1

Itaka Izumi was looking at a house. It was a two-story cottage with a little porch facing south. The walls had been painted baby blue once upon a time. The damp sea air had run its course, causing the paint to flake and peel off in many places, showing underneath a boarding burned dark gray by the sun. The cottage had to have been some decades old. On the upside, the roof seemed mostly intact, properly paneled, with a sturdy chimney of red brick sticking through. A bit eroded, but undeniably standing, and not shaking even a little in the firm western gale. There was a proper drainage system installed as well, with gutters of patinated aluminum, and drain pipes in the corners. Passing around the house, Izumi could see that none of the square windows were broken or missing, though the glasses were quite thin, single-layered, and stained opaque.

There was something of a vegetable garden in the slightly sloping front yard, a plot of dug-up dirt in the southeastern corner, neglected and wild. A short distance north from there, nearly conquered by tall, densely growing nettles, was a little hen house. Inside were only clumps of moldy hay, heaps of dried-up bird excrement, and—fortunately—no sign of live poultry.

Some fifty yards further up north from there was an outhouse. It would require recurring clearing and was bound to get quite uncomfortable in winter, or storm. Of course, having an indoors bathroom with proper sewering was too much asked, given the circumstances.

In the backyard was a round stone well, appropriately covered with a rock lid. There was even a cast iron pump set up, antique, but serviceable. The water that came up looked clear enough after a few, robust pulls and smelled only faintly of earth.

A flimsy fence went around the property, barely three feet tall, only two boards across with tilted supports, rotten and toppled in places. It was going to take some craftsmanship to make it presentable. Not that there was much trouble to be expected with the neighbors. The closest of them was almost half a mile to the west, down the barren cape land, where not a single tree grew to obstruct the view.

It couldn’t even be called a village. Just a solitary line of rundown cabins facing the sea, like the stoic Moai heads of the immeasurably remote Easter Island, their original makers and purpose lost in the flow of time. The nearest proper town, Mescala, was six miles away, but the trip was not too bad with a horse. Even if the grounds were difficult to defend, the odds of being ambushed were low.

Moreover, the view made up for any shortcomings.

Some half a mile from the front yard southward, one could behold a breathtaking panorama of the ocean shore, which the low sand ridges, tufts of sun-bleached grass, or the sparse cottages did little to spoil. No cruise ships, sports boats, ski jets, surfers, or holiday swimmers were there to degrade the scenery. It was the very image of timeless peace and quiet.

Holding back her opinion for now, Izumi went to have a closer look inside the house.

The interior looked slightly better than the facade.

The first floor was mostly open, something of a joined vestibule, living room, and dining room. The previous residents had left basic furniture, a wardrobe, armchairs, tables, drawers, stools, a wooden bench with a backrest—more than was needed by one person. Izumi felt the south-east corner of the living room was practically begging for a TV, but would probably have to remain empty.

Closed off with walls in the northwest corner was a kitchen, with a robust stone oven. While cooking, it could simultaneously warm up the whole house. Next to the open kitchen door, directly facing the entrance, was a narrow staircase up to the second floor, making a tight U-turn along the way. The stairs bent a little and made painful cries on each step, but supported the weight of a person well enough.

On the second floor was an empty landing, followed by a bedroom directly ahead, as well as a storage room on the right. The cramped storage was fortunately empty, save for a dusty old shelf, a chair, a broom, and a rusted bucket with a hole in the bottom. With a bit of cleaning, it could, in theory, be made into a guest room. Not that there were any guests to be expected.

That appeared to be the full deal.

No electricity, no running water, as expected. No refrigerators, nor air conditioning. In one corner of the kitchen, there was a rock-lined little pit dug under the floor, a bit cooler than the surface air, where to keep the easily spoiled goods. No real basement, where to stuff pickles or dirty secrets. No central heating. No bath. It was going to take some getting used to, but the place appeared otherwise deceptively close to any civilized human dwelling. Most importantly, the locals knew nothing about ancient prophecies, spirits, witches, monsters, or summoned heroes. One could probably do a lot worse.

Making up her mind, Izumi returned to the ground floor, to the local agent, who had shown her the house.

“How much was it again?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“But three hundred silver,” the man replied, wiping his hands, “and the keys to this lovely residence are in your pocket.”

“In what world is this lovely?” Izumi retorted. “I’ll pay you a hundred, and that’s—”

“—Deal,” the man quickly replied, and Izumi realized she’d been fooled.

