1

Izumi held out her hand as she walked. The rain continued unceasing over the town, but her palm wasn’t getting wet. The droplets parted smoothly around the sorceress’s figure as they strode along the side of the nightly street.

Carmelia didn’t stay at the inn among humans and neither had she left her carriage at the garrison, but had parked it in a secluded alleyway a short distance away. It stood there like one of the shadows, barely perceivable in the limited light coming through the nearby windows, and it was uncanny how such a large thing could become as inconspicuous.

“You didn’t go with the high and mighty?” Izumi asked the cirelo. “Will the kids be fine without guidance? What if something goes wrong?”

“Whatever happens, it happens,” Carmelia answered. “I believe that rather than solving matters, my presence would only needlessly complicate things. I serve her majesty better for now by keeping out of view. Whether she and her retainers achieve the results they seek or do not, will depend on their own efforts.”

“Well, noble in principle...”

“Do you not find that interfering in human politics would be in poor form? There were once universal laws in place, strictly prohibiting this. The times may have changed and our principles alongside, but I still make every effort not to overstep my boundaries if only it can be avoided. Protecting the sanctity of the realms was one of my people’s core duties, after all.”

“But if the result will be better for it—where’s the harm in a bit of informed meddling?”

“Better for who? Us? Humans? Life in general?”

“Either way?”

“If manipulation is acceptable for benevolent purposes—regardless of whether the result itself is actually beneficial at all—then would not sinister manipulation be justified just as easily? Who is to discern which is which? From the supervising parties’ point of view, it is far easier to dismiss any and all forms of infringement as unlawful.”

“Well, I suppose.”

For a brief instance, Izumi thought to hear an unusual vibrancy in the sorceress’s tone, as if she had almost enjoyed the conversation. As if her presence itself had grown warmer. But then her tone returned to its usual, restrained level, and the glimmer of light vanished in the dark.

“I have meddled, for better and worse,” Carmelia told Izumi at the carriage door. “When I thought it was necessary and when I knew it was not. The time of dignified principles and order is a thing of the past. But my role among mankind is now at an end as well. My purpose here is met. It may seem harsh to you, perhaps, but whether there comes a war with the Kingdom or not, is inconsequential for the world at large. We have secured an alliance with man, our passage to Amarno, and are ready to attempt the Ritual. Coming all this way was little more but an extraneous detour. Yet, if it helps ascertain the Empire’s support for the ages to come, then my participation may still hold value. If the world is successfully restored at the turn of the millennium and daemons purged from it, we will need your aid to rebuild our land.”

“I see,” Izumi told the magician. “Hope it works out for you.”

“It is—”

“—Not a matter of hope. Yes, I know. Just a figure of speech. I meant to say, I’ll be happy to help when the time comes. If I’m still around then.”

“Is that so?”

The two boarded the carriage. The horses had been taken to the shelter behind the inn. No one else was inside. Margitte and Laukan both had moved to the inn with their assistants. As awe-inspiring as the transport was, people still preferred dwellings more “human” by instinct, and wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity when available.

Unsure if it was okay to sit without permission, Izumi remained standing in the middle of the floor, and looked around the unlit cabin. She watched Carmelia go to the back to pull the shawl off her shoulders. With a halfhearted gesture she threw it away and it melted in the air. Lanterns lit with furtive flames around the cabin interior and there was dim lighting once more.

“I just sort of followed along, but did you actually need me for something?” Izumi asked. Distracted by other things on the way, she only now realized she was never given any real reasons or invitations.

“Take off your clothes,” the sorceress told her.

“EH!?” Izumi yelped with a jump and covered her chest.

“I want to examine the arc,” Carmelia said with a pause. “Only removing your shirt will do.”

“Oh, geez…” the woman felt her heart, sighing. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Do what?” Carmelia’s unwavering poker face gave nothing away. She went to the benches near the middle of the floor and pushed the backrest down to create a bed-like surface. “Lie down. Even information structures require recurring maintenance. I have also come up with a few ways to optimize the performance. Even minor adjustments to the invocation speed and energy efficiency should help you quite a bit.”

Izumi obediently took off her coat, unbuttoned her shit, and pulled off the tank top she had underneath. She suddenly found herself missing more effeminate clothes. She hadn’t paid much attention to her looks in a long time, thinking no one cared, but the sorceress’s unnatural elegance made her self-conscious, and a little ashamed. Somewhere sleeping deep within her was still the desire to be beautiful. Not to attract anyone specifically, but beauty for the sake of beauty, to be not left inferior.

