A Coincidence Repeated Becomes Fate
This is a story from a little while back.
“You have to learn to reconcile your ideals with reality. An ideal without the power to back it up is the most pitiful thing of all.”
A low woman's voice, ringing out bleak and cold. White, black, and gray — all of them, existing together.
The line dividing them lay tangled like rags, knotted and snarled. As if forcibly stitched together, as if sewn on by hand.
“You must accept compromise, and you must understand that a good deed does not necessarily lead to a good result.”
It was stubborn.
‘I agree that compromise is necessary, but you know as well as I do. Push forward blindly, and you'll simply break.’
This time it was a clear, elegant woman's voice, ringing out deep. It resembled the previous voice, yet was unmistakably softer than the low one.
“That is exactly why they must be made to understand. Otherwise, they will surely become addicted to their own goodness. Without weighing their position, their circumstances, they will wield goodwill as a shield for nothing but their own peace of mind.”
The low woman's voice deepens.
That conduct — not wavering a single inch regarding themselves — made it plain that they possessed a firmly rooted inner self, untouched by outside influence.
And so they believed their faith, their will, their actions to be correct in the present. It was why they could hold to such an unyielding stance.
“In the end, they will stop believing in goodness, and start believing in themselves — the one who believes in goodness.”
‘Then do you wish for him to become the black?’
“At the very least, he needs to perceive reality. That is my doctrine.”
Flickering — like a dying flashlight that sheds light only in intermittent bursts — the space the two presences shared kept blinking out, repeating its blackouts over and over.
It implied that their time was running short. Both of them sensed, instinctively, that they were soon to part.
“Just as light and shadow always coexist, a world of light alone cannot exist.”
Yet as if such things were familiar, neither wavered in the slightest. They simply exchanged their voices in quiet turns.
‘But even so, it is also true that when darkness falls, there exists on the far side of it a vivid shaft of light, kindled to push the dark back.’
And the last word belonged to the clear, elegant voice.
The sun still hung in the sky, and its light shone down brightly upon us.
“A week ago, maybe — I got chased out of the Library.”
“I'm sorry — why?”
“Just... my previous line of work.”
“Ah...”
I didn't press any further. She was too sharp for that. She had almost certainly already drawn a clear line between the Zeo before the possession and the Zeo standing here now.
“By the way, I heard Tocalos has been pulling people out of organizations lately. Do you know anything about that?”
“Ah, yes. Recently, an organization called Tocalos has been siphoning members away from Shatrira.”
“...So I wasn't hearing things for nothing.”
“Tocalos is characterized by a well-established division of authority, unlike this side. It's nothing like Shatrira, where everything collapses the moment the Master — the single point of unity — falls.”
Along the way, we also took the chance to clear up the questions I had been stacking up. I was well aware myself of just how starved I was for information.
With that, I came to understand the organization called Tocalos, the one I'd heard about at the last gathering — and at the same time, I thought it again. This really was my chance.
Remove the Master alone, and Shatrira would surely crumble.
As I turned this over in my mind, I noticed her slowly scanning our surroundings. When our eyes met, she faltered, just slightly.
But she soon shook her head as if it were nothing. She looked like someone searching for something.
“So the difference is brute-force oppression versus divided power.”
“Exactly. In the end, Shatrira is a group held together by nothing but their Master's personal strength and the leverage of his hold over them.”
As she spoke, she glanced at me once more, then turned her head away.
I wanted to ask, but I figured she must have her reasons for so clearly signaling her refusal, so I let it pass.
“I'm afraid it's about time we parted ways.”
Her voice was as bright as ever — the kind of voice that makes the listener shine in turn — but for once, I couldn't manage the same.
It had been nearly two weeks since we'd last met, and I couldn't help but regret that we were parting again so soon.
“Can't we just do the mission together?”
“Please understand. Today is a day for you to have time that belongs to you alone.”
With that, she gave her own head a light little tap. I understood at once. Out of that lingering disappointment, my head dipped slightly.
“Rest. Read a book if you like, or help someone. Doing absolutely nothing at all wouldn't be bad either.”
Smiling gently once more, she took a single step back. I didn't reach out to stop her.
Regret remained, certainly — but I had no right to be so selfish as to hold her back.
“I'll tell them we completed the mission together, so don't worry. Today, just for once, enjoy some time that's entirely your own.”
“...I feel like all I ever do is owe you.”
“Oh, it's nothing, really.”