It was borderline impossible for an outsider like her to guess how much such a house was really worth. There were no controlled markets. The currency had no set value but varied wildly from region to region. A sum that made one king in a secluded corner of the land wouldn’t buy her a pair of shoes in a big city.

But Izumi had money by any measure.

Sighing, assuring herself that it didn’t matter, she counted the coins on the kitchen table. In exchange, she signed the sales contract, in three copies, received a certificate of ownership, and the key to the house, with one spare. Once the necessary formalities were taken care of, the estate agent wasted no time taking his leave and rode back to the town, leaving Izumi to get to know her new home better. She could only hope no one would come to ask about her insurances.

That was it.

For the first time in her life, Izumi owned property.

Back in her home world, she had lived in a cramped studio flat owned by her parents, where she had been graciously allowed to stay without having to pay rent, under the conditions that she didn’t bother anyone, and never asked for more money. Recalling that box of compressed depression, she shivered in loathing, and moved on to give her new residence a closer look.

First things first, it was in dire need of cleaning.

In the lack of better equipment, Izumi picked up the broom from the storage, opened all the windows, and carried out a thorough sweeping and airing out, cleared corners where dust had accumulated, and shook the cobwebs off the ceiling. She then took a disposable rag from her backpack, got water from the well, and cautiously wiped the tables, desks, and shelves. The mattress in the bedroom was covered in mold. She would have to buy a new one, and bed clothes too.

Suspending the cleanup for a moment, Izumi got a pen and paper, sat at the kitchen table, and started to make a shopping list. It was going to be a long one. While traveling and camping, she had made do with the base essentials, but this was a proper home, it had to be made comfortable.

After all, she was going to stay there for the rest of her life.

“…It sure is quiet,” Izumi said aloud, tapping the table with the pen end.

Ever since she had first appeared in this strange world, she’d always had someone for company, someone to make noise, the bard at least, if nobody else. Now, she was completely alone and the silence was on par for the course. Just like back home. She wasn’t yet sure if she liked it or not. It felt different from the old.

Fresh pillows. Blankets. A mattress. A new toothbrush. A broom. A whole bucket, or two, or three. Towels. Food. Plates, cups. Utensils. Could a carpenter craft her some chopsticks? Hammer, nails, to do a bit of fixing. Pliers. Shears. Work gloves. Lanterns. Candles. A lot of candles. Firewood, of course. New, inconspicuous civilian clothing. Work clothes. An apron. A wheelbarrow, for gardening. Yes, and a shovel. A rake. Masamune wasn’t going to be able to carry all of that anymore in saddlebags, a proper cart was needed. Ah, naturally, horse feed too. Speaking of which, she was going to need someone to build an animal shelter. There was more than enough space west of the house, but it was probably a better idea to hire a professional than try to build it herself.

Treating her cottage as a casual mini-game, Izumi got to work.

The following days were exceedingly busy from daybreak to dusk, as Izumi began to terraform her neglected property into something habitable by a civilized 21st century human. She began the task by gathering all the garbage, broken furniture, rotten mattresses, carpets, pillows, clothes, and other worthless leftovers of the previous occupants, piled them up outside in the yard, and burned them. She went on to torch the hen house the same way, seeing as it was likely a nest of diseases, and she had no plans to rear chicken.

When this was all done, Izumi went on to scrub the house from top to bottom, carefully examining every nook and cranny, blocking suspicious openings whence mice or other pests were liable to invade. She cleaned the windows, fixed the worst parts of the wall, cleaned the oven, found the chimney clogged, had to go hire a sweeper, and experienced various other, unavoidable trouble along the way. She found a carpenter shop in the town to build her the horse shelter, and an additional compartment for firewood alongside, but postponed repainting the cottage.

By the end of each day, Izumi went to bed dead tired and spent, but also mysteriously content. She had enjoyed traveling, but as a born city dweller and a shut-in, sticking to one spot like a tree suited her best. And though she was alone, she felt fulfilled in a way she had never known before in her odd life.

Though the shore was close by, the sound of waves didn’t carry into the bedroom. The walls were intact and steady, the windows held wind. She was in no hurry to go anywhere. Nobody wanted or needed her. She missed nothing, free of all societal obligations and expectations. It was the freedom she had always dreamed about.

“I made a good purchase,” she muttered to herself, going to sleep. “For once.”

