The Master Endures as an Adult
The dragon egg was on the move.
Roll, roll~
It was rolling its own body(?) along.
"I told you not to get around like that…"
Roll, roll~
Even after I'd warned it more times than I could count, it kept right on as if to declare, I'm fine!
"What a stubborn little thing."
I'd tried everything to persuade Rhea—the dragon egg currently tumbling her body(?) across the floor—that she might get hurt if she kept this up. None of it had landed. Adults always used to say there was nothing more terrifying than a child's stubbornness, and no wall more unbreakable. Their words weren't always right… but they weren't always wrong, either. Looking after Rhea had forced that particular lesson home.
Still, she's probably just frustrated.
No matter how carefully you choose your words—how much you think of the child, worry for the child, speak for the child's sake—those words cannot solve the child's frustration or pain. No matter how full of heart they may be, words are only words. They appear in this world for a moment and vanish. They possess no physical force, no power to fix anything.
So no matter how much you talk to a child, words remain only words. They can never become a solution.
From an adult's perspective, that is an endlessly frustrating and painful truth. The simplest, most certain tool loses its function entirely.
But what else can you do?
That, too, is a domain an adult must endure. An unborn baby, or one only just arrived, is far too precious and far too innocent for anything like sin to exist.
Roll, roll, roll~
"If you can move that much, shouldn't you just break out of the egg already?"
I had done everything I could to learn about dragon eggs, but there were limits. Dragons had vanished long ago, and with them, the knowledge that might have survived. In the end, this was something human strength alone could not solve. I would need the help of another race. Unlike humans, who die quickly and forget just as fast, the long-lived races often retained ancient information intact. The problem was that even the information guilds found it difficult to extract knowledge from those races.
Come to think of it, I did have a connection to someone who had faced dragons directly.
"Right. The World Tree might know something."
…But I had no way to contact her.
Besides, the dragons had once invaded unilaterally just to taste the World Tree's fruit, and the two sides had clashed. Their relationship had never been particularly warm. Digging up old grudges for no good reason felt wrong somehow.
"Well, she's this healthy. Probably nothing to worry about."
Roll~ roll~
As if agreeing with me, the dragon egg Rhea gave a little bounce of response.
Honestly.
Maybe children really are impossible to hate.
Inside the World Tree's barrier, the elves had been gathering more and more often lately, their faces grave as they held discussions.
"She seems weak again today, doesn't she?"
"But Mother was never exactly overflowing with energy to begin with."
"Even someone as dense as you must have noticed something's changed."
"Well… that's true, but…"
It all came down to the World Tree—the being who was, to them, as close to a god as anything could be.
The barrier itself had not weakened. Nothing outward had changed. But to the elves, the World Tree was never merely a guardian deity watching over them. She was family: always at their side, always caring for them, always listening to their stories.
And now that she seemed somehow drained of strength, of course they worried.
I've made these children fret over nothing.
The World Tree reflected on herself.
But even so, there was nothing she could do.
The "illness" she had contracted was simply that kind of thing.
She had fallen ill.
She was the World Tree, and the World Tree was special—immune to ordinary disease. So the sickness that had taken hold of her was not one that afflicted the body. No: the illness she carried was a sickness of the heart, one that struck deep into the spirit.
Lovesickness, to be precise.
How ridiculous I am.
In all the long ages of her existence, nothing like this had ever happened. As the World Tree—a being set apart—she had watched countless remarkable figures leave their great marks upon history. Yet not once among them had she felt this emotion. She had believed love simply did not exist within her. Affection for her children, yes—the fondness that found them adorable. But that burning feeling directed toward another as a man? That, she had been certain, was not hers.
How ignorant and arrogant that certainty had been. She understood it now with painful clarity. Even a life of endless years and endless experience could still leave pockets of ignorance. This affair had taught her that lesson thoroughly.
If I used even a fraction of my power, I could go to him whenever I wished…
Simply close her eyes.
Think that she wanted to.
And she would see him.
Face that man.
Reach him directly.
But I must not…
The will to grow stronger in order to protect what is precious can take root. At the same time, that precious thing becomes the most powerful weakness of all—a noose around one's own throat.
For the elven children, she had methods. Other versions of herself, sacrificed across countless regressions, had left knowledge behind. But for him, there was nothing. The closer she drew to him, the more she reached for him, the fewer means she would have to keep him safe. If she truly cared for him, the only answer was distance. Knowing that, even as her heart felt ready to tear and wither, she had to endure.
She was an adult of this world, after all.
To endure, to restrain oneself, to bear it—that was what an adult was supposed to do. It was more natural for an adult to endure than for a child.
If something is truly precious, you must protect it no matter what.
To live a long life
means to have witnessed countless tragedies.
And so the World Tree knew better than anyone:
There is no law that says goodwill returns as goodwill.
There is no law that says an act of goodwill will be met with a fitting result.
Goodwill can lead to tragedy. Goodwill can be answered with betrayal.
Effort does not guarantee a fitting reward. Effort does not guarantee that hope will answer in kind. No one can promise that.
Goodwill can be betrayed. Goodwill can return as despair.
That is the world.
And in such a world, if there is something truly precious that you wish to protect—
you must become ruthless.
Even if you could stretch out your hand at any moment simply by deciding to, if you truly mean to protect what is precious, you must willingly lower that hand.
You must clench your fist and hold on. Even if your nails dig into flesh and blood runs down, you must not open that hand and reach.
If you truly care for that person, the right course is obvious: do everything in your power to reduce even the possibility of danger to him.
"…I miss him."
Today, once again, the World Tree crushed down the aching longing in her chest and fought her hard battle against herself. And today, once again, she would win. She would keep winning. The one she loved was strong enough that conquering her own desire for Jade's sake was the natural choice for her—the result she could, and would, always produce.
That was when it happened.
"Mother."
"Welcome, Great Chieftain."
The Great Chieftain of the elves had come.
"Will you not tell me what is truly the matter?"
"I told you, I'm fine."
"…Which means you have no intention of answering my question."
To that, the World Tree only smiled—her answer given without words.
"As you instructed, Mother, I sent the children out in secret. Just as you said, the human world seems to be changing rapidly."
At those words, the World Tree smiled. Exactly as she had expected, the Hero was preparing quickly. To protect the world from the Demon King's army, she was reshaping the human nations to match. If that was so, then the World Tree herself could not simply stand still.
"Great Chieftain."
"Yes, Mother."
"It seems the time has come for us to change as well."
"If that is your word, Mother, we are ready to do anything."
"Thank you."
"Those words alone are more than enough—more than we could ever need."
The World Tree smiled.
She would do everything in her power to protect the world.
For the children who cherished her and strove so hard, and for the man she held so dear in her heart—
she needed to gain nothing in return.
Even if she were torn to shreds, burned completely to ash—
it would not matter.
Even if she disappeared,
what she left behind
would sprout new shoots
and dress this world in green and beauty.
That was the resolve of an adult who had existed in this world for so long, determined to protect what was precious.