Here She Is, That Child
“Keep the image that the melody conjures in your mind vivid and clear.”
Violet was in the middle of a lesson. Yonas approached the class with utmost seriousness. His usual innocent demeanor had vanished. A gentle breeze, like the pleasant wind sweeping through mountains and fields, flowed softly into the study.
Violet gave a subtle nod of greeting to Isaac as he entered the study. Isaac nodded back in response.
The lesson didn’t last much longer.
“That’s enough for today, young master is here.”
“Huh, big bro. When did you get here?”
“A little while ago.”
Isaac grinned.
“Did you watch me play?”
“Yeah. You were doing amazing.”
“Hehe……”
Yonas beamed broadly.
“I’ve never seen anyone load mana into sound after just three days. With your talent, Second Young Master, you’d be among the best even in the Republic. At this rate, opening your spirit eye will be a breeze.”
Violet praised him. It was a bit of a shortcut, though.
Resonance with spirits was possible through spirit language based on the ancient tongue. In other words, one needed a language that could communicate with spirits. But in Yonas’s case, he used sound instead of spirit language. Specifically, music. The impressions created by tones were universal, even to spirits.
Of course, it required mana infused into those tones. Reaching that level could take some people years, even over a decade. Yet Yonas had done it in three days.
“Good work, Violet.”
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
Violet bowed and stepped aside.
“Yonas, wanna play piano together?”
“For real? Really?”
Yonas’s eyes sparkled.
Before Isaac’s unique constitution had manifested, the three of them—mother, brothers—had played piano together here every day. But after Goethe Countess left to find a cure for Isaac, and Isaac began suffering from his condition, those days were gone.
Yonas missed those times, often replaying the pieces they’d performed back then. Isaac knew it well. The music drifting from the public study whenever he passed by had always weighed heavy on his steps.
“Yeah.”
Isaac nodded, his gaze lingering on Yonas’s right hand. In his previous life, Yonas had lost that hand trying to play the lute for his sleepless brother. It had been torn off in Isaac’s mana explosion.
Terrified of hurting his own people again, Isaac had confined himself away where he couldn’t harm anyone.
“Bro?”
Yonas, now seated with the piano lid open, looked up at Isaac blankly. Then his face turned worried.
“If you’re still hurting…… we don’t have to play.”
“I’m fine. That’s not for you to worry about.”
Isaac ruffled Yonas’s hair.
—It means you can stay a kid a little longer. You can act spoiled.
For a moment, he recalled his father’s words in the carriage after Randolf’s funeral. Only now did that sentiment make sense. That was how Isaac felt looking at Yonas.
“Alright, what should we play? The Sadly Crying Dragon? Summer Waltz? Wanderer’s Song?”
“Summer Waltz!”
Yonas answered excitedly at the familiar titles.
“Then I’ll start the accompaniment.”
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Isaac began the lively bass accompaniment in three-four time.
‘When was the last time I played piano?’
The smooth, cool feel of the ivory keys. The tension with each press. The sound of hammers striking steel strings. For Isaac, it had been decades.
Yet the ingrained memory hadn’t faded. His accompaniment was steady, flawless. Over it, Yonas wove the melody. It felt like dancing, or lovers bursting into sudden laughter.
The gentle breeze picked up again. A fresh wind carrying the scent of grass.
‘As expected.’
Lesser spirits couldn’t create a wind like this.
—Brother, I wasn’t particularly gifted in magic. But I had something others didn’t. Shame it took me past forty to realize it.
That was what the elderly Yonas had said, reminiscing. It was true. Yonas’s magical talent was average, maybe a bit above.
Yet after the count’s death, Yonas had protected the city-state of Goethe until the day he gave his life for it.
—At some point, people started calling me the ‘Winter Lord.’
Now Isaac understood the meaning behind the aged Yonas’s words. The wind blowing in time with the piano melody had a source. Isaac intended to awaken the ability Yonas had discovered only at forty, starting now.
The waltz concluded on a major chord. As Yonas slowly opened his eyes, the wind died down.
“That was fun. Playing piano with you, bro.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna do a few more?”
“Sure!”
The short piano pieces they’d loved playing together long ago. Those faded memories revived in Isaac’s mind. Without conscious effort, his fingers moved first. It was joyful, like returning to cherished days.
Yonas’s emotions deepened. Denser mana rode the tones. The wind whipped fiercer.
Some pieces brought spring scents. Others carried a chill that could freeze lungs.
As Tristis Draco—known in the common tongue as The Sadly Crying Dragon—neared its end, tears welled in Yonas’s eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
“Something came to mind.”
“What?”
“People keep dying. Kids are scared. Some starve, others freeze.”
This was the moment Isaac had been waiting for.
“Do you remember who those people were?”
