Unnamed Memory

 3. When the Abyss Formed
“Aeti, you’re going to be my queen. Do you know that?”
“Yeah… I know,” the little girl said, nodding hesitantly. The boy’s face changed from stern to smiling in an instant. That sweet smile reassured Tinasha somewhat.
She hadn’t intended to do anything bad. She’d just had a fit of anger, and her magic had leaked out and shattered a flower vase in the room. Startled, the court ladies called over the boy, who had stopped by rather coincidentally.
Tinasha felt devastated that the one person she didn’t want to learn of her failure had discovered it.
He was the only one she didn’t want to hate her. She’d been alone here for as long as she could remember. In a sense, the boy was the only family she had who thought of her and helped her.
Tinasha clenched her fingers in the hem of her dress. The boy seemed to sense her grief. With a half smile on his face, he opened his arms to her.
“Come to me.”
“Lanak!” Tinasha cried, leaping into his arms, and he stroked her hair gently.
Tinasha closed her eyes, wanting to cry at how warm his hand felt.
Now was the one time she could forget all her worries and her loneliness. Once she became his queen, she was sure she’d never suffer such thoughts again.
“Lanak, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Just promise me you won’t do it again.”
“Yeah. I’ll try hard… So please don’t hate me.”
“You needn’t worry,” Lanak assured her. The voice floated out over her head, and she hugged the boy all the tighter, wishing desperately that he’d never abandon her.
She had loved him.
She had trusted him with her heart and soul.
But why?

Tinasha’s quarters in the castle had been completely emptied. The transportation array linked to her tower was gone, too.
Rumors traveled through every corridor on hushed whispers as everyone wondered why the witch had so suddenly disappeared without notice.
While some guesses held kernels of truth, not one of them struck upon the whole story.
It had now been a day since Tinasha’s disappearance. Lazar left the study and let out a long sigh. The man waiting for him out in the hall waved to him. Lazar looked up and murmured the man’s name. “General Als… Everyone.”
Standing before him were Als, his officer Meredina, as well as the court mages Sylvia, Kav, and Doan. The entire group took a few paces down the corridor before Als dared to ask, “How’s His Highness doing?”
“Not good. At first glance, he looks the same as he ever does, but…,” Lazar answered.
“And yet he’s still able to do his job. That’s just like him,” remarked Als.
“He won’t tell me what happened,” Lazar admitted.
“I want to know, but I’m afraid I won’t like what I hear…,” confided Als.
Sylvia joined the conversation, her eyes full of tears. “Where did Miss Tinasha go? …It was right after the ball, wasn’t it? Did I do something she didn’t like?”
“I don’t think that’s it. She wasn’t that sort.”
Their discussion was getting nowhere, and everyone lapsed into silence.
Just then, Oscar emerged from the room. He surveyed the entourage with a frown, but he walked right up to Lazar and handed him some documents.
“I’m done. You handle the rest.”
“Th-that was fast…,” Lazar said, accepting the stack.
Next to him, Als inquired suspiciously, “Your Highness, where are you going with your sword on?”
“Lucrezia’s forest.”
“What?!” exclaimed the entire group in chorus.
Recalling what happened before, Lazar rushed to stop him. “Please wait. What if something dangerous happens?”
“It won’t, so I’m fine. Let me go.”
“Your Highness, I’m going with you. Please wait,” Lazar insisted
“I—I am, too,” Sylvia added.
As the scene devolved into chaos and everyone spoke over one another, there came a peal of laughter from above their heads. Oscar looked up to see a woman with chestnut-brown hair floating in midair.
“You don’t have to go anywhere. I’m right here,” the Witch of the Forbidden Forest said with a wink.
“So she really did leave after all.” Lucrezia sighed as she looked out at the group now seated by the windows inside the study. She looked unusually low-spirited.
“What do you mean ‘after all’?” Oscar asked, sitting behind his desk again. He picked up on something unsavory in what she revealed.
“I mean, I was invited to Cuscull, too,” Lucrezia said.
Kav had just taken a sip of tea, and he broke into a coughing fit when he heard that.
“What did you decide?” Doan inquired timidly.
“I said no, of course. I’m sure the other witches did, too. Witches have no interest in countries and politics. Oh, well, one of us does but rejected the offer, too. The fact that our little Tinasha has gone means there’ll be troubles among the other countries.”
Everyone except Oscar gulped, their expressions heavy.
It was true that until now, a witch had never backed a country and assisted its invasions into other nations. When Tinasha had fought on the front lines seventy years ago, that had been in opposition to an invasion, and the use of her force had been limited to fighting the demonic beast.
Every nation maintained that the witches were beings who were not to be trifled with largely because of how powerful they were. It was also due to the fact that witches didn’t intervene in international skirmishes among mortals.
That the most powerful witch had seemingly allied herself with a nation set on invading other countries was concerning to say the least. The panic this development would cause would no doubt result in serious trouble.
A dark expression on his face, Oscar swung his legs up on top of his desk and crossed them. He looked up to the witch sitting behind him. “Do you know what kind of a relationship Tinasha and that Lanak guy have?”
All the courtiers tensed upon hearing the name Lanak for the first time. They realized he must have something to do with Tinasha’s disappearance but judged it wise to say nothing, considering Oscar’s mood.
Lucrezia, on the other hand, broke into a grin. “I do. She’s been looking for him ever since she became a witch. Now that they’ve finally been reunited, isn’t that a good thing?”
“Something’s off about that guy.”
“Are you jealous?” teased Lucrezia.
“I am, but there’s still something off there, though I can’t rightly tell what.”
The man who’d taken Tinasha away appeared to have one foot in a dream. It was obvious he was a powerful mage based on how he’d transported himself and Tinasha away with no incantation, but he left a general impression of being dangerous and not entirely sane.
Lucrezia floated into the air, then flipped upside down and got a closer look at Oscar’s expression. “Does it really matter? Tinasha was okay with it, after all. How about you just let her go? No one likes a persistent man.”
“I can’t,” Oscar stated bluntly.
“Oh, how stubborn. She made her choice all on her own. Who are you to go sticking your nose in? Shouldn’t you worry about yourself more?” Lucrezia inquired, gazing at Oscar with a bit of a mocking smile.
It was the gaze of a witch who ensnared, compelled, and controlled people’s hearts. Oscar looked back into those eyes without faltering—and made a decision. “I will not give up on her no matter what anyone says. In my eyes, she’s my one and only. If I kill that man and bring her back and she still says she’d rather have someone else, then I’ll let her go.”
Oscar was positive that he knew Tinasha better than she thought he did.
What she liked, what she hated. What she loved, what made her upset. He knew her loneliness, as well as her stubborn refusal to rely on others.
It was that understanding that drove Oscar to reach out after Tinasha. There was already a boundless distance between the two of them. If he stopped here, he’d never reach her.
Oscar’s fierce determination burned in his eyes, and Lucrezia met his gaze evenly. Time stretched out between them, feeling both endless and momentary.
Someone sighed. Lucrezia wiped the scorn off her face and sat down on the study’s desk. “First, I want you all to promise me that you won’t tell her you heard anything from me. I don’t want her to kill me. I will reveal everything I know about Tinasha to you. She only ever recounted indifferent recollections of her past to me, so think for yourselves about how she may have felt back then.” Breaking off there, the witch gazed out at the entire group. “And finally…I will only tell these things to those who are prepared to fight to the death with Tinasha. If you aren’t ready, then you shouldn’t hear this.”
