The Meaning of a Bottle of Traditional Liquor Offered by a Northern Woman (02)
The northern region of the Claire Empire. Though it belonged to the inland, it was truly regarded as a world apart. The towering defensive lines, piled high like walls, protected the empire from potential raids while simultaneously isolating the 'North'—that separate world—from the other inland cities.
Perhaps because of this, the North cherished its old ways more than anywhere else. What people commonly called tradition—that was it. Even as time flowed on and innovations like magic arrived, nothing changed. It was a world unto itself. The North of the Claire Empire was a vast white expanse where only they roamed.
The North's festivals fell squarely within that realm of tradition. No one knew exactly when they began or how they started—the origins were lost to time. But what mattered was that they were precious customs passed down to this day. Whether they truly qualified as 'festivals' might warrant debate. Still, the northerners enjoyed them. In a place thick with tension, a chance to let loose was invaluable. Especially here, where entertainments were few and far between. Gathering in the rearmost village for a massive, warm bonfire—that alone was precious. It could reaffirm long-standing bonds. Or spark new connections. Or even bring an unexpected twist of fate.
In a dimly lit room, ruby eyes glowed in the darkness, tracing something on the table.
"Haa..."
No matter how many times she swallowed dryly, her heart wouldn't calm. Should she just stop now? She pondered long and hard, but no easy answer came.
Kalen wasn't northern-born. That fact had etched itself into her mind the moment he'd called her eyes beautiful. Call it a misunderstanding, a lie to escape the moment—it didn't matter. She'd chosen to believe it was true. The one person she could trust wouldn't betray her.
But was it right to do this to such a Kalen? He wasn't bound by northern traditions. He probably didn't even know them. Was it okay to act like this toward someone like him?
In a way, maybe she took after her father. Turning a blind eye to her own selfish heart.
Selasier gazed at the wine bottle on the table, hastily prepared and rough around the edges. If she'd known, she would've treated it with more care, like the other northern women did.
Northern traditional liquor. Wine made from the pure waters of the North and snow grapes. Every northern woman had at least one. Tended from childhood, it developed a deep, sweet flavor. But Selasier's was different from the others. Unlike those lovingly maintained, hers looked shabby and worn.
Back when she'd built walls around her heart, Selasier had resented many things. Her traditional liquor—even that had symbolized her limits, becoming one of her targets.
Selasier lifted the bottle carefully and bowed her head. If she'd cherished it like the others, maybe she'd have found more courage. The discarded wine bottle from years ago seemed to mock her now. Who are you to do this? You've only received help from him, and now you're acting so selfish?
"...Kalen."
But she couldn't help it. She hated to admit Kalen would leave someday, but it was inevitable. Just thinking about it brought cold sweat and crushing anxiety. Yet Kalen had to go. This wine bottle would be her selfish gift—a chain forged from her own greed, one he wouldn't understand.
The guilt stabbing her chest, the apologies, the gratitude... she'd spend a lifetime repaying them.
With that, Selasier left the room, clutching the shabby bottle.
The rearmost northern village. The same one Kalen had seen upon first arriving in the North. So small that people sitting in a circle created a crowded scene.
A massive bonfire blazed at the center. Around it, folks chatted amiably.
Selasier's victory in the civil war. The women Torun's heir had taken, sold into slavery. Monsters gone, making food easier to find. Rumors of sweet caramel desserts trending inland. Tales of the Rakatus lady shaking up high society.
These blooming stories created a bittersweet mood, melting everyone's chilled hearts alongside the crackling embers.
And the spot drawing the biggest crowd featured a different spectacle.
"Ha, I surrender!"
With that final declaration, quiet applause rippled around.
"Even Sir Craderus lost!"
"Amazing, Kalen~."
"Drunk already? So cute..."
Craderus sensed something rising in his gut and hastily excused himself.
In the cleared space, a boy's face appeared. Surrounded by village women, cheeks flushed, he grinned broadly—uncharacteristically cheerful.
"...Won again."
How many was that now? His head was fuzzy, so he couldn't recall. But he'd won a lot. It felt good.
At first... it had been boring. The festival started early; he'd watched people dance in the cozy atmosphere. But Selasier vanished to prepare something, leaving him alone amid strangers. So he'd just sat there.
-Hey! What're you doing by yourself?
Until nightfall, when a woman approached.
-Just sitting.
-Alone?
-Yes.
-Hmm... Wanna hang with me?
From her, conversations flowed, drawing more people. Woman after woman, village ladies giggling behind hands as they gathered. Then suddenly—
-Wanna drink?
Was this really a 'festival'? Offered alcohol he'd only seen Blamia sip. But Blamia said it was too early. Test your tolerance first. And he was still too young.
-No thank you.
-Why not?
-They said I'm too young.
-Huh?
He vividly remembered the surrounding women's peals of laughter.
-Aww, so cute. Mommy said no?
-No, but without knowing my limit...
-Scared?
Looking back, that was the trigger. The women got fired up.
-You learn by drinking. Come on, sis's arm's getting tired~.
-...Take it back.
-Huh?
Kalen shouldn't have accepted that drink from her.
