The City of Mages
The City of Mages
Her mouth fell open, breath spilling out. The breath became a word, and the word became a question.
"...Huh?"
She couldn't understand the girl's question. Part of it was how abruptly it had come, disconnected from anything that had come before, but the greater reason was that she no longer had the capacity to maintain normal thought.
So she asked again, and the Elf girl blinked at the dazed response before repeating herself.
"Why are you so obsessed?"
No answer came. But this silence had a different texture.
The earlier silence had been born from incomprehension. This one came from understanding and choosing not to respond.
No one willingly digs their fingers into their own wounds.
So the woman stayed silent. Fay, who had been staring down at her, spoke when the woman finally dropped her head.
"You can't recall your daughter's face, or her voice. You probably didn't spend much time together. So... why burn your whole life away loving her, obsessing over her? I can't understand it."
The sudden, direct question settled heavily against her chest. She bit her lip until blood welled, then wailed.
"I know, I know! I know... it's strange...."
Tears dotted the floor as she covered her face and cried out.
"I know this isn't normal... I know it's all pointless... but still...."
She pulled her hands away, her crumpled face murmuring words that carried further than any of her screams.
"What could I have done? What should I have done? No matter what I did... this land just took everything from me...."
Tears streamed down her face. Fay blinked at the sight, and the woman dropped her head again.
"My daughter died because someone wanted my power. My family died, my people died. And... ah... my daughter, dead because of me...."
As the woman rambled through her tears, Fay blinked. An uneasy silence stretched, and the woman lifted her head.
"Because of me, she died without being able to say a single word. I just wanted her to be happy. So... I wanted to bring her back. Bring her back, protect her, make her happy."
The words came out flat, but beneath the tears there was an indifferent sincerity.
Listening, Fay thought of Aslan.
What if Fay died fighting, and Aslan mourned her, guilt-ridden?
Fay imagined a world where she was dead and Aslan lived on.
She imagined Aslan carrying that guilt, missing her, grieving, growing obsessed.
Unable to forget, trying everything to bring her back.
On the surface, it felt good. Enough that, for a fleeting moment, she wondered if getting hurt might draw that reaction out of him.
But something about the woman's situation traced a different arc. Expressionless, Fay blinked and asked again.
"How long have you been like this?"
"211 years. For 211 years...."
"211 years."
Only then did Fay begin to understand.
When she pictured Aslan obsessing over her, extending his lifespan by any means, fixated for two hundred years—the image finally aligned with the trajectory of this woman's life.
The Elf girl, incapable of empathy and only able to understand situations through her own experience, narrowed her eyes slightly as she played out the scene.
She saw Aslan bringing every misfortune upon himself, in agony, all to bring her back.
Fay had no empathy, but she had an eye for phenomena.
The self-inflicted suffering struck her as unbearably sorrowful and wretched.
Because these were her own feelings, not someone else's, the Elf girl felt sadness.
The image of Aslan—already a sad man—laying down everything to suffer left Fay with grief, not joy.
Being missed that much delighted her, pulled at her, but she did not want Aslan to hurt.
A painful sight to watch.
Having finished her analysis, Fay spoke.
"I like Aslan."
The woman lifted her head blankly at the sudden statement. The girl continued under that vacant stare.
"I like him best in the whole world."
When the woman only stared without understanding, the girl smiled faintly.
"If I died, and Aslan grieved for me and tried everything to bring me back... I would be so happy."
Watching Fay's soft smile, the woman found herself clutching the pendant without realizing it, and the Elf girl closed her eyes as if seeing something beyond it.
"But... if I had to watch it, and Aslan suffered like that for two hundred years... I would be so sad."
The woman finally noticed the shift in Fay's speech.
Unlike before, when she had referred to herself as Fay, now she was saying 'I' naturally.
The genuine emotion in her voice made the woman realize this was the girl's true heart.
"I want Aslan to be happy. He would want to be happy too."
The moment she grasped what the girl was leading to, the words that followed were exactly what she expected.
"Doesn't Anna want to be happy?"
Anna Heleminus clutched the pendant until her knuckles went white, and Fay laid her own hand over it, gently loosening that grip. As the woman's fingers relaxed under the soft touch, Fay traced the pendant.