Oscar closed his eyes and didn’t move.
Als looked at his friend Meredina. After some hesitation, she stood up. Lazar and Kav stood up, too. They had gone back and forth in their minds, but in the end, they bowed to those who remained and left the room.
Doan and Sylvia stayed. Doan met Lucrezia’s gaze with conviction, while Sylvia clenched her hands into tight fists. Als smiled wryly at that.
His eyes still closed, Oscar spoke. “Good. Go ahead and begin.”
With a sweet smile, Lucrezia launched into a long tale that took place many years ago.
“Before I begin my story, let me tell you her true name.”
“True name? It’s more than just Tinasha?” Oscar asked.
“Yes. Her full name is Tinasha As Meyer Ur Aeterna Tuldarr. Aeti is a nickname for Aeterna.”
“Tuldarr?!” exclaimed Doan and Sylvia, thoroughly startled.
Timidly, Sylvia asked for clarification. “Tuldarr as in the Magic Empire that vanished overnight four hundred years ago, correct? I never expected her to carry the name of that ancient place…”
“So she’s royalty,” Oscar concluded. He was a little surprised, but it made sense. Tinasha had occasionally shown signs of such a heritage. This explained where it all stemmed from.
Lucrezia listened to everyone’s surprised remarks and laughed. “She is royalty, indeed, but perhaps not in the way you’re imagining. Strictly speaking, she was a potential queen. Tuldarr was a monarchy, but the throne wasn’t inherited based on lineage. Instead, rulers were decided purely by power.”
“If it was decided by power, then what happened if someone dangerous was also incredibly strong?”
“That was why candidates were educated in the castle from a young age. Soon after Tinasha was born, she was taken from her parents and raised in the castle. That was how preeminent her power was.”
Als let out a deep sigh. Lucrezia smiled in a motherly way. “So both a boy and girl would be chosen as potential regents, and they would become engaged. In Tinasha’s case, the boy was the king’s only son—Lanak. In terms of status, he was about equal to her, but in terms of power, he was no match for her. Everyone thought she would be queen and he would be her consort.”
“What a world,” Oscar commented.
“That’s what royal families are like. You have Akashia, don’t you?” Lucrezia said, looking at Oscar. The prince shrugged. It was true that without the royal sword, Oscar might not have been able to brave all the dangers that led him to Tinasha in the first place.
“Even so, Lanak apparently doted on this girl five years younger than him. They’d been together ever since Tinasha was a baby and as close as a real brother and sister. But all around them, unrest was brewing.”
Lucrezia narrowed her eyes and pointed to Oscar. “At the time, Farsas and many other countries were growing stronger. Tuldarr had broken off diplomatic relations with all other nations, and internal debate raged over whether that should continue. The Reformists urged Tuldarr to engage with foreigners and exchange technology with them. The Traditionalists insisted that Tuldarr was a special country that was better not intermingling. Neither side would yield. Eventually the king fell ill, and the Reformists championed Tinasha while the Traditionalists sided with Lanak. They argued over which would be heir.”
“You say they argued, but wasn’t it basically already decided that Miss Tinasha would take the throne?” inquired Als.
“Yes, it was. Which is why the Traditionalists hatched a plan. They plotted to kill two birds with one stone by preventing Tinasha’s coronation while also fortifying Lanak’s power.”
Lucrezia took a breath, licked her red lips, and continued.
“At the time, Tinasha was thirteen. One night, she woke up and found herself being spirited away in Lanak’s arms. She wondered why, but Lanak told her, ‘Something good’s about to happen,’ and she trusted him. For someone like Tinasha, who was separated from her parents and brought up in the castle, Lanak was the one person who understood her circumstances. He carried her into the cathedral and laid her down on the altar…
“And then…very slowly, he cut open Tinasha’s belly with a dagger.
“I remember Tinasha told me that it was ‘the kind of thing that happens all the time.’ She’d been smiling, her dark eyes closed, as if she hadn’t even been the one it’d happened to.”
“…What did you just say?” Oscar asked, swinging his legs back onto the floor and sitting up.
The others were staring at the Lucrezia, varying degrees of terror on their faces.
The witch giggled, although her eyes were filled with anger. “Oh, did you not catch that? Lanak and the Traditionalist mages used the blood and guts of Tinasha—a powerful mage—to summon magic. They didn’t want her to die partway through, so they used a life-prolonging spell but did nothing for the pain. When the magical power appeared, Lanak absorbed it.”
“Didn’t he think of her as his sister?!” Als shouted, half rising out of his seat.
Lucrezia curled her lip scornfully. “He did. But he had his wounded pride to think about, too. A young girl who relied only on herself had a power that far outstripped his, guaranteeing it was she who would succeed to the throne, not him, despite him being prince.”
“Unbelievable…,” Sylvia faintly murmured as her eyes welled up with tears. Next to her, Doan was uncharacteristically biting his lower lip in fury.
Oscar recalled Tinasha’s strange reaction when he’d picked her up and placed her in bed. That incident far in the past, four hundred years ago, must’ve left an unforgettable mark on her mind.
With everyone’s hate stirred up, the witch went on with her story.
“But the magical power they summoned was much greater than they’d imagined. The plan was to split it up using five names and affix each one to a part of Lanak’s body. But ultimately, they failed to control it. One of the mages working the spell ran away; one was eaten by the magic and died. The power whipped up into a huge vortex surrounding Tinasha…and it destroyed Tuldarr. That’s why the country fell to ruin overnight.”
The two mages paled. They had learned about the ancient Magic Empire and its mysterious downfall. Lucrezia gave a limpid smile and returned to recounting Tinasha’s history.
“Tinasha was on the verge of death but still conscious. She saw Lanak and the other mages escaping and grew frantic… This next part I don’t personally think had anything to do with her talent or power. Whether it was the willpower or the tenacity of someone half-dead, Tinasha succeeded in bringing the magic under control and absorbing it. However, she couldn’t absorb it all, and the parts that she couldn’t scattered all over the world, forming the magical lakes.”
Lucrezia lifted up her ivory hands. Before their eyes, a map of the continent appeared in midair. Five locations glowed red—the remaining magical lakes.
“Though the storm of magic vanished, the country was already in ruins. All around her were heaps of rubble. She lay there in exquisite pain for three days while her stomach wound healed.”
The map disappeared. Lucrezia smiled, biting back her sorrow. “And once it was all over—she became a witch.”
That was the tale of how a thirteen-year-old girl met with a checkered fate in a time long past. It was a long-forgotten tragedy that couldn’t be altered
“After that, Tinasha built a tower in a corner of the Tuldarr territory and made it her home. Through the years, she continued to search for Lanak. I’ve never dared to ask her why. That’s the end of the story. What do you think?”
Lucrezia looked at Oscar. She appeared to be grinning, but she wasn’t.
Slowly, Oscar let out a long exhale.
When he closed his eyes, it felt like visions of a distant past sprang up in his mind’s eye.
There was a desolate landscape and a girl. One who’d lost everything and had become a witch.
