Homecoming and a Pile of Letters

Everything had gone off without a hitch.

Simon had hidden himself inside a crate in the cargo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wagon and slipped safely through the Gate of Divinity. There had originally been one tedious extra procedure — inspectors checking goods leaving the Federation as well as entering — but the Blood Sky Cult incident had loosened the stringent security somewhat, and for once, luck was on his side.

Past the gate, he had crossed safely into the Neutral Zone's Haley Desert, activated the magic circle at the bottom of the crate, and opened his eyes to find himself in the now-familiar Hope Territory.

From there he had caught a coach straight to the Les Hill domain, paid the driver at the fork in the forest road where he'd first met Lethe, and then made his way over the mountains on his own two feet.

Everything after the Blood Sky Cult affair had gone so smoothly that Simon began to feel a faint unease. He had arrived earlier than expected — what if something had happened in the meantime? That worry kept creeping up on him.

Still, running himself ragged, he finally made it home.

Oh!

While Simon had been away in the Holy Federation, the house had been restored to its original, immaculate state. The repairs were so thorough that not a trace of the White Flame's scorching remained.

Well, I suppose when your father keeps skeletons as laborers, it doesn't take long.

Simon approached the front door and knocked with a nervous expression.

"Father. It's Simon."

Footsteps sounded from beyond the door, and the latch clicked open.

Richard stood there beaming, arms spread wide.

"Simon! Thank goodness you're safe!"

The two embraced briefly.

"I got it! The white leaf from the Tree of Life!"

Simon drew a box from his subspace pocket and opened it carefully.

"May I take a look?"

"Of course!"

Richard lifted the leaf and scrutinized it with his own eyes, then let out a slow breath, as if a weight had lifted, and smiled.

"It's genuine. Magnificent work, Simon."

"You'll begin the surgery right away, won't you?"

"I will. Everything is prepared."

It was decided that Anna's surgery would begin that very evening. Richard had told Simon there was no need for him to watch, but Simon had insisted.

If anything went wrong with Anna the same way as before, it could only be an advantage to have two people capable of performing the procedure.

But as Richard took out the White Leaf to prepare for the surgery, he noticed, belatedly, a note tucked beneath it in the box.

"Did you check this note?"

"No."

Simon had been so careful with the precious item since receiving it that he'd never thought to look beneath it. Richard unfolded the paper and read.

"To my brother-in-law. So that's what this is."

"Ah!"

Simon let out a cry of joy.

"This has to be from Israfil!"

"Mm."

Richard had also heard from Simon that it was Israfil who had obtained the White Leaf. He spread the note out fully. It was packed edge to edge with research on the side effects of the Holy Water removal surgery — and methods for compensating for them.

It was the fruit of dedication, hours she must have poured into research for Anna's sake. A smile tugged at the corner of Richard's mouth.

"My sister-in-law must despise me... yet all I ever receive from her is tremendous help."

"Is it useful reference material?"

"Immensely. This is the research of a divine authority far beyond me."

Richard rolled up his sleeves, fire in his eyes.

"Sister-in-law — no, Lady Israfil — if the surgery goes well according to her theory, we won't have to worry about the Saintess's Essence passing to your mother ever again."

"Ah...!"

The surgery was pushed back a little. Richard pored over Israfil's research until dawn, agonizing over how to apply it, and then began Anna's surgery the next morning.

He levitated a hundred pure mana circles above her body. Watching him conduct the operation while maintaining them all without the slightest strain, Simon was reminded, anew, of just how extraordinary a necromancer his father was.

Simon had cockily tried to memorize the formulas being used in the procedure, but they turned out to be far beyond anything a Kizen first-year had ever seen, and he gave up.

Hours passed like that.

"...How about an omelet for dinner?"

Anna opened her eyes.

Those were her first words, spoken the instant she awoke, as her fingers caressed Simon's cheek. Overwhelmed, Simon threw his arms around her and held her tight.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry, my son."

The surgery was a success.

Once she regained her senses and her condition improved, Anna — ever the first-rate priest — used her own holy magic to restore herself to perfect health.

She was well again as if by magic. Her bright, sunny smile was exactly as it had always been, and her face brimmed with vitality.

The moment she recovered, she made straight for the kitchen. Richard protested that she needed absolute rest, took up a frying pan himself, burned everything he cooked to a crisp, took a skillet to the backside from Anna, and was banished from the kitchen.

"Your old man can't cook, and it's entirely your mother's fault."

Richard grumbled this complaint to Simon in a very small voice.

At the early dinner that followed, staring at the table piled high with food, Simon finally felt that his everyday life had returned. The adventure of crossing into the Holy Federation with Lethe, hunted by Inquisitors, felt like a midsummer night's dream.

Over the meal, Simon told them everything that had happened in the Holy Federation (carefully editing the details so as not to worry Anna), and Anna listened with shining eyes, thoroughly entertained. When he reached the part where Israfil had appeared at their most dangerous moment, she even clapped her hands in delight.