"Would Anna's daughter want Anna to be miserable?"
Anna couldn't answer. Her lips moved, but only tears came.
What slipped through the weeping was simple.
"I don't know... anything.... Tell me, tell me, baby...."
But Fay had no empathy. She couldn't understand the crying woman.
Unable to understand, she simply let it be and spoke.
"I'm Fay. I'm not Anna's daughter. So I don't know."
Cruel words. But they were necessary ones.
"Only Anna knows her daughter. What would the daughter Anna knew think about this?"
The broken woman lifted her head absently and met the Elf girl's eyes.
Green eyes, meeting violet-blue ones that had lost their light, and the Elf girl tilted her head.
"What do you think?"
The Elf girl listened quietly, without irritation or anger. And in that indifferent gaze, Anna found comfort. She burst into tears.
Weeping, she wrapped her arms around Fay. Held her tight, arms around her back, and Fay gently patted Anna's back.
That was answer enough. The girl caught the unspoken reply and soothed the woman with her touch.
Only then did Fay understand why Aslan had entrusted this task to her.
Because it was something only Fay could do.
Aslan had a favorite saying: It has to be done because I'm the only one who can do it.
Fay, even without fully understanding, felt she had to do the same.
The hand that had been patting Anna's back now rested over the pendant. A light tug, and it was in Fay's palm.
"Ah...."
A faint lingering attachment. The obsession held for so long pulled at Anna's hand, but Fay spoke before she could act or say anything.
"Fay is an Elf. And Elves were made by a god who wanted everyone to be happy."
The God of Nature and Creation. The only Ancient God who had chosen no conflict, who had wanted only peace.
The god who had died and become a tree.
As Anna's dim awareness dredged up that knowledge, Fay rose to her feet.
She stood facing the study door, then slipped off her shoes.
The clack of the shoes hitting the floor rang out, and the girl was barefoot.
An Elf.
Now understanding why she went barefoot, the woman wiped her tears, and Fay pressed her unsoiled feet to the floor.
Something like an aura pulsed through those pale white feet.
Kwang!
The moment barefoot Fay faced the door, it burst open, revealing three men.
One missing an arm, another with an arrow jutting from his torso. Priests.
"...What's this?"
"A child and... the target. What do we do?"
"Kill the child, take the necklace and the target...."
"Yes, that will do."
The three priests exchanged opinions as if Fay didn't exist. Standing before them with Anna at her back, the girl reached behind her.
There, two short swords hung.
Two short swords that had drunk far too much blood for a small girl who looked about fourteen.
Shiiing—
The short swords came free with a chilling whisper. Their plain blades were etched with countless characters, each one gleaming with a different light.
Belatedly, Anna recognized it as the glow of mana—and at the same moment, she realized these were among the fabled magic swords said to be rare relics even in the Ancient Empire.
The instant she grasped that, the characters flared with light, and the girl, as if accustomed to it, calmly wrapped the pendant around the hilt of her right-hand sword.
"But Fay is a broken Elf. So she can't give happiness. So instead."
A continuation of her earlier words. Words only the woman could understand, and as the priests scowled at the girl, the Elf's eyes blazed.
What stood there now was not just an Elf with scarlet hair. It was a Master of the Sword.
The Master of the Sword brought the two short swords together, then sliced them sharply apart.
Clang!
The blades clashed and scraped, sparks flying as the edges ignited.
Twin swords burning with crimson flame. The same ominous fire as the girl's hair flickered as she let the blades hang low.
"Fay will take Anna's pain away. Fay is hollow inside, so she won't feel it."
The declaration carried a weight that made the three priests narrow their eyes, sensing a dangerous shift in the air, their wariness spiking.
The weight of someone who had killed dozens, hundreds of men and monsters. The weight of the companion who had fought longest beside the Master of Combat.
The stance the girl settled into, blades hanging low, was the same as Aslan's—the same as Budongong's.
The favored stance of the second-generation Masters of Combat.
The moment the priests tensed and raised their weapons, the twin swords came at them, stitching crimson light through the empty air.