How much despair had she suffered? Despite it being more than anyone could’ve rightly endured, Tinasha had still managed to smile so naturally before everyone. How long must it have taken until she could get that smile back?
Oscar thought of his witch.
He recalled her fragile body. Her proud soul. Her whims, her love, her loneliness, her cruelty.
Oscar wished he could have been there to take her hand in the beginning.
He cursed himself for not being at her side when she was suffering the most.
Those were ancient memories, however, which meant the only thing he had any hope of reaching…was Tinasha as she was now.
“Do you think she still loves the man who slit her belly open?” Oscar asked Lucrezia.
“Who knows?”
“Then how do you think she feels about me?”
“Don’t ask me things you know the answer to,” Lucrezia replied, pointing a red-painted nail at him. “She left the barrier on you, didn’t she? And she left you her dragon? There’s your answer.”
Oscar touched the back of his left ear.
The night before, Tinasha had written a sigil in her own blood to temporarily seal off his protective barrier. If Lanak had seen the barrier, it seemed unlikely he would’ve let Oscar be.
Tinasha’s silent gift to Oscar was still protecting him, even in her absence.
Oscar stood up and addressed the group. “There are no changes to the essential plan. I’m going to kill that disgusting man and bring Tinasha back. That’s all.”
Als nodded, his eyes closed, and Doan bowed. In tears, Sylvia bobbed her head over and over.
The Witch of the Forbidden Forest looked at them and smiled like a mother of children who had done well.

A memory of a past that could never be recovered.
“You can sleep,” Lanak told Tinasha, and she closed her eyes. She was in his arms as he walked along, and they were warm.
To Tinasha, he was the only family she’d ever had. That was why she found herself comfortable enough to act so defenseless.
For a while, she lingered in a hazy dream, but she blinked her eyes open once she realized that the air around was suddenly different.
The pair were in a dim, cavernous room. It felt cool, and Lanak’s echoing footsteps were the only sound.
After noticing that Lanak was carrying her up some stone steps, she murmured, “Is this the cathedral?”
“Ah, are you awake? Your magical resistance is strong, so of course you woke up.”
“Magical resistance…”
Lanak was talking as if he’d used magic to put her to sleep.
The alabaster man climbed the stone steps. At the top was a ceremonial altar, with rays of moonlight streaming in from a skylight onto the chilly platform made of pale stone. Tinasha finally noticed the figures all around them. Countless mages in robes, faces shadowed by hoods, were clustered around the altar in silence.
“…Lanak? Who are these people?”
He didn’t answer her.
Smiling limpidly…he placed her down onto the cold altar.
When she tried to get up, he pressed her shoulders back down against the carven slab.
“Stay still, Aeti,” he said and took something from a recess in the dais.
Rays of moonlight caught something white.
Tinasha saw it, but she couldn’t comprehend what it was. She just lay there on her back as if frozen, staring at the dagger Lanak was holding.
“Lanak…?”
The blade plunged down.
The tip pierced her belly.
“…Aaaaaahhhhhh!”
Her body arched up like a bow, but Lanak held her down and brazenly cut her stomach open.
Blood spurted and flew, and her guts were dragged out.
She heard the sound of multiple people chanting. No matter how she shouted and struggled, Lanak kept cutting her open.
Her high-pitched screams didn’t stop until they turned at last into bitter sobs.
Thus, in a tale as old as time, that loathsome country came to an end.

“…!”
Tinasha jerked awake.
She clutched her head with shaking hands. Inside her mind, dreams and reality and the past and the present were all jumbled up.
She looked around and found herself in an unfamiliar room. She sat up in bed, tugging on her long nightgown.
After several deep breaths, her heart finally stopped pounding. Once she got out of bed, she began to pace around. Before long, she caught sight of a full-length mirror on the wall.
For a moment, she saw a skinny little girl there and she gasped.
“Ah…”
Breathless, she looked again but now saw only her adult self reflected back at her.
Tinasha looked nothing like the child she’d once been. The years had worn her down and caked her with despair and hatred. She knew that deep in her heart, however, that same self was still there. That girl who’d been driven mad four hundred years ago was still there.
Tinasha stepped up to the mirror and placed a hand on the icy glass. “This is why I told you not to get too close to a witch, Oscar…”
Her lips curled into a self-deprecating smirk, as the dark eyes of the woman inside the mirror seemed to avert her gaze.
Tearing her eyes away from that reflection, Tinasha went through the basic steps of getting herself ready. She had many things to do now. She couldn’t stay in a dream forever.
When she arrived at the castle’s main hall, three mages were having an audience with the king. Seated atop a white throne, Lanak noticed her and called, “Good morning, Aeti. Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you. Who are these people?”
“Ah yes. Apparently, they’re about to head out to a city in Tayiri.” Lanak chuckled.
The way he phrased this made it sound like it had nothing to do with him, and Tinasha cocked her head innocently. “To go burn that city?”
Her question sounded like a little girl’s, and one of the three mages nodded with emphatic aggression. “Yes. A declaration of war.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Tinasha decided.
“What?! But…”
She’d made the statement rather lightly, twirling her hair, and the three mages exchanged bewildered looks.
The beautiful witch smiled fearlessly. “I’m allowed to ask for whatever I want. I will go to the city. You three go prepare for war or something.”
Tinasha fixed the mages with powerful eyes the color of darkness and the bearing of royalty. More than anything, however, the witch possessed a power that afforded no room for disagreement.

One week after Tinasha disappeared, Oscar was buried in diplomatic materials in Farsas Castle, very far from Cuscull.
Cuscull, the northwestern part of Tayiri that had broken off and declared independence, shared no borders with Farsas.
Reaching it would require first going through Old Druza in the northwest or Cezar in the northeast, then Tayiri itself.
“Or first go west, then north through the territory of Old Tuldarr, and surround Cuscull from the west,” Oscar observed.
“But supposedly the magical power fields are unpredictable in Old Tuldarr,” Lazar said.
“Some people say that land was cursed to begin with, but no matter how you look at it, the real source of the problems has got to be him,” Oscar spat. “Because the land is permeated with a large-scale forbidden curse… I never would’ve thought the magical lakes stemmed from the same source.”
Oscar stared at the unfurled map of the mainland on his desk.
Beyond the western borders of Farsas lay deserted, desolate land belonging to no country—the wasteland where Tinasha’s tower resided. The presence of the witch’s spire was certainly a part of why the area had been abandoned for over three hundred years, but there was more to it than that.
That barren strip of land ran along the western edge of the tower all the way up to western Tayiri. It had been regarded as cursed since the Dark Age because of the fall of Tuldarr.
“I never considered it much before, but was all that land under Tuldarr’s rule? It would had to have been almost as big as Farsas is now. That was unusual for the Dark Age, wasn’t it? Tuldarr must’ve been mighty indeed,” Oscar observed.
“It certainly seems to have possessed the power befitting the title of ‘Magic Empire.’ According to Miss Lucrezia, Tuldarr was originally founded as a place to shelter persecuted mages,” Lazar explained.
“So it grew more and more powerful from there, until it rose to become the most powerful country on the continent by way of magic alone. Then one day it was brought to absolute ruin leaving only forbidden, magic-soaked waste behind. I’ve never heard something so ridiculous.”