2

When the cottage itself was in a passable condition, Izumi turned her attention to the front yard. It was anything but pleasant to look at, with thick, tall tufts of half-dried grass, and some unidentified, ragged bushes spotting the land between strips of bare gravel. There had likely been a flower bed near the middle of the yard once, around a path leading from the fence to the porch. But by now, the flowers had spilled all over the place, and no sign of the path could be seen. It was a complete mess. A lawnmower wasn’t going to help things much, even if she had one.

But the aesthetics were a secondary concern. Before that came the problem of sustainable living.

Izumi began her efforts with the garden plot. She cleared away the invading nettles, thistles, and other unwanted plants. Then, she examined the vegetables, trying to discern which could still be saved and cultivated to eat, and which were better dug up and thrown away. In a world without dependable grocery stores, her quality of life was going to depend on how much she could produce on her own. Fortunately, Mescala had a decent marketplace, and Izumi had money. There was no need to strive for total self-sufficiency. Rearing plants that could be stored for winter, to keep a small reserve in case of emergency, was probably enough.

As Izumi spent more time working outdoors in the following days, she also got to learn more about her neighbors in the process.

In a cabin near the tip of the cape lived a little old woman, short, withered, and lean. She was at least in her seventies if not older, borderline blind and deaf. Despite her high age and declining physique, the lady could often be seen treading along the coastal road, slowly, leaning on a flimsy cane, on her way to the markets. The trip took her the whole day. The road went right past Izumi’s house, and she would see the woman going eastward at sunrise, and return west late in the evening, carrying her few findings in a bag woven of wood bark, the sun ever on her back.

Why didn’t the senior buy enough food to last more than one day at a time? Of course, because the load would have then been too heavy for her to carry. She couldn’t afford to hire anyone to shoulder the load for her either, and most of her goods were likely only alms and scraps.

One morning, Izumi called out to the woman and proposed that whatever was needed, she could get for her at the same time as she did her own shopping and deliver it home, seeing as she had a horse and a cart now, sparing the old woman the trouble.

But either the old lady couldn’t hear her, or simply didn’t care enough to pay heed. She kept trudging on without stopping, ignoring Izumi entirely.

“Well, to each their own,” Izumi remarked with a shrug and wouldn’t renew her offer. She was not a hero, after all, and even calling her a good person was surely pushing it.

The closest of the neighbors proved more talkative.

Down the road from the town one afternoon came a man riding a big carriage with two horses. He was in his early fifties or thereabouts, dressed quite civilly, in a white shirt, a green vest, clean trousers, and knee-high boots, and appeared quite well-off. He had a simple tarpaulin hat on his head, and little round spectacles on his hooked nose, which were something of a rarity in these lands, and generally a sign of higher education.

Seeing Izumi outside, tilling the garden soil, the man stopped his ride right by the fence. For a while, he said nothing, nor would he get down from the driver’s perch, but simply sat and stared at her, holding the reins. It got fairly awkward, so Izumi halted her hoe and greeted the man,

“Morning?”

“Good morning,” the man now spoke, in a heavy, unhurried voice. “You are living in this house?”

The way he spoke was a bit stiff and gruff. Perhaps he was not used to talking to strangers, or people in general. Or maybe it was just his character. She couldn’t be sure.

“That’s right?” Izumi replied, trying not to seem too confrontational.

“By yourself?”

“Yes?”

“Then that makes us neighbors,” the man announced. “I’m Baler, from the house number six down yonder.”

The man pointed ahead at the closest cottage, the rooftop of it visible past the grassy mounds in the distance, down the road.

“Alright,” Izumi nodded. “I’m Izumi. Nice to meet ya.”

“I used to be a doctor,” Baler told her. “Retired now. But if you happen to get sick, or hurt yourself, come see me. I might be able to do something about it. I have a small collection of medicinal herbs for other ailments as well.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Saying no more, simply nodding for farewell, Baler whipped the reins and urged his horses on.

“Uh-huh.” Izumi watched him go, and returned to work. The world sure was a big place.

But after this brief initial encounter, Baler made sure to stop at Izumi’s house each time on his way to the town or back, if she happened to be outside, to exchange a few words. And over time, Izumi started to recognize that despite his lack of charms and eloquence, Baler was a decent person deep down, and not likely to barge through her door with an axe in the dead of the night. Sometimes, he would even gift her something simple like potatoes, apples, or herbs suited for cooking.

Like this, little by little, Izumi’s sphere of acquaintances expanded.

