The Second Act
"Uuurp! Now I finally feel alive!"
Hunger truly was the best sauce, it seemed. Not one of them had spoken a word through the meal, every scrap of attention given over to eating. Death and Amon most of all—and Bayul and his friends no less—polished off far more food than any of them usually managed.
From the previous evening until this very moment, they had poured every last ounce of themselves into holding back the great earthquake. There had been more than one brush with disaster along the way, but they had weathered them all, and at long last a peaceful moment had arrived.
With their bellies full and the tension slowly unwinding, their bodies turned heavy and languid. One by one, they went looking for a place to lie down and collapsed across the barracks. The only ones still sitting upright were Death and Amon.
"Must be because they're demons—their stamina really is in a league of its own," Aidan said enviously, running a finger over the feathers of the sleeping Ingrid.
At that, Eli returned fire with characteristic venom.
"If we're talking stamina, I'm still fresh as anything, thank you very much. And what exactly have those two even done? Nothing but stand around and watch without lifting a finger—of course they're in perfect shape."
"Eli, I get that you don't like demons, but at least get your story straight. If it weren't for Amon, we wouldn't even be sitting here right now."
"Aidan's right. A great many lives were saved thanks to him. And it is a true blessing that Duke Randert came through unharmed as well. Thank you, Amon." Logan conveyed his gratitude to Amon with full, formal courtesy.
"Fine, the prophecy helped a little, I'll admit. But what else did he do, exactly? Haul Tempesta back? That was supposed to be my job until that demon butted in—you all saw it happen, didn't you?"
Eli threw every argument he could muster into cutting Death and Amon down to size, but the mood among his friends made it plain that none of it was landing. Everyone already knew no kind word about demons would ever cross his lips. If letting his complaints slide by in one ear and out the other was how they got through moments like this, then so be it.
"The slow of foot do always have the most excuses."
"Wh-what did you just say?"
"Even I have a limit to how much I'll let slide. Know when to quit."
When Death's needling pushed him too far, Eli forgot all about being a dragon. To him, war had always been a simple thing: when one broke out, you went out, fought, and won. He had never once lacked for confidence, and in all his long existence he had never known defeat.
"And what exactly will you do if you stop 'letting it slide,' hmm? Kill me or something?"
At Eli's explosive outburst, Bayul, who had been lying down, had no choice but to push himself up again. If those two truly came to blows, the fallout would be beyond imagining. He could not simply leave them to it.
"Eli, everyone's exhausted right now—calm down, okay? How about we all get some sleep first? And Death, please, that's enough from you too. This is where my father is staying. There must be no more commotion."
Tempesta's temper, too, had barely been soothed. The boy had gone off by himself on a solo "scouting" mission of sorts, insisting there might be another Spirit Stone lurking nearby.
Innocent and Spinel had burned through enormous reserves of power and were each resting in whatever comfortable corner they had claimed; only Shame—newly awakened as an Intermediate Spirit—remained at Bayul's side.
There was so much Bayul wanted to ask him, but he was worn out in mind and body alike, so he put it off for later. Truthfully, part of him was eager to learn what answers awaited. Yet he could not claim to be entirely without dread, either. The thought that he might uncover a secret about his mother brought the tension creeping back.
"I did anticipate that unexpected good fortune would find us here, though I confess I never imagined its lucky recipient would be Shame. Congratulations, Shame."
At Amon's sudden remark, Aidan, who had been sprawled flat, sat up and blinked at him round-eyed.
"Unexpected good fortune? Amon, you can even read things like that?"
"I do, on occasion, divine fortune."
"Whoa! No kidding. That's an incredible ability!"
Aidan's gushing praise twisted Eli's lips further out of joint, but fortunately—whether Death's warning had done its work or not—he held his tongue this time.
"If you ask me, it seems the Spirit Stone was swept inland by the tsunami. Though precisely how it took effect, I could not say."
"It had struck me as strange that a Spirit Stone would be here at all. I'd always believed that natural disasters almost never occur where a Spirit Stone lies embedded. I never once imagined one could be washed in by a tsunami."