When Tinasha had told Oscar of how their current era came to be known as the Age of Witches, she’d said the spell that was supposed to use the Witch Who Cannot Be Summoned as the catalyst would have irreversibly altered the mainland. Apparently, Tinasha herself had been used in the very same way, and the effects of that incident could still be felt to this day.
The mere thought of that served only to infuriate Oscar. He knew if he dwelled on that idea too long, he’d want to march into Cuscull alone and cut that man named Lanak down where he stood. The others definitely wouldn’t allow him to do that, however. Even Oscar had to admit it was far too brash.
That said, spurring the military into action because of his own personal feelings was even more out of the question.
“I guess all I can do is wait until Tayiri comes running to us in tears…”
“What if Miss Tinasha gets married in the meantime?”
“…Now there’s an interesting thought,” said Oscar, indicating that Lazar should lower his head. Then Oscar used his fists to slowly apply pressure to Lazar’s temples.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow!”
“According to Lucrezia, Lanak is a spirit sorcerer, too. If he’s going to get married, he’ll wait until the fighting’s done.”
“I—I see…,” Lazar whimpered.
Oscar let go, releasing Lazar. Instantly, he sprang out of his lord’s grasp, rubbing his sore temples with tears in his eyes. “Your Highness, did you do this to Miss Tinasha, too…?”
“I use different amounts of force on different people, obviously,” Oscar replied. Lazar was looking at him reproachfully, suspecting him of treating his protector rudely. If Oscar had put real force into the move with Tinasha, he’d have crushed her delicate skull.
Oscar folded up the map and snapped, “I don’t know who he thinks he is, sweeping in and shamelessly spiriting Tinasha away, but I won’t be satisfied until I cut him into forty-eight different pieces.”
“I don’t think it has to be that many pieces,” Lazar protested.
“Anyway, I guess I’ll make sure we’re ready to ship out at any time while we wait to see what Tayiri’s move is,” Oscar said, scratching his temple with the end of a pen.
As it happened, he didn’t have to wait very long. That evening, two letters addressed to Farsas arrived.
In a castle hall, the king looked out at the cluster of royal council members and showed them the letters in his hands. “Here they are. One is from Tayiri, asking for aid from neighboring countries against Cuscull’s violent attacks. It says that Cuscull appears to be plotting to conquer the entire mainland and that it will not be satisfied with Tayiri alone,” the king detailed in a leisurely tone.
One general, Granfort, raised his hand and stepped forward. This man was in the prime of life, and he spoke in a measured, dignified voice. “My apologies, but it is hard for me to believe that Cuscull truly does have that intention based solely on the word of their current target. Isn’t this simply some internal skirmish? I must express doubts as to the wisdom of sending our troops into the situation so recklessly.”
“Ah, you would think so normally. But there’s one more letter…from Cuscull. This has gone out to all the Four Great Nations—Tayiri, Cezar, Gandona, and Farsas. It’s a request for surrender.”
The king’s words sent a shock wave of fright through those assembled.
Just as quickly as the fear had come, the royal council started to murmur among itself, with some snickers mixed in. The Four Great Nations were all powers with extensive, storied histories and unquestionable sovereignty. For a tiny country founded less than a year ago to demand submission of these superpowers was ludicrous beyond belief. Surely, Cuscull was getting too far ahead of itself.
Oscar and Als were the only ones not laughing.
What would the reaction have been like if it weren’t Cuscull trying to annex the Four Great Nations but the former monarchy called the Magic Empire? In the war-torn Dark Age, Tuldarr was a powerful state that successfully repelled invasions from other countries without surrendering ground. What would happen if that country that had once existed to protect the rights of mages now sought to attack other countries as a means of ensuring that goal?
More and more mages were flocking to Cuscull by the day, including incredibly powerful spirit sorcerers. Fighting against them would necessitate anti-magic warfare. There hadn’t been a mage-centric war on the mainland in the past two hundred years, however. Chances were high that one wrong move could lead to getting mowed down without even knowing what was happening.
The king, famous for his mild nature, surveyed those present with a stern look. “We don’t yet know if this will end up as something we can laugh about. I would prefer not to misread a nation and do something that cannot be undone. Five major Tayiri cities were destroyed all at once the other day. Casualties are estimated to be in the thousands. These were not cities that happened to be close to Cuscull, either. The attacker appears to have simply chosen the largest settlements. One of them was not far from Cezar at all.”
A hush fell over the audience.
Ultimately, the study of magic was rather lacking in most countries. Many were content to simply learn what had already been recorded in books. At best, a kingdom kept around fifty court mages. Cuscull had many, many more. It was beyond most people to accurately predict when and where such a sizable force of mages would attack. A city in Farsas could be struck the next day.
After making sure that the hall was quiet again, the king opened the letter in his hand. His gaze dropped to it. “Finally, this is for Oscar.”
“What is it?”
“In the cities in Tayiri that were destroyed…the people vanished, but the buildings were left intact. They say it’s the work of the Witch of the Azure Moon.”
Everyone in attendance suddenly stiffened.
A witch, who’d previously been content not to involve herself, had finally started using her immense power to interfere in war. Those who understood how unprecedented this was shuddered with fear, confusion, and horror. Some of them looked reproachfully at Oscar, knowing the witch in question had been at his side until very recently.
Oscar himself was like a rock, and his expression didn’t change.
With his eyes trained on his son, the king continued. “Tayiri requests that you, as the current bearer of Akashia, slay the witch. This is separate from the request for aid made of Farsas; they want you to kill her. Can you do it?”
“I can,” Oscar answered immediately. Behind him, the color drained from Als’s face. He raised his hand, intending to say something.
Before the general could speak, however, Oscar added, “I refuse to do so, however.”
The king looked puzzled, and a faint line creased his brow. “I won’t ask you to endanger yourself by going if you can’t win.”
“I’m the only one who can kill her. But I won’t. If Tayiri wants aid, let’s go give it to them. But only if Cuscull is our enemy. Tinasha’s a separate matter.”
“Didn’t she join up with Cuscull of her own free will?” inquired the king.
“It might look that way, but I don’t think so,” Oscar replied.
The king’s face darkened in an exceedingly rare display of anger. His full intimidating aura, normally held in check, was laid bare. As the royal council members grew pallid, the king rose from his chair and looked down at Oscar. He took in a short breath and then proceeded to berate his son. “Are you a fool to get so possessed by a witch?! Have you forgotten that the lives of the people are riding on your shoulders?!”
Everyone shrunk inward at their lord’s earsplitting roar of indignation.
Oscar only offered a wry huff, however.
The witch had said the same thing to him. It wasn’t very long ago, but Oscar felt oddly nostalgic about it already. Everyone was chewing his ear off, trying to test him.
Oscar met his father’s angry gaze, his bright sky-blue eyes blazing. “Father, we don’t need to go back and forth. I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t plan to lose, and I also don’t plan on giving anything up.”
That much Oscar had decided a while ago. Perhaps everything had been leading up to this ever since Oscar had learned the truth of Tinasha’s past from Lucrezia… Or maybe it’d been from when Oscar had first reached the top of Tinasha’s tower.
Regardless, the prince’s answer was clear, calm, and wholehearted. The king eyed him silently.