There was also a lady close to Izumi’s age, Millie, living in a cabin close to the shore further west, with three children, and the fourth one well on the way. Though Millie was but thirty-two and Izumi thirty-nine, it would’ve been difficult to guess which one was older only by looking at them. Millie was aged beyond her years, obese, and with a somewhat ill complexion, but otherwise a vibrant soul, spontaneous, and always eager to talk.

Izumi got to know Millie by catching and bringing back a goat that had fled their barnyard, earning herself a free lunch that day. Millie’s husband, Thurdan, was a fisherman by trade, and from then on, whenever they happened to catch extra, Millie would come over to share some with Izumi, and the latter would, in turn, impress her modest benefactors with her modern skills at cooking.

Talking with Millie, Izumi also learned various practical tips indispensable to a house owner. Winters near the sea were temperate and summers long. There was still time to plant the likes of onions, garlic, carrots, beetroot, and a few other local specialties that had no Earthly equivalents, but made for a decent addition to the diet. Encouraged by this knowledge, Izumi made plans to purchase additional buds and seeds, and expand her garden posthaste.

“What do you know?” she mused, on the way back home, fantasizing about her farming prospects. “Even without soy sauce or mayo, I can get by in a medieval fantasy world! Isn’t being an adult a wonderful thing?”

Izumi stepped across the porch to the front door, passed in while whistling, and was greeted first by the sight of the Amygla resting against the kitchen wall.

Light from the living room windows reflected brightly on the blade’s surface, and her smile immediately faded.

“My, my…” She sighed. “What should we do with you?”

Izumi went over and picked up the greatsword in her hands, holding it in the air. The mere sight of it gave her a heartache, reminding her of the various associated memories, most of them rather regrettable. Yet, she couldn’t deny the palpable satisfaction her arms and fingers experienced under the weapon’s familiar weight. The metal appeared to be screaming at her, pleading to be swung, demanding her to seek out foes yet greater, mightier, deadlier, which to overcome, and in action find its purpose and catharsis…She gave the blade a snap, listening to its subtle, reverberating song, thrill in her heart.

But the sword had no place in her life now.

Not that her greed allowed her to sell it either.

If she put it in the storage room, a passing thief might find and take it. Under the bed was a bad idea for the same reason. But while cleaning, Izumi had noticed that a few floor boards in the kitchen were loose. She now went to pick up a hammer, plucked off one of the wider boards, and was able to fit the sword in the spacious cavity underneath.

“Don’t worry,” she told the weapon. “They’ll dig you up again, some day.”

Then, getting fresh nails, she hammered the boards back in place and rolled a carpet over the spot.

3

In the midst of shapeless darkness sat a young girl. Her short hair undulating like flames, she hugged her slender knees, like a solitary candle in a midwinter night. How lonely she looked. Izumi stood further back, staring at that radiant figure, and realized she had to be asleep. It had been quite some time since she had last seen the Lord of the Scarlet Flame, and had to wonder what the spirit was up to.

Being alone for a day was bad for some.

Being alone for a year could drive a person insane, or so they said.

Being alone—for a thousand years?

For ten thousand years?

A hundred thousand years?

Could anyone imagine what it was like?

“What’s wrong, Yui-chan?” Izumi asked, a little worried. “Is everything okay?”

“—Shut up,” the spirit muttered without turning.

“Eh…?”

“Be quiet! Don’t talk to me! I’m having an existential crisis!”

“Existential...What the heck?” Izumi frowned, even more uneasy.

