MAZE AWAKENED due to constant knocking upon the door of his cabin. When he observed the hour upon the cuckoo clock, noon had already passed. Rubbing his eyes, he leaped from his bed and approached the door to attend to his visitor.
The moment the door opened, a familiar, brawny figure greeted him. Clad in a gold-colored uniform, the youth was nearly a giant who almost rivaled the door in stature. Upon his shoulder perched a crow, and within his hand, he held an envelope. His countenance was creased, and his posture remained stiff.
This was the Child of Hope whom Maze had once troubled during the Ceremony of Patrimony. Maze might have chosen to address this boy as Gareth, yet they had not been formally introduced to one another.
"Quite an afternoon, is it?" Maze sternly observed the face of the youth and saw how uncomfortable he appeared, with his ears turning a deep red.
Verily, it was not long ago that the opening trial had concluded; thus, the events of dawn were neither old nor distant. Such a happenstance remained a fresh memory, and they both remembered it vividly.
The boy scratched his nape as he attempted to clear the lump from his throat. "This crow . . . " he hesitated, then stiffly pointed at the bird upon his shoulder, ". . . insisted that I deliver this letter to you, dear Sir. It claimed that I must be the one, since it was I who shared a past with you earlier this day." He held his breath. "It stated that it wished neither to speak nor to grant you anything, lest I be the one to do so." He scratched his nose. "Even I am unaware as to how or why."
"Must I accept that?" Maze looked at the letter. "Good afternoon, Child of Hope."
The youth flinched. "Pardon me—I did not quite introduce myself—I—" The lad blinked. "Good afternoon."
Maze stood somewhat stupefied, and the crow cawed as if it were about to laugh. Kraa! Kraa!
The Child of Hope tried to silence it by holding its beak. Maze could not fathom why the youth was so ill at ease. If it were due to his status as an Orphan, he would have to accept that assumption.
"Dear Sir, you may address me as Gareth of the Sect of Hope, from the faction of the Heritage of the Anchor." He stared at Maze for several seconds, his lips twitching as if seeking the proper words, until he finally spoke. "May I know your name, dear Sir?"
Such a polite young lad, Maze agreed silently, regarding the youth as deserving of his sect and faction. Truly one of Hope.
"I am the Mizmaze of the Sect of the Orphans," Maze replied, mirroring the formal introduction, "from the faction of the Orphanage."
"Dear Sir, might I call you," Gareth gulped, "Mr. Maze?"
"You may," Maze answered without further thought.
Gareth relieved himself with a light sigh. Conversely, the perched crow pecked gently upon his cheek, as if reminding him of a forgotten duty. With a silent hiss, Gareth secretly glared at the bird, while the latter scratched his shoulder before leaping twice.
"The very reason I have come, Mr. Maze," he extended a hand holding the envelope, "is to grant you this, an obligation thrust upon me by this mere crow, who was grumpy enough to bother me."
Maze accepted the missive. "I am grateful, Gareth."
"Do not mention it, dear Sir!" Gareth regained his composure. "The crow wishes to convey that such an invitation is for a certain event titled the Festival of Claiming."
Now that Maze considered it, Gareth possessed pointed ears and a well-sculpted nose. His brows were thick and met at the bridge of his nose. He was a youth yet to bloom, one whom ladies would surely favor in time — a radiance that would soon shine in appearance and perhaps be matched by his prowess and power.
"Is that what the crow told you a while ago?" Maze asked simply.
Both the crow and the youth nodded in unison. Maze offered a slight smile. "I shall thank you for your service."
He was about to close the door—
The youth stopped him, leaning closer. "Pardon me, Mr. Maze, but . . . "
Maze looked him in the eye.
". . . I know what you wished for." Gareth stepped back, his cheeks reddening. "I was as dumbfounded and awestruck when I heard my Siblings were safe and sound, Sir—I—" He beamed genuinely. "I am grateful as well, Mr. Maze!" Then he ran, his final words echoing, "I shall see you at the festival!"
The baffled Maze could not react for a moment, processing how the youth possessed both the doubt and the courage to speak of his own will. However, when he heard how grateful the boy was, the burden within him lightened. Truly, the words reached him to clear some of his worries.
And that crow — why did it choose to bother the Child of Hope in the first place? Was it truly so difficult to attend to him and speak of its own accord?
Maze closed the door and leaned against it.
First was the victory he had achieved, second the linen birds, then the six-petal Camp, and now the grateful Gareth. On this day, his first within the Camp, he was thankful that matters had unfolded thus. Even if he knew things might become indifferent in the coming days, what was important was that there were moments of great significance, even the smallest among them.
Maze observed the envelope within his grasp. The missive was secured by a wax seal, bearing a symbol so familiar that it caused his heart to pause. It was the same mark that had adorned the parchment from the Ceremony of Patrimony.
Something was not right.
Maze felt a chill sink deep into his marrow —
"It is different this time, something that not even wealth could offer . . . but I do wish your life will take you somewhere else with that, not concerning your shepherding, but a life of your own."
That was the first fragment he recalled until . . .
「. . . Fret not, young man, for your life has just begun. Simply do not look for me . . . 」
「. . . So shall there be a sevenfold reap for you alone as a token of my gratitude. I bestow upon you my blessing . . . 」
「I wish for your well-being.」
「May a path be open before you, Maze.」
He was reminded of the letter from his master.
He attempted to inspect the seal, touching the hardened wax as he remembered the details of the past.
Why had he forgotten it?
How had he missed this detail?
But how could this be?
His mind felt as if it might shatter as the questions rushed in at once.
The crescent cradling an eye.
This seal was the very one his master had used to secure the letter once given to him.
The very seal that had secured his fate as an Orphan.