After only a moment, the king’s rage seemed to quiet and he gave a heavy shrug of resignation. “It really must run in the family…”
No one in the room understood the meaning behind their ruler’s mutterings. With a pained smile, the king sat himself back down.
“All right, then. Do as you like. In exchange…”
“In exchange?” Oscar urged.
“You take the throne. I think I’ll abdicate.”
“Y-Your Majesty!” cried Minister of the Interior Nessan in a panic.
The king received the concern rather nonchalantly. “It’s a little early, but I don’t mind. He’s already handling almost all the official duties. The one who rules this country is supposed to also be the bearer of Akashia anyway. It’s the perfect opportunity for Oscar to do some important things.”
Even Oscar was taken aback by his father’s rather sudden decree. It was true that kings in Farsas took the throne unusually quickly compared with other countries, though. This was because the king of Farsas wielded Akashia, meaning he had to be a capable swordsman.
In accordance with that tradition, it would not have been strange if Oscar had been crowned as soon as he’d come to possess the mighty weapon. His father had just been occupying the throne since that day.
Oscar snapped out of his shock, and a smile broke across his graceful features. “I can’t believe you… All right, I accept the throne with the utmost gratitude.”
The king nodded, a dark smile on his lips. It very much resembled his son’s. He seized upon the opportunity to give Oscar another warning. “You must always be aware that your decisions affect the entire country.”
“I will take that to heart,” Oscar declared, silently wondering what Tinasha would think of him saying such a thing.
He tried to imagine it, but the Tinasha in his mind had her back turned to him.
“I’m a witch, and you possess Akashia; you really might have to kill me someday.”
At the time, the witch had said that in partial jest, but it was the truth.
Oscar was the owner of the only sword in the world capable of killing the Witch of the Azure Moon—his protector. Maybe Tinasha had so enjoyed her time together with Oscar because she’d known all along that it was ephemeral.
What role did she expect Oscar to play in the war that was to come? Did she instead wish him not to get involved at all?
Oscar could only grasp at an answer as the tale hastened onward, faster and faster.


Unnamed Memory

 4. The Shape of Emotion
If he closed his eyes, he could still see it so clearly—the sight of his mother in agony, engulfed in flames.
Nearly ten thousand soldiers marched through the Asdra Plains, a landscape with nothing to entice the eye but the thick forests that flanked it. The plains were not far from Cuscull at all, cut through by a highway road that led from Tayiri to Cuscull. Troops marshaled by Tayiri’s Prince Reust marched along this road on their way to Cuscull. This crown prince was Cecelia’s older brother, much sterner than their father in temperament, and he had disapproved of his royal father’s decision to send aid requests to the neighboring countries.
The Tayiri people were known for their valor in battle, and they regularly boasted that their soldiers could beat Farsas’s in hand-to-hand combat. In the eyes of the military officers of Tayiri, Reust included, Cuscull was a country of five hundred mere mages at best—no different than an irritating pest. It didn’t matter to them that such a number of magic users was ten times more than a normal country possessed.
The troops Reust commissioned, commanded by a trusted general in his place as he remained in the castle, made their way with no troubles. At their current pace, they would reach the castle in Cuscull in another two days.
“…They’ll reach the target in twenty minutes.”
The scout’s report made all in the forest tense up.
Cuscull mages were lying in wait. For the past several days, they had made meticulous preparations to ambush the Tayiri army. Riding high on prebattle excitement, one mage said, “Can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.”
“It’ll be over before that happens. They don’t have any mages on their side. They can’t use or defend against magic.”
Their hushed whispers were as much to reassure one another as anything else.
Another mage piped up loudly, “They’re just a pack of delusional fools who think they’re strong, even though they don’t even have any magic. They better realize who’s going to be controlling whom.”
Upon hearing such scornful derision, the Cuscull soldiers all around them exchanged uncomfortable looks. Not able to use magic themselves, the soldiers ended up on the receiving end of numerous openly contemptuous glances. Leaning against a tree trunk, Renart rolled his eyes.
The oppressed had flocked together to form a country, and now they looked down on anyone who wasn’t one of them. That was the current state of affairs. The few soldiers that Cuscull commanded had been brought to the fledgling nation for a number of reasons. Some were the family members of mages who had come; some agreed with Cuscull’s founding principles; some were simply in it for the promise of new money.
Whatever the purpose, they faced worse treatment than the mages because they could not cast spells. Peeling the veneer off the so-called nation of mages revealed this underneath. It was still a long way away from any sort of stability derived from a ruler with overwhelming power. It was not yet Tuldarr.
Originally from Tayiri, Renart was a youthful mage fighting for Cuscull. He loathed seeing how those around him were behaving and shut his eyes. The murmurs persisted, even in the dark.
“Anyway, the witch is getting her revenge now, isn’t she?”
The atmosphere of the forest grew even more fraught at that.
They were talking about the woman who had suddenly been made the king’s bride.
She was terribly beautiful, with black eyes and hair, and she destroyed five enemy cities as soon as she arrived in Cuscull. There was no warning and no mercy given to women and children. Her power was so tremendous that it inspired more fear and awe than joy in victory among the mages of Cuscull. Because they were mages themselves, they understood her power far outstripped that of any human.
“…So she really is a witch?”
“Most likely. I don’t know which one she is, but I pray she’s not the Witch Who Cannot Be Summoned. That’s the one who destroys countries.”
“Best not to interact with her. She’s only our ally for as long as we don’t upset her.”
A while back, a member of the royal council by the name of Kagar came to invite her to Cuscull, but he incurred her wrath and got himself cut down in cold blood. The king had now set her free to do as she liked. No one wanted to be her next victim.
“A witch? Now isn’t that interesting,” cut in a very relaxed voice.
Renart opened his eyes. There was now a man standing in the middle of the group—the chief mage of Cuscull, Bardalos. He wasn’t very tall, and his looks were nothing to write home about. His eyes glinted with a sadistic gleam, however, constantly seeking out his next prey.
“The witches can change the course of history, or so they say. Don’t you think it’s actually pretty good luck that we’ve got one at our disposal?” Bardalos asked leadingly, but all fell silent. Not only were they afraid of the witch—they were also afraid of Bardalos. Originally hailing from a small eastern country, he was a criminal who had carried out numerous mass murders in the towns and villages of his homeland. After wiping out the team sent to take him down, he was banished and went into hiding. Now he had reappeared as the chief mage of Cuscull.
Seeing that no one would answer him, Bardalos snorted and pointed out at the plains just beyond the edges of the forest they were concealed in. “Well, it’s just about that time. They’re walking right into our slaughterhouse. Let’s burn them to the ground.”
At that, everyone squinted out at the rolling fields. As Renart gazed at the shadowy shapes of troops marching closer, he thought of the flames on a day long ago.
Ever since Renart could remember, he and his mother had lived in a cabin in the forest.
His dad died before he was born. His mother was an embroidery artisan who went into town once a week to sell her work and buy food with that money. Renart himself, however, was not allowed to go into town.
Unfortunately, the forbidden was all the more alluring. One day, he slipped out of the house and snuck into town, where he met a group of children his age and showed them what he always did. He used magic to retrieve a girl’s hat that had fallen into a pond. She was in tears, so he thought she’d be happy. When he presented her with the hat, however, she slapped it away with a look of abject fear. The children scattered and fled, and scary-looking guards chased after him.