Then Izumi reassured herself again that it didn’t matter and took off her boots too.

“You got the doctor’s report?” she asked while about it.

“If you are referring to Master Laukan’s analysis of your spirit, then yes.”

“It was a lie, wasn’t it?” Izumi asked. “What he told me. Me being alright. I’m going to die, aren’t I? Sometime really soon.”

“What makes you think that?”

“A sense of impending doom?”

“There is no scientific evidence suggesting such a doom,” Carmelia told her. She spoke in her usual matter-of-factly style; not particularly encouraging or friendly, but not derisive or annoyed either, simply stating things as they were. “Your lifespan cannot be accurately predicted at the moment, there are too many uncertain factors involved. Your consumption of the aged cithardia sap, your lifestyle...But so long as you remain able to use Ohrm, there is no reason why you couldn’t live considerably longer than is standard for your species.”

“I see,” Izumi muttered, not sure if she felt any better.

“Do you want to live?” the sorceress asked, as if a little surprised.

“Doesn’t anyone?”

“Your behavior up until recently has led me to believe otherwise.”

“People can change.”

“Do they?”

Carmelia browsed through the ebony drawers in the back of the room, took out some obscure instruments and then turned back to the woman, and there was an unusually strict look in her eyes.

“To tell you the truth, there was another matter I wished to discuss with you. A matter I set aside before in the summer in favor of more pressing concerns. But Master Laukan’s testimony confirms that this topic has not lost relevance as of yet. I believe it is high time it was addressed openly.”

“Yes?” Izumi asked, growing a bit nervous. “W-what is it?”

“The truth. The secret you have kept from us.”

“What?” Izumi staggered a step backward, startled.

Carmelia remained where she stood and continued,

“The reason why you, a person from another world, are capable of using magic. Why you remain largely unchanged by this magic, as if it were entirely separate from you. As it is. Since the source of it is not you.”

“That’s…”

Even from halfway across the cabin, the sorceress’s gaze pinned the woman down, like a red hot needle.

“You know what that source is, do you not? You must. You have taken great care not to mention a word of it to any of us, and I have respected your desire for secrecy thus far. But even after coming back to us and becoming her majesty’s knight, you still have no intention to disclose the true state of things? You may call this ‘meddling’, but I strongly believe that the longer you keep this secret, the more it works against you and everyone close to you.”

“I…” Izumi looked down at the carpet, tormented by doubt.

As she struggled to think how to best respond, Carmelia went on,

“According to the ancient lore, champions are summoned into this world by the power of the Aesa, the spirits who retained fragments of the Old Gods’ powers. No other life form would be able to wield magic of that magnitude, as was observed in the case of Mr Watts earlier in the spring. You cannot be an exception to this rule. You were summoned into this world, not randomly but at will, close to this place, by a spirit of the highest order—by who? Who was that Lord and where is it now?”

Before Izumi could make a sound, the sorceress lowered her voice and answered her own question,

“It is with us, is it not? Has been all along. It was not a coincidence the Three of Bhastifal vanished upon your arrival, and the spiritual characteristics of the land were changed. You know this. It is the blessing of that spirit which allows you to use magic—or rather, it is the spirit itself that uses magic through you, according to your need. No other explanation can make sense. And in the ability to do so lies another clue to the identity of that—”

“—Stop,” Izumi forced her voice out, dreading those words would bring about a fate even more terrible. “That’s far enough.”

“Why?” Carmelia asked with a defiant look. “Us coming to Langoria was also the will of this Lord, yes? For what purpose? What is it trying to accomplish here? What are you trying to do?”

Izumi gritted her teeth in doubt.

How much was safe to say?

Did the Lord of Light expect her to simply keep quiet and play along the whole way? Or would the spirit summarily silence anyone who found out? Or did the disclosure actually change nothing and Izumi was fretting for no reason? She couldn’t tell.

Aiwesh had never expressly prohibited her from talking, but the dangers of the knowledge were clear without saying. It could drive the party against each other and cost some of them their lives—and right before such an important mission too.

No, what if they outright refused to believe the story and Izumi only ended up making herself look like a lunatic by trying to convince them? She would ruin her own standing, and damage Yuliana’s authority on the side, and only bring more doubt and confusion in their midst.

Did worrying about it have any meaning? Wouldn’t the spirit interfere as it always did, if she was about to do something wrong? Then again, doing precisely as Aiwesh willed wasn’t necessarily a good idea either, knowing her plans.