“I hate you,” Yubilea said. “Why are you like that? Did you start thinking that somewhere deep down, we were the same? Did you think we were equals? You and I? Every last one of you humans is the same. Selfish. Conceited. Ignorant and ignoble. I am a Divine Lord! You should live for our sake, for our glory. For our amusement. That is your purpose. That’s all you little creatures were ever good for, why would you begin to look for more? That was fine, that was the way it was supposed to be. You should have never vied for something beyond your lot. You are nothing compared to me. Your feelings, your existence, your loneliness—nothing at all! Nothing! Don’t you see, that’s why I hate you! I persist only to see you perish! For that reason, I cheated death, to see justice done, to see the world restored to its rightful place, if only by such a minor part of it! Don’t get close to me! Don’t be nice to me! Don’t pretend you understand me! What are you doing, making me owe you? Making me feel bad for you? Did you think I’d change my mind about you, that I’d forget what you are? Don’t mess with me! I hate all of your kind. I never once thought you people were better than grains of sand in an hourglass, endlessly poured back and forth, blissfully unaware of what a banal existence you have. And you are the worst of them all! I’ve never met a human as vile as you are. Even if I lived an eternity more, I would never stop detesting the very image of you. Isn’t that a given? Goes without saying, doesn’t it? I am an existence created by the Gods! There is no way a being like me could ever perceive one such as you as important. Special? You? The very idea is ridiculous! It’s obscene! It’s laughable! Hahahahaha! Ahahaha! Why don’t you laugh together with me, mortal? Aha…! Wait, am I crying? Why? No, I couldn’t be! I’m not human! I have no such feelings, I shouldn’t experience a thing. There is no such thing as regret for me! It is not necessary for my purpose. So long as I continue to carry out my own role, nothing else matters. Why should it matter? There is no benefit to becoming entangled. It is counterproductive. It is illogical. A fault. A fault, a fault, a fault. Meaningless! There’s no way I could harbor something so extraneous and irrelevant. I’m not defective. I am me! Just me. I will always be. Even if everything else should disappear, even should every life form in this world perish, nothing about me is ever going to change. That’s the way I was made? See? You are wasting your time, human! No matter how you conspire to undo me, it doesn’t matter! I am invincible! What a fool you have been, human! To ever think you could stand a chance against me! I am formidable! Take a good look at your own foolishness! See! It really is something, isn’t it? Aren’t you awed by your folly? Doesn’t it strike you speechless? If only you could tell how incredibly silly you are, you could be a little more like...me.”

Yubilea fell quiet, staring at Izumi over her bony shoulder, a look of shock frozen on her face, her red eyes widened.

“Um…” Izumi awkwardly scratched her neck, searching for the words. “…It looks like I’ve broken you, Yui-chan. I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“I’m not broken!” the Divine screamed, clutching her head.

“Well, you should take your time and rest now,” the woman continued. “Our fight is over. There’ll be no more painful memories. No more waves and no regrets. You can just hang back and relax.”

“What...?”

Izumi gazed up, into the depths of her unconscious, faintly smiling.

“If there’s one thing I learned in my past world, it’s this,” she said, “Destiny isn’t going to come pick you up from your house, and fly you off on an adventure. No, no matter how long you sit and wait for it. You have to make the magic happen yourself. Even after coming to this world, I doubt anything would’ve changed for me, had I not worked to change it. Destiny only comes into the picture when you make the choice. The obvious solution then is to not choose at all. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. That’s that.”

The woman turned back to the spirit and said,

“So let’s leave all the hard stuff for others, okay? What’s your role and purpose, what’s the difference between you and me, let’s just forget about all that. It’s fine to not think about anything at all. I’m sorry if you hate being with me, Yui-chan, but I’m sure you could do a lot worse too. So let’s just sit here and wait for the end of the world together. When the time comes, you’ll be free of me at last.”

Yubilea got up to her feet and turned, a look of something like concern on her face.

“What are you saying…?” she asked Izumi. “Is that all right with you? This isn’t what you really wanted, is it?”

“Well, we can’t always get what we want in this life,” Izumi replied. “Adulthood is all about compromising.”

Reflected in the spirit’s fiery eyes was the strangest mix of disappointment, worry, as well as pity.

“But dying without achieving the one thing you set out to do—are you truly all right with that?” she asked. “It’s not a compromise anymore. It’s defeat, isn’t it? If you admit your loss now, then you will never have a chance to know true happiness!”

“You talk about happiness, as a Divine?” Izumi retorted. “Didn’t you say you were above emotion and such? Then you should know well enough that being happy isn’t a condition necessary to live.”

“Stop that,” the spirit interrupted her.

“Huh?”

“That’s a lie, isn’t it? Is it me you’re trying to fool? Or is it you?”

“What are you talking about…?”

Yubilea struggled to voice what she was thinking, seemingly unable to decide if she should or shouldn’t. In the end, the former opinion won, as she remembered that the opinions of humans didn’t matter to her.

“Because, if you’ve really given up,” she shouted aloud, “then why——why do you still carry that ring with you, everywhere you go!?”

“Eh…?”

Izumi woke up with a gasp and was back in the empty house, in her own bedroom.

Higher consciousness and emotional control gradually restored, she sat up and spent a moment catching her breath, feeling her aching chest.

“Damned spook…” she sourly mumbled, and gave up on getting any more sleep. Exhaling a barely audible, frustrated sigh, she climbed off the bed and started to change her clothes.

She had shopping to do.