QUESTIONS after questions after questions.
The more the knowledge, the lesser truly knowledge was.
That was the burden Maze carried as the flight continued without ceasing, traversing a distance that pulled them far from the city and even the sanctuary of the Towers.
"From this point on, you shall heed my words, Maze." Vaelstrom's voice remained dull, yet it was a relief that he finally spoke. "The griffin may not land nor enter the Camp, nor shall I. If it happens that we arrive too early or too late, I offer an apology for taking you beyond the clouds."
"It does not cause me harm, Vaelstrom."
"The first time I have heard you speak my name."
"Does it matter?"
"Not much, truly. It is merely that my ears ring whenever you address me as senior. You may refrain from it, as I have asked before."
Maze agreed inwardly.
The word simply slips from my tongue, that is all.
"In any case," Vaelstrom continued, "observe those hovering crows above the island surrounded by the dead swamp."
Maze looked below.
A mile from their path, a deserted island appeared, where an omen of crows feasted in the air above.
"You must leap, but do not be afraid. You will not die from falling." There was a rare assurance in Vaelstrom's tone. "A protection has been cast over this expanse by the Directors who facilitate the Camp. We possess no representative among them, unfortunately. Not all will show you hostility . . . Some will surely be fair, but as I have warned, trust no one."
I shall see to it, Maze thought. He hoped for a time when things might change, but the road ahead seemed long.
As they drew nearer, the griffin slowed, creating the necessary momentum for the leap.
"May I ask what those crows signify?"
Vaelstrom shook his head slowly. "You do not wish to know."
But I do.
"If you insist, I shall tell you." Vaelstrom paused, as if to weigh the gravity of his words. "They signify death. A terrible death, Maze."
And why must there be death at all?
"Consider the twelve districts of our city," Vaelstrom said, making his point. "From the Selection, five Children are harvested from each district and taken to Yonder — excluding those who awakened and were meant for the Hunt."
It was striking that Vaelstrom possessed such knowledge, yet Maze realized Sir Azaniel had reason to trust such a promising individual.
"This means sixty Children enter their denomination each year. Is that not an excess? And so, they conduct a bidding to eliminate the surplus."
Maze felt a surge of fury at such hypocrisy. "Why take so many only to discard them?"
"Because that is the process they call the 'real chosen among the chosen'."
The island was now directly beneath them.
"Now, jump."
Without further thought, Maze placed his trust in Vaelstrom's word and took the leap.
"Be careful!"
It was Vaelstrom's last words.
At first, the fall would surely be the death of him. The heavy pressure was weighing down his frame and snapping his clothes against the gale. But as he was getting nearer and nearer, even passing through the flocks of crows, the birds chased after him.
One after another, they tried to reach his body.
Others held his arms and his shoulders, while more were at his feet.
So this is the casted protection. The crows that will soon feast over dead flesh now help the one who can be a subject of death. It was absurd.
When he successfully descended on the land with the help of the crows, Maze looked up. He saw not a single shadow of a griffin or Vaelstrom. The crows were clearly now making the barren land more sinister and dark.
They became the clouds obscuring the sun, not literally though.
Maze observed the dead swamp.
He did not realize it was blood before.
It was an island surrounded by a bloodied swamp.
There were boats on the water, as some were at the edge of the island.
Maze looked ahead and saw only black grass on this island. It reached for his waist like a bedsheet meant to tuck the future dead. How come there was no tree here? He really thought it was a normal swamp with trees, but it turned out it was all an illusion.
From afar, Maze could see a wide door. There was no wall, and it stood there uncannily, as it was red, like the color of the dead swamp — a crimson red etched with strange glowing symbols that looked as if the door were slightly flickering and . . . burning.
What is this place? he asked, but this time, no one could assist him. Aside from the fact that this was an entrance to the Camp, why was this the place that they chose to place the Children?
He was not complaining about it. He knew this was a plot of elimination that even others might have known of. In such a trial, he was alone.
How inconvenient might it be for others, but Maze was relieved.
Maze walked forward.
He saw others standing before the door while more were just descending with the help of the crows.
It took him some time to eventually come closer.
Meters away, he could now see the difference in the clothes of the Children in Yonder. They wore the same outfit like Maze, only that the colors were different: grey, gold, red, and white mixed in the crowd. It was as if they were fond of each other, and not that fondness was deep, but fondness that was enough for one to be an ally.
Unlike him.
"Look at this door, is it not the one described in the Book of the Towers?" said someone among the crowd observing the uncanny door. It was a feminine voice from a Child in a gold uniform.
"What exactly are you talking about?" probed one who had the same uniform. This time it was a masculine voice.
"The words, I mean look, it is obviously Towertongue!"
"You mean, the language of the Towers?"
There is such a language? Maze had no idea of this, and he felt more idiotic. Perhaps I should have studied in the library, but I do not want to hinder my cogitation and practice. It is not necessary to study those ahead.
He could not tell who was explaining nor who was exchanging conversation.
The crowd was enough to block half the entirety of the door. It was a sea of children who could have been at an age of seventeen or eighteen. Some of them were frail or short, while others were tall, but they were not matured enough to look like Maze's build. They were a crowd of maybe twenty and more.
"This symbol, it means the hangingsun, and this, it means destruction." The voice was a bit observant and sharp, but it clearly was from a girl.
"But what does it mean?"
"Perhaps you are merely being delirious."
"I am not!"
"Tsk, what an attention seeker! Just making simple things unique and creating meaning out of anything."
"You just do not know the language."
"You bastard Heirs of Time!"
More shouts after shouts roared in the crowd, and soon there seemed to be a commotion happening. Gold against white, grey against red, white against grey, and even grey against gold. Such a scene!
Maze observed how they tried to get a piece of each other.
Perhaps I was wrong with my assumption earlier.
But who was who, and what was what?
Before they knew it, something exploded above.
It was the drive to a call for ceasefire.
The crows cleared the atmosphere as the letters created from crimson smoke were written in the sky.
「WELCOME TO THE CEREMONY OF PATRIMONY」