Renart desperately ran all the way home.
Even now, he could clearly remember the look of despair on his mother’s face when she heard his hurried explanation. When they ran out of the house without even packing their belongings, the guards from town had just arrived. They saw Renart and his mother trying to escape and lit a bottle they’d brought with them. Then they threw the flaming container of oil toward the house, at the two of them. Renart’s mother shoved him away just in time, and he fled into the forest.
He looked back once, only to see his mother in her death throes, writhing in agony in the flames.
“…My mother wasn’t a mage,” Renart muttered to himself.
His mother had died for his mistakes, but mage haters had been the ones who’d actually killed her.
Renart didn’t think of joining up with Cuscull as fleeing to safety. It was a means to carry out something he knew he had to do.
Even now, he could recall the faces of the men who killed his mother. They were still young at the time of the fire, and over the years they went from guardsmen to officers in the army. He knew exactly where they were stationed.
Revenge.
Redemption.
Those were Renart’s only reasons to live.
Thus, when he saw the large-scale spell enacted across the plains…Renart felt a dark exhilaration. Those men would die on these grasslands. They deserve to go up in flames, roiled with agony, just like my mother did that day, he thought.
“We really stepped in it this time. We’re marching out to the middle of nowhere.” The general laughed dryly, surveying the army from horseback in the middle of the Asdra Plains. “We’ve gotta get this over with quickly so we can go home and give a good report to His Highness. We’ll make a nice clean sweep of those filthy mages. Ah, maybe we’ll bring a few of the nasty curs back as tribute. Chop them up alive.”
Flattering laughter rang out around him. The general was in good spirits and sported a grin on his face. Suddenly, a messenger dashed over from the vanguard at top speed. The general’s expression quickly soured.
“G-General, we have a problem!” cried the messenger.
“Yes, what is it?”
“There’s an invisible wall up ahead… It’s blocking our advance!”
Just as the general was about to spout That’s absurd! the ground beneath them shimmered. From horseback, the general watched as a red spell configuration materialized and expanded across the ground as far as the eye could see.
“What is this…?”
The general leaned forward to get a better look. No sooner had he done so, however, then crimson flames leaped up from the design and swallowed him whole.
“Now there’s a sight,” said Bardalos, hungrily observing the blazing plains from midair. He could see the figures of thousands of soldiers writhing and collapsing amid the flames below his feet.
The mages had laid out a far-reaching fire ignition spell on the plains in advance. They waited for the Tayiri troops to pass over it, and then they activated it.
It was all done under Bardalos’s command, and he watched the sea of flames with delight. As he was taking in the sight of the enemy soldiers’ anguish, a voice from the ground hailed him.
He looked down at his subordinate. “Yes?” he asked.
“Lord Bardalos! They’re breaking in from the south!”
“Oh, are they? Well, I’ll be. Let’s go meet them, then,” Bardalos declared, an intrigued smirk on his face as he mounted his horse.
Cuscull and Tayiri were now in open war.
The Tayiri cavalry emerged from the flames amid cries of anguish and death throes and the awful stench of burning flesh. Their faces were masks of mad rage as they charged at the mages, who poured from the forest to meet them. Waves of magic hit the Tayiri soldiers one after another, setting them ablaze.
Undaunted, the soldiers kept coming in a rushing torrent that soon reached those Cuscull mages on the front lines. They trampled over the magic users who had fallen to a stab of their spears, and the cavalry soldiers brandished their swords.
“Kill them! Kill them!”
None could tell from which side the cry had come. All anyone could do was muster their sword or spell. Renart fell back to a part of the forest the soldiers hadn’t penetrated and set up a defensive barrier. Shielded from the growing flames, he looked for the former guards who had wronged him years ago.
Inside, he hoped they’d already fallen prey to the licking tongues of fire.
If they hadn’t, Renart was ready to slay them himself. He began a new incantation.
Just then, an explosion went off right next to him.
A scorching hot wave blew through his magical defense wall. Renart whirled back, and his jaw dropped open.
The forest just behind him was gone.
This was Bardalos’s doing. From atop his horse, the chief mage laughed as he let loose more magic attacks.
“Go on and kill them already. If you don’t hurry, they’ll all be gone!” he shouted. This was the voice of a man who was clearly enjoying himself. He sent out another fire explosion. Those mages running about trying to escape found themselves reassured by Bardalos’s power and confidence. With a renewed will to fight, they began pushing back against the Tayiri soldiers.
After the front line moved past, the air filled with silence and a cloying heat.
All that was left were dead bodies burned to a crisp by Bardalos’s magic. Renart saw that among the dead lying there was a soldier who was once his ally. Secretly, Renart let out a sigh of grief.
Less than an hour later, a great number of people lay dead.
As the fires began to wane, the scene they revealed was so horrific that most of the mages turned green at the sight.
Charred corpses blanketed the earth as far as the eye could see. The nausea-inducing spectacle and foul smell hanging in the air were so intense that the mages would likely never forget what they’d witnessed. While victory clearly belonged to Cuscull, the aftertaste was brutal. The suffocating nature of war made it difficult for anyone to speak.
Renart felt suffocated, too, as he sprinted through the forest. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he caught sight of three soldiers running around screaming like chickens with their heads cut off.
He wondered why they were so desperate to survive at the loss of their dignity. Surely, they should’ve perished in the blaze. How selfish of them to want to live after taking his mother’s life. Someone who killed another had to be ready to suffer the same fate themselves, after all.
Like a huntsman stalking his prey, Renart sent out a blade crafted of wind. It pierced the back of the man lagging the farthest behind, and he fell. When Renart stepped over his body to pass through, he looked at his face.
He’d gotten a little older, but it was definitely one of men who’d murdered his mother ten years ago. The man was already dead, with a trail of blood leaking from his mouth. His eyes were bulged in fear over his untimely death.
Renart was a little surprised to realize that this inspired no emotion in him.
He thought he’d feel satisfied, but he didn’t. All he felt was dull and numb, as if he was submerged in cold water. It was like realizing that the person he thought he was this entire time had actually been sloughed off along the way. His body kept going out of pure momentum.
The second one was within range, and Renart shot him down with magic, and he crumpled to the ground like paper. He’d likely died instantly, but Renart didn’t look at his face… He didn’t want to see.
The third one tripped on a tree root and fell to the ground.
Crawling forward, he looked back and begged in vain, “Someone save me…”
Renart muttered to himself, “Mother pleaded for the very same thing…”
No one came to help her, however. They had killed her in cold blood. So why did they want to live now?
Renart hummed an incantation, and a blade of wind appeared. The man saw it and feebly shook his head. “Please… I don’t want to die…”
Renart looked down at the man, lifting his summoned sword.
Thoughts of his mother’s last moments and of ten years of hatred came rushing back. All of that would finally end here.
As he narrowed one eye, he heard the man sobbing.
His right hand was hot from the magic he’d manifested. The time he’d waited for was finally here. He’d dreamed of this—the end of the vision seared onto his mind. There was no cause for hesitation.
That was why…
And yet—
For some reason, he just couldn’t manage to bring his summoned blade down.
Renart stared at the trembling man. And a command fell naturally from his blood-caked lips.