“Seemed like tribesfolk. They fought among themselves. Then monsters appeared sometimes……”
“Does it happen every time you play piano?”
“Not always…… just when I get lost in the music like today.”
The scenes Yonas saw weren’t his own imagination.
‘Memories from the spirit, probably.’
A spirit circled Yonas—potent but without identity. That spirit would later grant him the title Winter Lord. But now, even Violet with her spirit eye couldn’t see it. It lacked self-identity.
A spirit’s form stemmed from its identity. They needed to acknowledge its identity and give it a name. That was how to awaken Yonas’s talent.
“Yonas. In the scenes that come up when you play, is there something that always appears?”
“Huh? Always?”
Yonas echoed.
“Not just people. Maybe an object, animal, monster. Even if the music and scenes change, something that’s always the same.”
“……”
“Think carefully.”
“Oh! There was a kid.”
After much thought, Yonas spoke.
“A kid?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind? Describe them.”
“Always standing still. No expression. Short brown hair, pretty eyes.”
Yonas slowly described the child from his visions.
“Mole by the eye, dimples. Scar on the cheek……”
Too specific for mere imagination. Isaac sensed it instinctively. The child was the spirit’s anthropomorphized form, pieced from people it had seen.
“Do you know the child’s name?”
“No, I don’t.”
Yonas shook his head.
Spirit contracts began with the spirit’s true name. Calling the true name and receiving a response sealed the pact. Potent spirits each had true names—from nature’s rhythms, legends, human tongues, magical beasts’ cries, or otherworldly speech.
True names defined their identity. The spirit around Yonas had potency but no true name. It existed undefined. The reason was unknown—perhaps needing more coincidences, time, or proximity to the demon realm or Black Forest.
No need to dwell on it.
“Ever thought about a name for that child?”
“A name? Hmm, never crossed my mind.”
If no name existed, they could give one. No guarantee the spirit would like it, but worth trying.
“Then from now on, think of a name that suits the child.”
“Whew.”
Isaac woke from a nightmare in the dead of night. It was common. The mountains of challenges ahead for Goethe weighed on him, often disrupting sleep.
He opened the bedroom window. The courtyard below was pitch black. Cold wind blew in, chilling his cold sweat.
He pondered. He had to stop the spirit king’s rampage. For that, Yonas needed to contract a spirit. The one that would later earn him the title Winter Lord—undoubtedly powerful.
But was it the spirit’s excellence that brought Yonas fame, or Yonas’s own spirit arts? Unknowable now.
“If only I could get him to contract an even better spirit.”
Isaac muttered. Spirit mages could contract only one spirit, irreversible. Ideally, the finest for Yonas. But first, averting the tournament disaster.
A contract would open the spirit eye and exponentially boost mana capacity via shared power. Enough to scan all tournament visitors.
Isaac closed the window and lay back, drifting to sleep.
“Bro, bro.”
A knock at the bedroom door jolted him awake.
“Bro, bro.”
Yonas’s voice. Isaac wondered if it was a dream or a ghost’s prank. Yonas had never come to his room at night before.
“Ugh.”
Isaac rubbed his dry face and rose. Opening the door, he saw Yonas in pajamas, holding a lantern, looking up at him.
“What’s up in the middle of the night?”
“……Bro, can you come with me somewhere?”
“Where?”
“Not far from here.”
Isaac stared at Yonas. It was him—his wolf king runestone-sharpened senses confirmed his appearance, scent. No ghost, no dream.
“Where to at this hour? Wait till dawn, I’ll go with you.”
“No! It has to be now.”
Yonas grabbed Isaac’s arm, eyes desperate, rims red and swollen.
“We have to go now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“……”
Isaac scratched his forehead. His answer was decided from the start. Protecting the family and pushing Yonas toward his desired path—that was why he was here.
“Let’s go. Put on a coat, it’s cold.”
Avoiding the night guards, Isaac led Yonas out of the manor. Sneaking out was routine, thanks to past mana explosion bans.
“This way.”
Yonas took the lead. Northwest from the manor, slightly off the path to Black Goose Village.
“How do you know the way?”
Isaac asked, following Yonas’s trance-like steps. They entered a forest where ash and oak crowns nearly touched the night sky. Close to the abandoned mine haunted by winter spiders—a place Yonas wouldn’t know. Eerie.
“We’re here.”
Yonas said hoarsely, stepping off the path into underbrush.
“This direction?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll lead.”
Isaac parted the foliage in the direction Yonas pointed.
How long had they walked?
“Here.”
Yonas stopped. A clearing. Or ruins of a stone building—crumbled walls still forming a square, moss and vines entwined. Unlike dense surrounding woods, waist-high weeds centered on a lone ash tree.
“She’s here. That child.”
Yonas murmured softly.