"No kidding. Talk about genuine luck." Quinn smiled at Shame, evidently pleased with his transformed appearance. The growth of a spirit meant the revival of the Spirit Realm was drawing near. For Quinn, who yearned for that day above all else, Shame's advancement was a source of tremendous joy.
"Shame, have you found anything on the memory fragments?" Quinn asked in Bayul's stead, voicing the question Bayul could not quite bring himself to ask.
"My King, do you wish to hear the answer?"
"Shame... must you really keep calling me 'King'?"
Hearing it in front of his friends made it several times more mortifying.
"Well, the power of the ancient Spirit Kings does dwell within your body, Bayul. Isn't that why he calls you King?"
"It is not on that account alone."
"...It isn't?"
Bayul had simply assumed as much, so Shame's answer caught him off guard.
"The mission the ancient Spirit Kings bestowed upon you was to raise us into Spirit Kings and restore the Spirit Realm. Which means, in essence, that you are the King of us all."
"Oho, so you're saying Bayul is the king of the Spirit Kings? That's insanely cool!"
"In a word—a Kingmaker."
"...Even so, a title like that makes me uncomfortable. I'd much rather you all just call me by my name, like before."
"If my King so commands, it shall be so." Shame accepted the order with a courteous bow. He was so poised, so impeccably mannered, that it was nearly impossible to believe he had once been the bashful Shame of old. Where on earth had that crippling shyness gone? He was certainly easier to be around now—that much was true—but the sheer suddenness of the change was more than a little disorienting.
And yet, had anyone looked closely, they would have noticed Shame's ears burning red. He was exerting superhuman patience in order to deliver the information he had gathered from the memory fragments.
"Since it has come up, there is something I would like to ask. I inquired of Spinel, but she gave me no answer."
"Could it be that you wish to know why the power of the ancient Spirit Kings was inherited by you?"
Ascension to Intermediate Spirit had apparently sharpened his perceptiveness as well. When Bayul nodded and confirmed it, Shame held his silence for a moment before opening his mouth.
"This is, at most, my own conjecture—but I believe that power was passed down to you through your mother."
"...F-from my mother? Shame, do you know who my mother was?"
"I do not know precisely what she was. However, according to what I have learned, just before the ancient Spirit Kings perished, they sent several of their subordinates into hiding in the human world for the sake of rebuilding the Spirit Realm."
"They sent their subordinates into hiding?"
"Yes. The ancient Spirit Kings could not escape death. And so they divided their powers among themselves and planted them within those subordinates."
"Then... are you telling me Bayul's mother was one of them?"
"We have yet to recover all of the memory fragments, so it remains conjecture."
His mother, he had been told, had died giving birth to his brother and him.
Perhaps it was then that her power—she who had fled to the human world carrying the might of the ancient Spirit Kings—had passed into me. For now, that was the most plausible explanation there was.
"Wait, but if they were the Spirit Kings' subordinates, that would make them spirits, right? What kind of spirit was she?"
"More to the point—didn't he say the subordinates sent to the human world numbered more than one? Then couldn't there be another Spirit User like Bayul somewhere on the continent?"
"A Spirit User... like me?"
He had never once considered the possibility. Bayul pressed Shame with astonished eyes, demanding more, but Shame knew nothing beyond that.
"That pendant." It was then that Quinn spoke up, pointing at the pendant hanging around Bayul's neck.
"And the Eye of the Ocean. Both of them are tied to water. If Shame is right, then Bayul—wasn't your mother a High Spirit of Water?"
"A High Spirit?"
"The Eye of the Ocean is what the king before me gave to Daphnegrande, the Water Spirit King of the ancient age. It was then handed down to the subordinate entrusted with the mission of rebuilding the Spirit Realm. The very fact that you were the first to recognize a water spirit says the odds are high."
My mother... was a High Spirit of Water?
He had vaguely suspected she might have been a spirit, but as the reasoning grew more concrete, the feeling was a strange one.