Or—did the Lord of Light perhaps refrain from showing herself because even the slightest unnecessary action, one way or the other, could result in a disastrous butterfly effect and bring down all their hard work...?

What was the right thing to do?

Was there any way to tell?

No. Even if that rockslide had to be kicked into motion one day, Izumi didn’t want to be the one to do it, and so bear the responsibility for yet another tragedy. It didn’t seem Yuliana had told anyone about the spirit either. In the end, it had to be her choice, as the medium.

Izumi made up her mind.

“I don’t know why we had to come,” she said, unable to face the sorceress’s gaze directly. “I honestly don’t know. If I could tell you anything, if I thought it could help us, I would’ve done that already. All I know for sure is that if we mess this up, if we do anything stupid now, this whole planet is done for. The isekai adventure is over. I don’t want that! I got too attached to these people. I’ve seen too many of them die and I don’t want to see one more! I’m scared, Lia. Really, really scared. I thought I was beyond care, but the apocalypse really is a freaky thing. I might still be fine with only myself kicking the bucket, knowing life goes on elsewhere—but the end of everything? There being no future at all? No more life? All of this just vanishing in the endless space, another dead rock among trillions like it, no one to remember we were here? That’s—too sad for words. If Ai-chan can stop that, even if it won’t be pretty for us humans—maybe it’ll still be okay in the big picture? At least, if we could go even partway to the goal together, isn’t that fine? I still want to believe there’s something better waiting for us at the end of this. I want to bet everything on that. So...Could I ask you to wait a little longer? If possible, I—I don’t want to fight her.”

Izumi fell silent, stood still and waited, topless save for the bra, her gaze on the floor.

What would the sorceress say? If Carmelia decided to give up on being polite, she could get the answers out of her quite easily with a spell or two. Not that she even needed magic to do it, really. All she needed was to say, “stop being stupid and tell me!” and Izumi would obey at once. Her mental strength felt like paper and she was far from convinced that she had chosen wisely.

Then Carmelia averted her gaze.

“Lie down,” she told the woman. “I will inspect the arc.”

“Huh?” Izumi looked up in surprise and reacted with a slight delay. “O-oh. Okay.”

She lay down on the bench of black leather. Carmelia made her restrictive dress vanish with a snap of her slender fingers, unafraid of the cool air, and climbed to stand on her knees over the woman. Izumi felt the sorceress’s hand on her back, and a wave of mild warmth passed through her. It was a touch very different from Laukan’s. She tensed and held her breath, feeling as if invisible, barely tangible tendrils were reaching into her. It wasn’t painful, only rather weird.

For a moment, the sorceress examined her in silence.

“Someone has made alterations to the build,” she then said. “There are lingering traces of an eidos that is not my own doing. Modifications to Ocíl. Do you know anything about it?”

“Oh?” Izumi mumbled. “That must be…”

“Another secret?”

“No, not really. Just, I had a deal with a pixie. But she’s not here anymore. I don’t think you need to worry about it…”

“I see,” Carmelia mouthed, her fingers feeling along the characters of light. “Data hierarchy like this certainly did not come from a human caster. No, no magician alive would think to attempt such techniques. These formulae are not proper magic to begin with. They couldn’t have worked at all unless this ‘pixie’ of yours performed the relevant calculations in tandem each time the modifications were applied. One mishap on the caster’s part and you could have been permanently blinded or crippled. You must have had great faith in this friend...And she in you.”

Izumi bit her lip and said nothing.

“I could clean up the remaining strands of data,” Carmelia said. “Or would you perhaps like me to restore their functionality?”

“Eh?” Izumi couldn’t hide her astonishment. “You could do that?”

“It will take some time, but yes. The information structure remains readable. Reverse-engineering the core mechanics, I could rewrite them as standalone modules. The potency will be lessened somewhat, but it will also be more stable. Although, I am not sure why you would need such highly specialized customization to start with.”

“I don’t know if I’ll strictly need them,” Izumi said. “But...Could you still do it? I think I’d feel better having them. Even if only as a memento.”

“As you wish.”

Carmelia picked up her stylus and got to work. For a time, neither of them spoke. Izumi lay quiet, barely noticing the searing hot pen tip on her back, thinking about other things.

“Do you think I’m mistaken?” she then asked. “Did I choose badly?”

“Is my opinion of importance to you?” Carmelia asked in exchange.

“What are you saying? Of course it is!”

“Yet you want it very seldom.”

“I’m asking now, aren’t I? Geez, you can be so touchy at times.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. So it is.”

