The house was quiet. For five days, the usual chatter between Falk and Orin had died out, replaced by short sentences and nods. The air felt heavy and thick enough to stifle the breath.
Orin picked up a bundle of dried herbs. They were parched, looking like they'd been sitting in the sun for months. He untied the string and dropped a handful into a glass container filled with a clear yet thick liquid.
The herbs reacted instantly. Some floated while others sank to the bottom. As they touched the liquid, they bled a dark green mist that clouded the transparency. Within a minute, the liquid was a murky green and the herbs had dissolved completely.
Next, Orin picked up a slender tube containing a mere smear of golden liquid. He tilted it carefully, counting exactly three drops. They hit the green surface and vanished without a ripple, absorbed into the dark. Orin didn't move. He stared at the glass container for a duration only he understood, his eyes tracking a reaction invisible to the uninitiated.
Finally, he poured the concoction into a cup carved from a dull and grey stone, a material Orin had fashioned himself. He set the cup over a low flame. Eight minutes passed until the first bubbles broke the surface. Only then did he sprinkle a handful of crushed red leaves over the boiling liquid and hover his hand above the steam.
A soft green light appeared from Orin's palm. After twenty seconds, the light died, and Orin let out a long sigh, checking the cup one last time before handing it to Falk.
"Here," Orin said. "Drink."
Falk took the cup, flinching at the sharp stench before draining it in a single gulp. He immediately winced, clutching his head as intense pain tore through his skull. He nearly dropped the stone cup.
Orin steadied him, his voice low. "How do you feel?"
Falk pressed a hand to his forehead, waiting for the throbbing to subside. "Thanks, Master Orin. I'm... I'm feeling better already."
Five days ago, while fleeing the beast, Falk had been grazed by a prowling and venomous scavenger in the dark. He hadn't fought back; he had been too busy running for his life. By the time they reached Valros, his vision was blurring and his thoughts were growing sluggish. Orin had spent every waking hour since then scouring the nearby woods for the rare ingredients needed to purge the toxin.
Orin started cleaning his tools. Falk sat there, looking at the floor.
"Kazuya hasn't come back..." Falk said.
Orin stopped moving. He didn't turn around. "There was nothing we could do, Falk. That beast, no, that monster was a calamity. If we'd stayed, we'd all be dead in that hole. Kazuya's sacrifice is why we're alive."
Falk's jaw tightened, his fists trembling at his sides. "But—"
"Falk." Orin interrupted. "I know what you're thinking. You want to go back, but I can't let you do that. To return to that place is to ask for death, and to make Kazuya's death meaningless. Do you want his end to be for nothing?"
"We don't even know if he's dead!" Falk shouted.
Orin finally turned. "Sigh, do you really think he could've survived against that thing alone? Even if he somehow got away, it's been five days. He would've made it back by now if he could. The truth is, we don't know what happened to him, and trying to find out will get us killed."
Falk's fists were so tight his fingernails almost drew blood from his palms. After a long minute, he let out a jagged breath and slumped into a chair.
Orin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself, Falk. You did nothing wrong, life's just harsh sometimes."
...
Kazuya opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, and the darkness didn't help.
His limbs felt like they had been cast in lead, paralyzed by a deep exhaustion. He tried to move, failed a few times, before finally managing to shake off the exhaustion enough to stand up.
What happened...?
His brain felt like a scrambled mess for a minute before he steadied himself, his memories slowly coming back.
He looked down at his waist. His clothes were sliced clean through, leaving his midsection exposed, the fabric crusted with dried and dark stains. He touched his bare skin. It was smooth.
This is... just like last time, he thought. When I woke up after the ritual.
He stood there, piecing it together. Did I... die?... I have to have died.
The thought was ridiculous, but it was the only thing that made sense. He remembered the blade falling. He saw his clothes were cut in half.
He'd fallen from the sky after the ritual and survived that, too.
But how?
If he really could come back, how did it work? Was there a limit? Did it happen instantly or had he been lying here for days?
"Either way," Kazuya muttered, "I'm not throwing my life away just to test it."
He dragged himself toward the tunnel. It was a wreck, half-collapsed and gouged out, it looked like the monster had forced its way out. Kazuya climbed through the debris, following the light until he saw the blue sky above the lake.
He climbed up, gripping the ledges, until he reached the surface. He waded through the lake and stumbled out onto dry ground.
He stood at the water's edge, looking at the trail of broken trees the monster had left in its wake.
If I go back to Valros, how do I explain this? Kazuya thought. Falk and Orin saw that monster. They know I shouldn't be alive. If I show up without a scratch, they're going to start asking questions I can't answer.
He looked at his sword. It was snapped, just the hilt and a jagged bit of steel left.
I can't survive out here with just this, but...
He thought about it for a minute. Then he turned and started walking in the opposite direction of the village.
...
Three days later, Kazuya was a ghost of a man.
His throat was a desert. He had found a river and drank until he retched, not caring if the water was poisoned or foul. His stomach was an aching void. He had tried fruits that tasted like ash and others that made him puke until he was dry-heaving on the forest floor. He had seen a rabbit, but his sluggish hands couldn't even draw his broken blade before the creature vanished.
He'd run into a few beasts, too, but he'd managed to hide or flee most of the time. Now, he was out of steam.
Huff. Huff.
Kazuya leaned against a tree, his breath coming in shallow rattles. "I'm... exhausted..."
His legs gave out. He fell forward, his vision spinning. His luck ran out as he went down, his head hit a rock with a dull thud. He felt the warm blood start to leak into his hair.
His consciousness was fading. Through the dark edges of his vision, he saw a shape moving toward him.
...Someone's... here?
His brain was too foggy to think. His instincts told him to get up, to hide, to keep his secrets safe, but his body didn't care anymore. Everything went black.
The figure walked up to him silently. They watched him for a second, then picked him up and carried him away.
...
Above the clouds on the floating islands.
Itsumi was in her room, surrounded by books. She sighed, slammed one shut, and flopped back onto her bed. "Useless. I can't find anything in these."
Saki, who was in the room with her, gave a small smile. "You've been at this since Kazuya was... since the ritual."
Itsumi sat up, her eyes burning with a fierce resolution. "I have to be. I am powerless, so I'll make knowledge my weapon."
"Are you sure?" Saki whispered, her voice trembling. "You're going to make the Enlightened Clerics your enemies."
"So what?" Itsumi said. "I'm going to change this place, and I don't care who I have to go against."
Saki stared at her for a long time, moved by the sheer weight of Itsumi's conviction. Finally, she leaned in close. "If you are that determined... I might have something."
Itsumi's eyes brightened. "Really?"
"Old Genzan. My parents say he was once the foremost scholar of Foci and rituals."
Itsumi's face fell. "That guy? He never leaves his house. He's a hermit."
"True," Saki added. "But my parents said he used to be active. He only stopped and locked himself away the moment the current Sun Cleric took the position."
Itsumi rubbed her chin, the wheels of her mind turning. "He stopped speaking the moment the Sun Cleric took power? That's not a coincidence."
Saki nodded. "That's why I thought he's the one you need to talk to."
Itsumi rubbed her chin. "It's clear then. If we're going against the Sun Cleric, we need Old Genzan."
Saki sighed. "You're really going to visit him? He hates people."
Itsumi stood up, a small smile playing on her lips. "If he says no today, I'll be back tomorrow. If he says no tomorrow, I'll be there the day after. I'm not stopping until he lets me in."
Saki chuckled, though it was tinged with worry. "You really are the most persistent person I've ever known."