And yet—the Spirit Realm had fallen thousands of years ago, while his father had met his mother a mere seventeen years before. What on earth had his mother been doing all that time in between? Something about it refused to add up.
"Young Master Bayul, His Grace the Duke requests your presence."
Just as Bayul was sinking into serious deliberation over his mother, Ian appeared. He wanted to keep talking with Shame, but it seemed the conversation would have to wait. Bayul rose in a daze and followed Ian out.
"You called for me, Father."
Duke Randert had only just managed to shake off the lord of Romandsi and was seated alone in the barracks. His expression held the warmth of a father welcoming his son, but his eyes were graver than ever.
"Come here and sit. Have you eaten?"
"Yes, I ate my fill with my friends. Have you eaten, Father?"
"As you can see."
The table was still piled high with food. The amount had dwindled somewhat, but it was plain he had barely touched his meal.
"Father... is there some bad news...?"
At Bayul's question, Duke Randert said nothing for a long while, merely gazing at his son.
In his eyes, the boy was still so very young. His one and only child—a child as dear to him as his own life.
And yet, quite suddenly, that same child was set to make his name resound throughout the world. He had hoped the truth would remain hidden for as long as possible, but the boy had stepped forward to aid his own father—and this was where it had led. The water had already been spilled; there was no path back. He would have to face not only the vipers coiled in the halls of power but every nation on the continent besides.
In a time when natural disasters struck without cease, Bayul's ability was both a blessing and a calamity. The world, it was certain, would never leave this young one in peace.
And of all times, war loomed just ahead. To protect his son, there was but one course: end the war as quickly as possible and come home.
"Bayul, hear your father well."
"Yes. Please, speak."
"Your identity as a Spirit User has not yet come to light. That is likely because no one knows that spirits exist at all. But soon the questions will multiply, and people will begin to dig into what happened. They will demand an accounting for all of it—why a mountain of earth rose from nowhere, why the tsunami stopped, why the land torn open by the earthquake returned to what it was."
"I am prepared for that."
No matter how formidable his father was, this was not a matter even he could settle on Bayul's behalf. He had wanted to keep his identity as a Spirit User hidden for as long as he could, but this time there had been no choice. It had been a matter of protecting his father.
"I don't regret it."
Bayul could well guess what his father feared. He had no intention of showing needless weakness and deepening that worry.
"Had you not come, I would have been wounded. Is that not so?"
"...You heard about that?"
"Ian told me. That Amon had prophesied it would be so."
"But he also foretold that you would win the war."
"I heard that as well. And that outcome goes without saying."
There was no such word as defeat in Duke Randert's dictionary. The end of the Dwyer Empire was close at hand.
"Your father crosses the border tomorrow. You will return to the Academy."
"Can you not let me help as well?"
"I have seen with my own eyes this time just how extraordinary the power of spirits is. But you are a student now. A student's duty is to study—not to march off to war."
"But I know I would be of great help."
"Do you not trust me?"
"No! Don't be absurd. I trust you, Father!"
"Then leave it to me. When you return, you will likely be summoned to the imperial palace. That is when we will settle everything."
Until that day arrived, he would prepare every avenue he could—so that no one would dare treat Bayul carelessly.
The Duke possessed immense power, yet he had rarely put it to genuine use. For his son, however, he stood ready to wield every last measure of it.
The people of the continent called him a living legend for no other reason than that he had drawn the curtain on the Ten-Year War.
But the true legend was only just beginning.
In some far-off day to come, Bayul would surely be known far more widely than he. He could not know what trials that fame would bring upon his son, but the Duke believed that if anyone could overcome every hardship and rise as a great Spirit User, it was Bayul.
"Be well, my son."
Duke Randert stroked his son's hair with a tender hand.
The next morning.
As planned, the Duke set out for the Dwyer Empire, while Bayul and his friends took to the skies for home on Ingrid's back. The second act of Bayul's life as a Spirit User was unfolding before him.