I thanked her again and again for her unending consideration. She remained humble as ever, and the very act of it made Robin shine all the brighter.
She, too — if only she had been like that, I thought, comparing.
“Ah, one last thing, Zeo.”
The hour of farewell — the word last fell on my ears with a strange ache. Keeping a little distance between us, we began our final conversation.
“Remember this. You did not compromise your goodness.”
She placed a hand over her chest. The spot where the heart is conventionally believed to dwell — a gesture saturated with intent.
Then she reached out. Her hand parted the empty air and came to rest upon my chest. Thump, thump — the place where my heart, my mind, existed.
The place where warmth gathered, where I could feel its heat.
“Because you know how to compromise — that is precisely why your goodness is goodness.”
I didn't answer. I simply held the shape of a smile, quiet and still.
I knew that answering here would only spoil the moment.
“I hope next time we can see each other sooner.”
“Don't worry. I'm always watching.”
Calmly, I accepted the parting. We turned our backs and walked in opposite directions, yet neither of our steps carried any lingering regret or hesitation.
“......”
And still, I suspected — that fleeting, weightless smile was something she carried too.
After we parted, I let my thoughts drift at their own pace — about the freedom I had been denied these recent days.
There were no chains pressing down on me now. Thanks to her help, I could truly savor time that belonged to me alone.
Thanking her once more in my heart, I picked up a light, buoyant stride.
Today, truly, was a promised day of victory — whatever I did, it would leave me satisfied.
“...All right. First, a book.”
First, I settled firmly on my purpose and my destination.
The Artamel Archives, to the south — the closest, the most unremarkable place to slip into, since anywhere else would turn me away at the door.
Today, I was truly going to read. At my ease, worrying over nothing, entangled with no one.
“Th-theif! Thief!”
And with that sharp cry ringing out from directly to my right, my resolve shattered on the spot.
My pupils contracted. It was instinct. My eyes were already turning toward the source of the sound — the opposite direction from my destination.
I'd forgotten entirely what I'd been thinking mere seconds ago. The scene imprinted on my pupils, the information gathered at first glance, came to exactly two items.
One — a man fleeing with a decently sized bag.
Two — a middle-aged woman shouting in flustered alarm at the sight of him.
I assembled the pieces fast. Pickpocket. My feet were already moving.
My eyes swept the ground for something to throw. The first thing to catch them was a stone of just the right size — I snatched it up in haste.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, I threw. Crack — the clean sound of the impact was unforgettable.
“...Kgh.”
With that pitiful, last-gasp groan, the thief crumpled where he stood. I walked over unhurriedly and picked up the bag.
The man's fate would no doubt be handled by the guards who'd come running at the report, so there was no need for me to touch him.
Besides, I had neither the authority nor the right to punish anyone in the first place.
“Here — you're the owner of this bag, I take it?”
“Oh — no, young man, not me. It belongs to that young lady over there.”
I handed the item to the middle-aged woman who'd shouted first, but unfortunately, I'd guessed wrong. Her finger pointed to someone just behind her.
Following it, I found a figure draped in a robe of strangely unfamiliar shape.
The one the middle-aged woman had called a young lady — strangely, my eyes couldn't quite resolve her.
So I drew a little closer. The hand she extended was slender and fine.
“Thank you, truly.”
The woman's voice — why did it sound so familiar? While I stood faltering in a flicker of bewilderment, she drew down her hood and revealed her face.
Red — revealed at once. Far too deep a shade to be called a pair of gems. I lost myself in that piercing crimson.
“...You are—”
Her voice was soft and unhurried, yet firm beneath. Even having just been robbed, she showed not a trace of fluster — a composure that struck me as strange, yet not entirely strange.
No — this wasn't a matter of strange or familiar at all. This was a figure I knew.
It had been only a little while ago, after all — someone I had met amid an event so enormous I could never forget it.
“A coincidence... perhaps?”
“You could call it that. Though when a coincidence happens twice, it may well be inevitability.”
And with that, she smiled. Small as the smile was, it held unmistakably living, moving emotion.
A reaction so unlike that time — my pupils trembled, but that trembling belonged to me alone. She merely gazed at me, smiling gently.
I knew this woman. There was no way I could forget her.
The red-eyed woman I had saved, days ago, from the bomb's test of its power.
That blood-red gaze seeped into me, and a faint blossom settled upon her lips.
“That makes the second debt I owe you now, doesn't it.”