-If I finish this bottle, take back calling me a scaredy-cat.
The village women exchanged glances. Then Kalen kept accepting and downing the drinks nonstop. One bottle, two, three. Word spread fast: Something fun's happening over there. Women, knights, and finally Sir Craderus—that's how it led here.
Kalen had a habit of getting excited at the word 'bet.' Even if he said it himself.
"Huu..."
Feeling his head spin, Kalen staggered up, raising a fist overhead in victory. Sober, he'd die before such a pose. But after who-knows-how-many bottles, he wasn't sober. And the women's soft head-pats only made him happier, grinning ear to ear.
A feeling he'd never known in his life.
Deep in drinking bets amid the women, he spotted someone approaching from afar. Another challenger? Face beet-red, Kalen looked up without hiding it.
The new challenger's eyes resembled beautiful rubies.
"..."
What was this absurd situation?
"Lady Selasier?"
One of the many women around Kalen asked urgently.
Vibrant wine scent. Kalen's flushed face. No need to guess what happened.
"You... fed him alcohol?"
"Yes? Oh, his reactions were so cute."
How much had they given him to end up like this? Deeply flustered, Selasier asked the key question.
"...Your homemade stuff?"
"No. If he'd had his coming-of-age rite, maybe, but he's not northern anyway. Just regular booze."
At least the worst was avoided. Selasier exhaled in relief.
Then she crouched toward Kalen, hemmed in by skirts.
"Kalen, are you all right?"
"Perfectly fine. Hic. No problems, milady."
"..."
Even now, clinging to formality. Eyes not fully glazed, so he'd remember this.
"What were you up to?"
"I made those ignorant fools grasp their place."
"...Huh?"
"All the bets today—I won them all."
Hehe. If expressions had sound, it'd be that. Kalen, whom she'd thought expressionless, beamed brightly. A fresh charm.
Selasier cleared her throat to steady her swelling heart.
"Hey, Kalen. Want me to tell you the real reason I brought you here?"
"The real reason?"
"Yes. Sorry I couldn't say sooner. Will you listen now?"
Kalen nodded.
"Guarding the Rakatus lady alone... that was just an excuse. Back then, I didn't want to think about anything."
Her soft, gentle voice spread quietly around the bonfire.
"Maybe I was exhausted. Everything felt so dark, like I wanted to give up."
Selasier smiled, but her face, lit brilliantly by the blaze, held more than joy.
"Then I heard about you. A boy possibly linked to the Rakatus lady's blossoming mental image—my own delusion amplifying it."
That final confession meant she'd fully opened her heart to Kalen.
"Maybe I could gain a mental image too. Maybe with one, I could drag down those two worthless humans. That's why it was you."
Who wouldn't tire? Solitude and loneliness gnaw at the soul. Selasier, bearing it alone for years at least, was utterly worn.
"They say trust builds on shared memories. I still can't open up to anyone but you. But still."
Suddenly, a profound wave of emotion drowned the surroundings. The crimson tide painted a breathtaking vista; no one dared breathe.
"Still, I believe your promise is real."
Selasier moved the hand she'd kept behind her back. Out came the shabby wine bottle.
From her earlier question. The emotions in her gaze at Kalen. The women shared one thought—
"Will you accept it?"
Selasier offered the bottle to Kalen. Those who knew its meaning nearly fainted.
But Kalen wasn't northern. He couldn't grasp the tradition's weight.
Staring at the bottle, Kalen stood. Selasier rose with him.
Thump, thump.
Why did watching him stare make her so tense? Her uncontrollable heartbeat threatened to deafen her.
Pop—the cork came out the instant he took it.
"Eh...?"
Kalen brought the bottle straight to his lips and chugged it all in one go.
Selasier watched her own brew slide down his throat, frozen in shock.
Even knowing he couldn't understand the gesture's meaning.
"Ah."
Emptying it, Kalen wobbled, then thud—
"Eek?!"
He toppled onto the rigid Selasier.
"S-sorry... milady."
"Haa... haa... I-I'm the big sis here..."
Monocle askew, Kalen's bare face loomed. Selasier trembled beneath the younger boy pinning her. Eyes wide, fixed on him inches away. The faint, sweet snow grape scent dizzied her.
Unable to brace in the fall, he'd pinned her hands overhead unintentionally. He grinned sheepishly.
Still, downing her bottle in one shot meant he'd won the bet—he was thrilled.
Yet he recalled her words too. Her loneliness. Clumsy comfort was worse than none, so he opted for praise.
She hated her body; complimenting it might boost her confidence.
Head fuzzy, strength gone, Kalen dropped his face beside hers. Her squirming body stilled under him.
He turned slightly, smiling unlike himself, and whispered in her ear.
"You're pretty, sis."
"..."
Kalen didn't know, but drunkenness had stripped his words bare. The whisper rippled through her mind.
The gathered crowd, drawn by her violently beautiful mental image, could only gape.
They knew.
The meaning in a northern woman offering her lifelong treasured traditional liquor to a man.
And not just accepting, but downing it on the spot.
The meaning of that one bottle from a northern woman.
'I want to spend my life with you.'
—That was it.