"Israfil is a bright and wise girl. The wars and tragedies she has stood up and prevented are too many to count. Thank goodness she became a Saintess."

At that, Richard cleared his throat.

"Well then, Simon — how about some stories from Kizen now...?"

"What happened after Israfil chased out the head of the Inquisition?"

"Er — ahem. Right. Yes, you'd be curious about that too."

Watching his father, still utterly helpless in front of Anna, Simon let out a small laugh.

Telling his parents about the members of Group 7, Simon found himself missing his friends more and more.

"Is there a girl you're courting?"

Anna asked, her eyes sparkling like a girl's own. Richard's face stiffened, and he poked at his food with his fork.

"Simon has more than enough on his plate just climbing toward the peak. Romance can wait until he's a grown man. You saw how exceptional Lethe of Ephnel was. Let that spur him on to greater diligence."

"My~ I don't see it that way at all."

Anna said this, then turned to Simon.

"Even now, what your mother regrets most is that I never got to court a single man at Ephnel. The elders trailed me all over the school, nattering on and on about how a Saintess must carry herself, about purity, this and that. It was absolutely loathsome."

Simon thought, with some surprise, that they say married couples grow to resemble each other — how could they disagree over something so trivial? Once again, a subtle tug-of-war formed between his parents over his love life, though of course it didn't last long.

"Simon. Didn't Nephthys or your professors ever say anything about your father's school days?"

Anna asked. She seemed to have at least a rough idea of Richard's youth.

Out of loyalty to his father, Simon didn't answer — but the bitter smile that bloomed at the corner of his mouth was answer enough, and Anna nodded as though that was all she needed.

Sensing the danger, Richard broke into a cold sweat and offered his defense.

"...It was only three, my dear. The three I told you about back then."

Simon failed spectacularly at keeping his face neutral upon hearing this excuse, and Anna — catching even that reaction — had sparks flying from her eyes.

"Honey. When dinner's over, might I have a word with you?"

"...Ahem. I'm rather tired, actually."

"Just for a moment."

Simon escaped on the pretext of doing the dishes, silently praying for his father's soul.

When he climbed up to his room for the first time in ages, Simon found his desk buried under a stack of letters.

They were from his Group 7 teammates — Dick, Meilin, and Camibarez.

Sorry I couldn't write back right away, everyone.

Simon picked up the envelope on top — Meilin's.

Typical of Meilin, the envelope itself looked extravagantly old-fashioned and expensive. It was just a friendly check-in letter, yet she'd sealed it with premium wax.

He broke the seal and unfolded the stiff, high-quality stationery, revealing an elegant hand. She had sent three letters in all. To summarize them briefly:

Reading the last letter, Simon let out a worried laugh. If he didn't answer quickly, he might return to school only to face a Meilin furious as a raging fire — or one hopelessly sulking in a corner.

Next was Dick's letter.

Dick had sent a whopping seven. Plain white paper inside a plain white envelope — thoroughly practical, or to put it another way, cheap-looking and utterly characterless.

Inside was a nearly illegible scrawl. To summarize:

Dick, it seemed, genuinely thought of nothing but having fun.

Suddenly Simon began to worry about him. Was this guy doing this after finishing all his vacation homework?

Finally, there was Camibarez's letter.

She had also sent three — lavender stationery inside a pink envelope brimming with a girlish sensibility, with handmade stickers that looked like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she'd made and affixed them herself, adding an extra touch of cuteness. Every bit of it radiated care and effort.

The paper was somewhat crumpled, and covered in the traces of words written, crossed out, and written again.

Reading Camibarez's letter made one side of Simon's chest ache with a cold sting. He felt like absolute garbage for not having replied while he was off in the Holy Federation.

I hope she wasn't hurt. All right — time to write back, fast.

Beyond the letter he'd written on the Holy Express, Simon began composing a new letter of explanation.

I was away from home for a while on personal business, so I couldn't reply. I'm truly sorry. I'm doing well. I'm working hard on my vacation homework too. I wish the break would end soon. I'm looking forward to the day I see you all again.

At dawn the very next day, Simon crossed the mountains and handed the letters personally to the postman, bowing his head even as he begged him to take good care of them.

Back in his everyday rhythm, Simon spent his days helping with Richard's lordly duties while training his necromancy fundamentals step by step, from the ground up.

Before long, letters from all three of them arrived at once. Reading them, he found that every one of them understood his situation. Camibarez — perhaps in higher spirits now that the misunderstanding was cleared up — had covered her letter in even more stickers than before.

And so, in the course of their correspondence, Dick made a new proposal by letter.

That sounds fun.

It was exactly what Simon had been hoping for.

With every letter he sent, he missed the three of them more and more. Simon wrote back immediately saying he was in.

Next week can't come soon enough.

His heart fluttered at the thought of the vacation ending and returning to Kizen at last.

Simon leaned back in his chair and smiled.

It really was time to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠start preparing for the new semester.