“I do not think you are not mistaken,” Carmelia said. “But they are not choices I would make.”

“Doesn’t that mean I’m mistaken?”

“Sometimes there is no right or wrong.”

2

It could barely be called morning, when they rode again. The column of horses, black lined with white, a mobile checkerboard, poured out of the gates of the town of Firras and were then gone. They rode downcountry along the southeastern highway, their gazes at the destination still far beyond the horizon curve.

Colonel Foulton escorted the allied entourage with a squad of thirty volunteer knights, risking the King’s ire to deliver the motion for peace. How he took even as many as that to what might’ve been death and disgrace, with no hope of reward, spoke sooner of his lingering suspicion than confidence. He didn’t put his faith in the emissaries’ word alone, but was prepared to stop them by force if need be. The Langorians were spread wide along the sides of the caravan, their eyes more often on the dark-clad knights than the surrounding fields, bows close at hand. But there came no reason for bloodshed, and day after day they challenged the road and the southern gale together, under the same colorless sky.

The terrain was not all that foreign compared to the sights on the Principality’s side, only with even less wood, water, and variety. All around the road to the limits of human vision spread wide, gently arcing hills, like an ancient sea turned solid, dressed in glittering frost in the morning, a uniform coat of emerald fur by noon, and not a single flower or a decrepit aspen was there to decorate that earth.

Hither and thither stood out short cliffs of cobalt blue, and a village or two, sometimes a town, walled and repellent and alone. The same scenery of hilltops went on to immeasurable distances in the west and south alike, the summits at rare few times crowned with bronze diadems of sunlight near dusk when the clouds momentarily parted. And then fell night.

But eastward lay a different view. A week on the path, there emerged a faint, ragged line of white peaks, known as the range of Skaelje. They were proper mountains, incomparable to the mellow Firras, and they formed the sunset side border for the Kingdom with their formidable fjords and steep, dry gorges where men had no business. Those titanic fangs grew greater by the day while the cavalcade kept on their way towards the capital, but never would they go fully side-by-side with them.

It didn’t rain again, but weather remained clouded and frigid throughout, trapping the land in its desaturated half-light that forbade expressions of joy. Not one full day of spotless sunshine would come around to lift the travelers’ spirits and help forget for even an hour the burden of responsibility and the dread of failure that chased their steps mile after mile like shadows cast on the grass.

Still they rode on, not even joking about going back.

And the closer they drew to her birth home, the more familiar the shapes of the land, the more also grew the unrest in Yuliana, to the point that she couldn’t easily keep it hidden anymore. Too anxious to sit still in the carriage, she spent most of the days after the Firras on horseback among the knights, her lavender eyes fixed on the road and her words few.

Her majesty’s confidants paid heed to her worsening state of mind and did their best to distract her by means of casual conversations or little games, with varying degrees of success. Yuliana could tell what they were after right away and the person trying to cheer her up often ended up on the receiving end of consolation, and could only conclude the job failed.

The difficulty level being so unreasonably high, most began to feel great reluctance towards even trying. One of those days, no one had spoken with the Empress since morning, and she was slipping fast back into her feverish mental labyrinths, when the Prince saw he had to take his turn. He was also on his horse that day, and brought his mount discreetly beside Yuliana’s.

“Your brows will grow together if you frown so,” he greeted her.

“I see you don’t get a lot of lady passengers on that ship of yours,” she answered the man with a look of mild disapproval.

“It keeps slipping my mind you are one,” he returned. “Always riding among the boys, your armor sparkling, and with such a vengeful look...I can only thank the faeries you’re not growing a beard yet!”

For one reason or another, from the start of the week, Yuliana had put on the orichalcum armor she’d had on at the time she had fled the Kingdom. It had been confiscated from her in Bhastifal, restored after her ascension, but not the same as before. The blacksmiths of the City of Lords tuned it up for the journey, to make it more fit for an Empress.

The original model had been quite ascetic due to the scarcity of the precious metal, appended with steel in places. But Tratovia had better trade connections, more smiths experienced with processing the material, and no regard for costs. All the steel components were removed, replaced with new parts forged of pure orichalcum. The pauldron curves were hammered more graceful; vambraces extended to the elbows, hip guards added; the robe replaced entirely with tough linen from Oferion, beautifully cut and glowing white as lily blossoms. Only the chestplate and the arm guards had been engraved before; now every plate featured skillful imagery, inscriptions in the Old Tongue, enchantments for added protection, lightness, and durability. Still, at the end of the day, it was only armor. There was no reason for her majesty to tire herself out wearing it every day, when nothing threatened them.

