After a quarter of an hour’s walk went by in silence, Zephyrin and Rose came near the end of their modest journey. Zephyrin regarded the swollen banks of the Fonnan river, replenished almost to overflowing by unusually heavy autumn rains after the summer drought. The small wooden bridge they would have been able to employ in ordinary circumstances—an assortment of planks crudely nailed together, really—had been swept away by the river’s unexpected rise. It was more than a shame; Rose’s village was just on the other side of it. Turning and giving her a sidelong glance, he said, “Looks like we’ll have to keep traveling up river for a while longer.”

Rose tilted her head confusedly, then smiled. “What’re ye talkin’ ‘bout, Sephrin? There’s no need for that! We kin cross right ‘ere!”

And so saying, without even hiking up her plain brown dress, the peasant girl began wading into the rapidly coursing waters before Zephyrin could utter a word of protest…only, rather than being submerged, her feet continued showing above the river’s glossy surface. Zephyrin stared stupidly at the sight, trying to make sense of it. His eyes widened as the realization hit him. Rose…

Was walking on water. Or more precisely, was walking with a protective enveloping of mana around her feet. Maintaining a consistent level of resistance, she kept herself high and dry over the water…

“What the…” Zephyrin breathed. He stared, rooted to the ground in shock, his thoughts a jumbled mess. What was the meaning of this? How could a baseblood…? He opened his mouth to call out to Rose, but stopped as she turned of her own accord at the midpoint of the river. Raising her distaff-cum-crook aloft, Rose gave it a wave; then, she brought her fingers to her lips and let out a sharp whistle.

Pricking up their ears, her faithful flock began proceeding over the aquatic way, their hooves encased by similar, bubble-shaped layers of mana, making it seem for all the world like they were shod with little shoes…

Beholding this spectacle, Zephyrin let out a choked sort of snort. Was it more comical than awe-inspiring, or the other way around? He couldn’t say. As he mutely watched the strange procession, Rose, who had reached the other shore without his noticing, now gestured with her make-shift crook again. “C’mon, Zephyrin!”

With a start, he realized that Rose’s mana enveloped his own feet now! He took a tentative step forward, then stopped before entering the water.

“Ah… never mind that, Rose!” he called out. “I want to try crossing myself!”

Rose cocked her head, then smiled. The mana around Zephyrin’s feet dissipated. Raising his hand, Zephyrin experimentally wove a stream of mana around his feet. When the results struck him as satisfactory, he cautiously but optimistically stepped into the water.

*splosh*

“…”

A laggard sheep quizzically regarded the boy standing ankle deep in the river for no reason it could discern, then trotted past him to rejoin its fellows. Zephyrin contemplated his boots, full to the brim with river-water. This…was harder than it seemed. One had to maintain a consistent, circulatory flow of mana while also accounting for the shifting of weight as one advanced. He had exercised his mana control with his hands extensively these past few years, but applying it to his feet was a first. Still, this should be doable; if Rose could do it, then surely he, as a descendant of kings!…

*splosh*

As he failed a second time, and then a third, Zephyrin reflected on the absurd level of concentration required to shod with mana a good two dozen or so sheep, practically all at the same time. Calculating the weight of each individual sheep, adjusting one’s mana output based on that, as well as their pace…

Zephyrin shook his head. And here he was, unable to provide for himself. Lifting his eyes to the opposite bank, he had the meager consolation of seeing that his struggles weren’t the object of a rapt audience’s attention. While the bulk of her sheep were milling about, Rose had unconcernedly resumed her weaving.

And the sun wasn’t far off from its zenith, he realized with a sudden queasy sensation. He didn’t have time to spare.

Zephyrin cupped his hands. “Rose!”

The girl immediately perked her head up, looking his way inquisitively.

“Can you help me cross?” Zephyrin called out, his voice sounding particularly hapless in his own ears. Even from here he could perceive the look Rose gave him, as if to say, ‘what took you so long?’ Rising to her feet, she dusted off her dress and lifted up her distaff again. As she did so, Zephyrin saw a bright blue glow emanate from it, then coil round his feet for the second time. He waited a moment, then stepped forward gingerly into the water. He stood motionless above the fast-flowing water. Steadily, neither hurrying nor delaying, Zephyrin crossed over to the other side, where his benefactress was waiting expectantly… or rather, mischievously.

“What’re ye thinkin’ ‘bout, Sephrin?” Rose grinned, swinging back and forth on her feet as she held her distaff behind her back.

“That if my career takes a botanical turn and I ever discover a flower, I’ll commemorate this crossing by naming it ‘sheep’s-slippers’.”

Rose laughed gaily. “That’s a droll name, that is!”

Zephyrin smiled, but soon adopted a serious attitude. “Rose,” he began, “How did you learn to do that? Did someone teach you?”

She shook her head vigorously. “It’s Fengar Who helps me! ‘Ee rules the tides wi’ Mother, so a wee rill’s naught tae him!”

“Fengar… I see.” Zephyrin scrutinized the baseblood girl dubiously for a moment, then sighed. As someone who had been granted a new life by the direct intervention of the goddess, he could hardly cast doubt on her claims that the deity had given her a helping hand.

As he considered her words, Zephyrin suddenly thought he understood why Rose and her flock had never been troubled by wolves. The beasts would surely sense a prodigious flow of mana—but no, when he extended his own mana, he encountered…nothing. There was no resistance, not even the slightest response. The core of mana in her heart was practically inert. Even by baseblood standards, Rose was thoroughly and irremediably devoid of ability. So, how was it possible that she had pulled off such a marvel?…

Zephyrin tapped his chin, deep in thought. Another mystery to add to the list. If he were to ever uncover the specifics of his rebirth, deepening his knowledge of baseblood aptitude in the noble arts would surely follow. Of course, another consideration was the…

Rose’s voice broke him out of his musings. “So… kin we get goin’, Sephrin?”

