces, no doubt, left by the executioners who had carried out their sentences here.

Forcing down my ragged breath, I flung the door wide and stepped through.

Inside, a crowd of spectators had gathered, and every one of their gazes swung toward me all at once.

By their attire, unmistakably nobles. Probably the Duke Alteir faction and his allies.

But I had no leisure to meet their eyes one by one.

My gaze rolled toward one place only: my mother, kneeling upon the execution platform.

"Rohen! Close your eyes!"

The executioner's blade fell toward my mother's neck. In the same instant, our eyes met.

I had no confidence to endure what came after — so I squeezed my eyes shut on reflex.

Shluk.

A sound that crawled beneath my skin and curdled my blood came drifting toward my ears.

I trembled violently where I stood, unable to open my eyes properly. But my hot, wretched tears forced their way through my shut eyelids and spilled down my cheeks all the same.

"Rohen!"

My father's voice.

"I believe that is the mute prince, then."

The murmuring voices of the nobles.

And then I wiped my tears and slowly, slowly opened both eyes.

What entered my vision was my mother's body, collapsed on the frigid stone floor — and her severed head, rolling loose beside it.

"..."

Thud.

Like a man entranced, I began walking slowly toward the execution platform. The executioner who had stood in my path flinched and shuffled aside to let me pass.

Squelch.

My mother's still-warm blood, pooling on the ground, soaked into the hem of my clothes.

Her eyes had not even closed — she had been looking at me until the very end. I gingerly picked up her head and drew it into my arms, closing her eyes gently with my fingers.

Then I lowered myself carefully beside her body. The hands that had always cradled me so tenderly did not stir in the slightest.

Of course. Her head had been severed. No person could still be alive.

'Ha... hahaha...'

My mother was dead, and I couldn't even weep for her.

Because I had no voice.

The voice she had longed so desperately to hear all her life — even in this final moment of her passing, I could not give it to her.

An unbearable grief came flooding in, coiling around my heart and squeezing, tightening with every heartbeat. The pressure was suffocating. I couldn't breathe.

Gasp.

Gasp...

A sob that held nothing but silence, retched out over and over. Wretched, futile heaving. I clutched at my chest with my small hands against the surging pain, but it was no use at all.

"Breathe, boy! Breathe!"

My father came rushing over and pounded roughly on my back — but my body had already stopped obeying me.

Even so, my eyes kept taking in the same sight: my mother's corpse lying beside me, and her head cradled in my arms.

So this was what it meant to lose someone you loved — this pain that filled the chest until it overflowed?

Memories of my mother flashed through my mind, one after another. And all the happiness held within those memories ended, in the finish, in a single piece of cruel despair: my mother's death.

Yes.

My mother was dead.

She no longer existed in this world.

And when that brutal truth finally landed, I fainted dead away where I knelt.