“…Go.”
He lowered his hand. The blade made of magic vanished.
“Go! Don’t let me see you again! Get out of here!”
At that, the man rushed to get to his feet and took off deep into the forest. Renart buried his face in both hands so he wouldn’t see this. He took a deep breath to calm his agitated breathing.
Then he heard a jarringly blasé taunt from behind him. “Oh-ho? What do you think you’re doing? Don’t tell me you let the enemy escape?”
The tone was mocking. Renart turned to see Chief Mage Bardalos, with a cynical smirk twisting his face. He eyed Renart. “I thought I said not to let a single one get away. Am I wrong?”
“…You’re not wrong.”
“Well, whatever. I’ll chase him down and kill him. You head back.”
“Wai—” Renart started to cry out, then bit his tongue.
Bardalos snickered as he tore into him. “What is it? Are you telling me not to end his pathetic life? He’s a soldier who entered a battlefield. Don’t you think he knows death is a possibility?”
“He no longer has the will to fight,” Renart argued.
“Do I look like I care? If he doesn’t want to fight, he shouldn’t have come out here in the first place. Or…what? Do you want to die in his place?”
“…Excuse me?” Renart said, utterly at a loss for words as he stared at the man before him. Bardalos’s eyes were filled with a mad, murderous glee. To him, it was all the same if he killed the enemy soldier or if he killed Renart.
Great mages had the power to kill people as easily as cutting blades of grass. That was what it meant to be a mage.
Renart let out a ragged breath. An unspeakable exhaustion weighed heavy on him.
Maybe I wouldn’t mind dying, he thought. He’d die covering for an enemy he thought he wanted to kill. He wanted to burst out laughing.
But—enough. He needed to end things here.
Just when Renart made up his mind, a woman’s thin voice cut in.
“That man is my attendant. I’ll thank you not to bully him too much.”
The voice was unfamiliar, and Renart looked over his shoulder.
There in the forest permeated with the scent of blood stood a raven-haired woman, the king’s favorite.
She was so beautiful it almost looked artificial. Bardalos gave her a dark smile. “Well, well, well, Lady Aeterna. When did you arrive?”
“Only moments ago.”
“Well then, I do apologize for not meeting you personally. You appear quite exhausted. Was it that tiring giving the declarations of war to the other countries? I would’ve happily done that for you.” Bardalos’s tone was openly mocking.
Renart took a closer look at the woman. She did look terribly pale-faced. He could even detect fluctuations in her power, as if she’d spent too much magic.
She only eyed Bardalos with a haughty stare, despite his sarcastic attitude. “This way was faster. Ignore deserters. Treat the wounded and go back to Cuscull.”
“…Very well,” Bardalos said, wiping his expression blank and bowing before teleporting away.
The woman glanced at Renart. Before he could even gasp at the darkness of her eyes, she’d already vanished, too.
“…Thank you for what you did back there,” Renart said, his head bowed. He had come to the woman’s chambers after returning to the palace of Cuscull.
She was sprawled along a couch by the window, looking indolently up at the sky. It was as if she hadn’t noticed him there at all.
Despite her seemingly paying Renart no mind, he inquired, “Why did you save me?”
While he was her attendant, he had never spoken to her. He only knew what she was.
She was the fearsome woman the king had brought back. She was the one who would be queen someday. This was a woman who did not get close to anyone and never smiled. People spoke of her as a doll made of ice whose only job was to kill.
Renart did not believe all the rumors, though he did think of her as one far removed and above himself. Bardalos probably saw through all the rumors, too.
She finally flicked her eyes over to Renart expressionlessly. Her voice was devoid of any inflection as she answered quietly, “Because you looked tired.”
The reply was so simple that Renart wasn’t sure if it was a proper reason.
Curiously, he felt himself freeze up. He was struck by the odd sensation that this woman had peered so thoroughly into him that he may as well have been transparent.
Her long eyelashes were cast down. Her eyes appeared as ebony pools.
It was a strange gaze, very reminiscent of an abyss. Meeting it gave Renart the feeling that he could see his own past reflected there.
“I—I—”
Before Renart registered what he was doing, he spilled everything about himself. It was like a dam had broken. His childhood, his mother’s death, the days he’d spent in pursuit of revenge, and what’d happened earlier that day.
The woman remained silent the entire time, evidently content to stare up at the ceiling. He couldn’t tell if she was listening, but once his story came to an end, she cocked her head at him. “How did you feel when you killed them?”
For a second, Renart was at a loss for words. Hurrying so as not to make that apparent, he fumbled to express himself. “It was like a load was taken off me…but it was also very unpleasant.”
“I see. What about when you didn’t kill one of them?”
Dark eyes pierced right through him. The woman’s question made him shiver with fear, and he answered in a trembling voice. “I felt relief…but I also felt that I should’ve killed him.”
“So honest,” the woman fired back rudely, and Renart was shocked by her tone. This didn’t sound like an emotionless ice doll; Renart was dumbfounded.
Paying her inferior no mind, the woman continued her aggressive line of questioning. “So what will you do now? I can help you escape, if that’s what you want.”
“…What?” Renart stammered, feeling like he’d misunderstood something.
She stared back at him, as even as a cat. “You did what you came here to do. There’s no need for you to stick around here, is there?”
What did it mean for the king’s favorite to be suggesting that a member of his forces flee?
It didn’t look like she was joking or teasing, however. Instinctively, Renart swallowed a held breath.
The king’s bride—a woman rumored to be a witch—was supposed to be a cruel, heartless lady.
Renart thought those rumors wrong. Up close, she was vague and elusive. She seemed set apart from humans but also completely human at the same time.
Feeling that her dark eyes were focused on something beyond the room, Renart couldn’t help but ask, “What is your purpose here?”
Witches were always said to not involve themselves in mortal affairs. Why then was this supposed witch taking such an active role in a war?
Her eyes widened. A faint grimace crossed her face.
Suddenly, her expression revealed itself. A very lonely-looking queen admitted in a whisper, “I… I am here because of my own delusions. That’s all.”
The bitter words didn’t match her beautiful figure. Just as Renart was marveling at how her inner demons were the same as his, the door swung open violently.
“Lady Aeterna! How could you invite such a person in!”
A girl burst in with her shoulders hunched up angrily. Another woman was right behind her.
The younger one in the front looked to be about sixteen years of age. Her slightly curly hair was pinned up, and her eyes blazed with conviction.
The older one in the back couldn’t have been more than twenty. She had dark blond hair and a calm disposition. One glance revealed her to be a fairly powerful mage.
The icy woman let out a sigh as she eyed the younger of the two intruders. “It’s my prerogative to speak to whoever I want.”
“Who is this girl, a lady-in-waiting?” asked Renart.
“Who’s a lady-in-waiting?! I’m a mage, too, you know! I’ll definitely get my revenge on the people who chased us out of town!” the girl snapped, red-faced with anger. She certainly sounded serious, but her childish phrasing sapped the word revenge of all its dark dignity. Renart observed all this with a pained smile.
The girl noticed his expression, and her face turned purple. “What’s your problem? Got something to say, servant?!”