“Ah. Yes, of course.”

They renewed their march, and the river receded behind them. As they advanced, it wasn’t long before the forest thinned and ultimately gave way to open farmlands, similar in size but more level than those Zephyrin was accustomed to seeing around Estrelti, rocky and uneven as that area’s terrain was. Just before they reached the road leading back to Rose’s homestead, Zephyrin stopped.

“Rose, I have something important to tell you. Please listen very carefully to what I have to say. For Alys, as well as the other villages… there are some difficult times ahead. I don’t mean another poor harvest,” he added, as Rose opened her mouth to speak, “I’m talking about something worse. Much worse. But you have to be strong. You have to continue to trust, even when things seem hopeless. All right? Though things will get really bad, it won’t be long before a new ruler sets things right. You have to wait until then. It’ll just be a little while.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Zephyrin wondered if ‘a little while’ was an apt description of a roughly decade-long period, but telling a child that her world would only regain normalcy once she attained womanhood seemed a poor alternative, and one only likely to discourage her.

Meanwhile, Rose fidgeted. “Are ye that man, Sephrin?” she asked. “That ruler who’ll fix things?”

A smile briefly rose to Zephyrin’s lips. He shook his head. “No. But I aim to support him. And together, he and I will change this country.”

Rose nodded slowly. Then, she exclaimed, “Ye ‘ave to protect the king, Sephrin!”

Zephyrin kept his face expressionless. Protect the king? A mere two years removed from now, Rudolf XIII would be held captive and basebloods would be administering the country in his stead; there was nothing he could do that that… recognizing that Rose wouldn’t take no for an answer, however, he reluctantly said, “I’ll… see what I can do.”

Rose seemed appeased by his answer. Zephyrin insisted: “Don’t draw attention to yourself, do you hear me? No matter what. Lie low until it all blows over—and blow over it shall. You just need to stay safe until then.”

Albeit with a touch of uncertainly, Rose nodded again. “Awright, Sephrin. I promise.”

“Good.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, with Zephyrin wondering why he found it so difficult to find words with this baseblood girl at times. Back in Elysia with the old nobility, his tongue had never failed to supply a steady stream of chatter… finally, he remarked on the moon-flowers Rose was still clutching in her hand, apart from those in her satchel. “Are you going to sell those?”

“Eh! D’ye think me pa a shiftless layabout, Sephrin? These’re a gift,” was her good-natured reproach.

“A gift? For whom?”

Rose took in Zephyrin’s uncomprehending expression for a moment, then grinned. “Yer clever, Sephrin, but sometimes ye can be slower than a cock is tae give chase tae a fox, if ye don’t mind me sayin’. Why, they’re fer ye!” And with that, she offered him the bouquet.

Zephyrin blinked. “For… me?”

“Aye. Since yer leavin’ an’ all…” Rose’s expression became wistful for a moment; then, she practically shoved the flowers into Zephyrin’s hands. “I want ye to ‘ave these!”

“Thank you,” he said bemusedly. Knowing Rose would simply ‘pshaw!’ away further thanks, he then merely inclined his head in gratitude as she nodded, giving him a gap-toothed, contented grin.

After that, the conversation took a more light-hearted, if faintly melancholic tone as the pair wished each other well, then bid their last farewells. Before leaving, Zephyrin told the girl in no uncertain terms she should ask for help if her step-mother continued to give her trouble. Rose merely smiled, then reminded Zephyrin he had a train to catch—though what a train was, she couldn’t say exactly. Shortly after, taking his leave of the girl and her woolly charges, Zephyrin turned eastward and began retracing his steps to Estrelti.

Zephyrin offered his cheek to his mother as she bent down to give him a farewell kiss. His parents had accompanied him as far as the main street of the village, where the driver and diligence were waiting. Abbé Beauvran would come along with half a dozen other passengers, accompanying Zephyrin as far as Kalonis—allowing him to catch up with an old friend in the city, he said—after which Zephyrin would part ways with him to embark on a train for Lutesse.

Zephyrin returned his mother’s gaze steadily as she withdrew. “Don’t worry, mother. I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know,” Mari said quietly. “I know ‘ow strong ye are.”

Zephyrin took in this seemingly innocuous remark at face value at first, then frowned. Something in his mother’s gaze, in her tone, implied that her words carried some unspoken significance. Just as he opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, however—

“Well? Well?! Does the lad want to take the capital by storm or does he have a heretofore unsuspected fondness for ruminating bovines?!” Abbé Beauvran struck the ground with his cane repeatedly, enthusiastically sacrificing his ecclesiastical dignity to the false gods of his caprice and impatience. “Hey, hey, don’t dilly-dally! dilly won’t wait for the tally!” he hummed, now making rapid revolutions with his cane.

“H-He’s comin’, Father,” said Judoc apologetically.

Having watched the scene of farewells up until now in silence, Uncle Erwan now took his hand off his gray-streaked beard to clap Zephyrin on the back. “Don’t forget us small folk after ye come into yer kingdom, yer lordship!” he chuckled. Zephyrin smiled wordlessly in response. The day of his departure had come at last, after a wait that had often assumed exceedingly great proportions, yet now seemed very short indeed. For the first time, Zephyrin thought of his second life as a finite thing, rather than as a substitute for immortality. Time was passing, and this life too would come to an end. He only happened that this time, it would only be after he achieved what was needed of him.

As Zephyrin climbed into the carriage, then craned his neck out the window to wave goodbye to family and home, he was hit hard by the realization that for all his foreknowledge and ability to anticipate the events to come, he no more than his adoptive parents could say whether he would ever lay eyes on them again.