Yuliana appeared to see things otherwise, and explained with steely passion in her voice,

“I may be the Empress now, but I haven’t given up on being the Princess of Langoria at heart either. My father can exile me, or erase me from history, or do whatever he wants, but my commitment to my people never dies. I want to show it to them, to anyone we meet on this road, to the knights who ride with us—I want to be the hope they need in these dark times. For that, no personal discomfort is too much.”

“I can see where you’re coming from,” the Prince said. “But before hope, you’re more likely to give your companions an ulcer, if you keep up the way as you have. I wouldn’t dream making fun of our purpose, or your resolve—Lords know people need hope! But neglecting yourself in the effort will do none of us good. Wearing yourself thin and dropping dead in the middle of the meeting with your father would make for quite a scene, though perhaps not the kind we want.”

“I shall be quite all right,” she proudly insisted, disregarding his irony.

They rode on in silence for a time, the man lamenting her stubborn nature.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen the capital myself before,” he then said, abandoning the subject altogether.

“You haven’t?” Yuliana asked in surprise. “Never?”

“No. You were my guest five years ago, and I had every intention to repay the favor soon after, but my father’s death changed those plans. I did meet the King once before, but that was long ago. I hardly remember how he looked. You were still too little to travel at the time he was in Efastopol, and I but a lad, less than interested in politics.”

Yuliana looked down with a remorseful face.

“My father wouldn’t even entertain the idea of going with me five years ago,” she said. “He merely sent me away, like a package, as if hoping I wouldn’t come back. He barely looked at me when I went to say my farewells, as if there was something so much more important at the time. Though I can’t for the death of me remember what he was doing.”

“An ill choice of words,” the Prince grimly remarked.

“Everyone dies some day, Prince,” Yuliana replied, smiling at his—what she thought exaggerated—seriousness. “We should at least be able to say it.”

“It’s much too soon for a blossom that’s yet fully opened to speak of withering,” he said and then interrupted himself. His goal had been to cheer her up, yet the topic had dived to deeper waters before he realized it.

“It is not the end we ride to, Yuliana,” he assured instead. “Only the very beginning.”

“I’m glad you realized now, after 800 miles,” she said, making light of it. “The road was about to run out on us! Better late than never, no joke.”

He groaned in annoyance.

After a while, Yuliana suddenly resumed in a more serious tone,

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you, but how’s Eryn doing? We didn’t get to talk about it in Efastopol. What became of her after the battle?”

The Prince gazed ahead on the road, wondering how to answer. Not that this subject could be made very uplifting, no matter how he spun it.

“I won’t lie, it was bad,” he said. “She spent nearly all of her vitality, lost her wing. It doesn’t seem it will grow back. She will never fly again—but she’ll live.”

“Oh…” Yuliana’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry. It was my knight, who…”

“No.” The Prince shook his head to interrupt her. “Humans and dragons—I was the fool who thought they could live side by side. But it was only ever a matter of time. The same thing would’ve happened either now, or after us. Because neither species can let go of their drive for conflict. And yet, in some strange way, I feel what happened was for the best. Flight may be the toll Eryn had to pay to stay with us, and now she can. I left her in Harm’s Haven. She’ll be safe there and watch over the others as she gets better. It falls upon me to pay for both our shares of the responsibility. And I will do so as myself, depending on no powers other than what the Maker has given.”

“Prince…”

“That knight of yours is one of the people I owe a heavy debt to,” he continued. “She wouldn’t speak of it, but the bard told me she went through a great deal of grief because of the confederacy. And Lords know she is not the only one. When I thought to wield that blood-soaked blade three years ago, I only had my eyes on the horizon and the foreign evils there, turning a blind eye to those close to me. I thought I was only fighting my own battle, that I would save those I could save, not one more, and that was going to be enough. But on that day, with the blade raised above me, I saw that life is not so simple. Whoever we are, whether we wish to admit it or don’t, we people always stand for more than just our names. And I won’t forget again.”

Yuliana looked down and made no comment.

“That’s strange,” the Prince remarked in a lighter tone. “I expected this to be the part where you say, ‘it took you ten thousand miles to realize that?’ and make fun of my worldly ignorance. It would be an ‘I told you so’-moment almost impossible to pass.”

Her majesty gazed away with a somber look, and no humor was visible on her face.

“I’d only be mocking myself if I said that.”