“Tris, hush,” admonished the possible witch, and the girl instantly clamped her mouth shut. While Tris looked displeased, the soon-to-be queen continued, “I told you before that I won’t deny you your revenge. Carry it out as you see fit, whether that’s punishing them by the proper channels or exacting it directly. If you choose the latter, however—that act and your own intentions will only lead back to the past. You must think carefully about whether it’s truly worth it to waste who you are now on that. Is it really so important to lower yourself to nothing but a remnant of your past…? If you’re not prepared, all you’ll succeed in doing is losing yourself, even if you do get your revenge.”
What she said hit Renart hard, for it was undoubtedly true for him as well.
Ten years ago, he’d watched his mother burn to death. Every breath he’d taken since had been to remember that moment. He was just the remnants of that child gone mad with rage. Once that child’s fury dissipated, there was nothing left. That was why Renart felt utterly despondent, with no idea where he should go.
Tris scowled, her face still red, but she said nothing further and stormed out of the room. She slammed the door hard behind her, and the blond woman gave a helpless smile. “I’m very sorry.”
“I’m used to it,” answered the future queen, getting to her feet and letting out a little yawn. She looked at Renart and smiled. “So what’s your answer to my question? What will you do?”
Renart gazed back into her dark eyes.
He didn’t know what lurked there. Nothing was reflected in her gaze; it was as lifeless as a mirror.
Although her delusions had left her stranded, here she was, still standing.
His life should have ended with his revenge, but she’d scooped him up. So if he had to seek a path to go down from now on, it could only be—
Renart made up his mind and knelt before the ebony-eyed woman.
“I hereby pledge my loyalty to you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly recovered and smiled.
“Strange man.”
Her smile was terribly kind and human.

“Ugh! Why is Lady Aeterna so fond of lecturing?” Tris groused indignantly, sipping tea in her antechamber. Across from her, the blond woman smiled uncomfortably.
Her name was Pamyra; she and Tris were under orders to attend to the witch and look after her needs. However, the one who required the most looking after was actually Tris herself. She had an extremely high opinion of herself, and she sat in her chair with pursed lips.
“She’s not even that much older than me. I wish she’d stop her meddling,” muttered Tris.
What she said was so far off the mark that Pamyra gaped at her. “What? Tris… Do you not know who Lady Aeterna is?”
“She’s His Majesty’s bride, isn’t she? And a really strong spirit sorcerer, too.”
“More than a strong spirit sorcerer, she’s the Witch of the Azure Moon.”
When she heard that, Tris’s face was a sight to behold. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, and her jaw dropped to the ground. She was frozen in place for a while, and then all the blood drained from her face only to come rushing back and turn her bright red. “Is that true?! The Witch of the Azure Moon?! No way, I…I’ve admired her forever!”
“It’s true. I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Pamyra replied curtly, while Tris’s eyes sparkled with interest.
And she’s the last queen of the Magic Empire of Tuldarr, Pamyra thought.
Pamyra was born and raised in an isolated village of spirit sorcerers within the territory of Old Tuldarr.
Four hundred years ago, when Tuldarr was destroyed, its realm stretched far and wide. That said, it may as well have been a city-state, as most only dwelled within the palace city. There were those mages who lived quietly in the wilds, however.
Pamyra was a descendant of those people. All her life, she’d heard the same story—the tale of a girl who was to be queen of Tuldarr and became a witch.
Over hundreds of years, various storytellers had embellished the fable and spun it into a secret legend.
In the story, the witch was beautiful, fearsome, strong…and all alone.
As a young girl, Pamyra had worried and fretted that the witch lived a lonely existence up in her tower. As she grew older, she came to understand that the witch chose that for herself.
As she grew, so, too, did her memory of the fairy tale begin to fade. That was when Lanak came to their village.
Tuldarr’s prince spoke of restoring the country. While the others disapproved of such a suspicious proposal, Pamyra alone accepted his invitation. She had long desired to live in a place as wondrous as Tuldarr—the powerful, mysterious nation whose city ran on magic, that researched advanced technology, that cut off all relations with other nations.
A land ruled by the most powerful mages of the modern age. It represented the highest achievement magic’s power could accomplish in the entire history of their land.
Legend had it that the regent of Tuldarr would take multiple high-ranking demons, known as mystical spirits, as personal familiars during the coronation ceremony. Nowadays, the idea of humans subduing high-ranking demons—called gods by ancient people in rural lands—sounded like a pipe dream.
Pamyra, however, dared to wonder if, perhaps, it was true.
She felt anticipation and hope swell up within her and left her village for the first time in her life.
But when she came to Cuscull and spoke of her origins, all the other mages sneered at her behind her back.
“I heard her parents are spirit sorcerers. Or, well, they used to be.”
“Spirit sorcerers, but they decided to have a child…”
“They gave in to the desires of the flesh, huh? Won’t she end up just like them?”
For her, the humiliation was unbearable.
She didn’t know how other spirit sorcerers had fared over the past four centuries. In her village, everyone saw it as a happy thing when two people in love got married and were blessed with children.
The idea that losing your spiritual magic would make you inferior as a mage angered and frustrated Pamyra. She did her best to tolerate the rumors, however, believing that everyone would stop talking once they saw what she could do.
The harder Pamyra worked, the worse the gossip got, though. Just when it seemed like too much and the longing to return home began to claw at her mind…she arrived.
Lanak introduced her as “my bride and a girl who was raised alongside me.” That meant she was none other than the witch who was a potential heir to the throne, just like him.
She had hair like black silk, skin like white porcelain, and true to the story, her eyes were the color of darkness. Pamyra had always thought the witch’s beauty had been exaggerated over the years, but the woman’s visage left her stunned.
Pamyra hastily volunteered to be the witch’s attendant and was certain she’d never forget their first encounter.
The witch, standing by the window, had turned to look at her and said in a tone that carried some amount of surprise, “You’re a spirit sorcerer?”
“Yes, I am from the village of Dilenne, Princess.”
“Don’t call me princess…,” the witch replied, uncomfortable. There was a pause, but the witch quickly returned to the topic at hand. “I see—so you’re from that village… Is everyone doing well?”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
When Tuldarr had been destroyed, much of the land surrounding the castle had been contaminated by a forbidden curse. Pamyra’s village was unaffected because the one survivor of the disaster had purified the land around the settlement.
The witch smiled faintly, as if she were remembering that, too. “That was a long time ago. If you’re a spirit sorcerer, does that mean there are many still born in your little town?”
“Yes. My parents were spirit sorcerers, too, and I’ve inherited all their techniques,” Pamyra replied instinctually. She quickly froze, however, afraid she might be mocked again.
Surprisingly, the witch gave a gentle smile. “You are very much loved. That’s a wonderful thing.”
Affection and longing bled out of that gaze. She was as beautiful as the legends said but much kinder than the old fairy tales would’ve had Pamyra believe.
In an instant, Pamyra made up her mind. She imagined it must’ve been quite similar to what a newborn chick felt upon seeing its mother for the first time. Pamyra was struck by a deep, abiding certainty that this witch was her master.
The blond woman knelt and bowed her head low. “As a mage, I pledge myself to thee. Order me as thee will.”
She used to worry if the witch was lonely living all alone in the tower.
Pamyra, however, would do her best to prevent the witch from feeling lonely in this castle. She felt certain that was why she’d ended up here.