Chapter 19
THE SPIRIT BOMB: an inescapable torrent of raw destruction. In the midst of its roaring flames, Zell found himself drunk on victory.
He had used this spirit’s power to create all-devouring flames. However, these flames had no effect on Zell, who was clad in a robe made of the same spirit’s power—Altinea’s power. That was the hidden, true power of this ultimate trump card: a bomb that destroyed all but the user.
“Farewell, Altinea and Glad! I’ve won! I’m stronger than you!” he screamed from the depths of his heart. Zell’s greatest goal of all was to defeat Glad, to prove to himself—the self who could never shake the feeling of being inferior to his brother—that he was wrong. His older brother was strong, indeed. He’d always believed this goal to be nothing more than that: a goal. But now that he had overcome it and grasped victory, Zell’s heart soared to new heights of joy.
“Actually, you’ve lost.”
Zell had dropped his guard. No human could compete with the power of spirits; none could withstand this blow. That assumption was Zell’s downfall. Spirits were humanity’s kindhearted neighbor, existing side by side with them. They occasionally saved one another, understood one another. The power of spirits, the power of their bond, could not be erased.
Glad’s arm shot from the flames, and the dagger it held pierced Zell’s throat.
“Gah… Aaagh…” Zell grimaced, letting out weak groans. His lashes trembled as his eyes looked upon the assailant.
On Glad’s extended arm were many complex symbols that gleamed even brighter than the flames. They were the proof of the blessing given to Glad by Altinea. As he gazed at the arm undamaged by the flames, Zell understood that her love had protected Glad.
***
In the Animist world, spirits’ blessings held special meaning. When Glad and Zell became the priests who’d represent their village, they received such blessings—proof of their duty to protect the village alongside its guardian spirit, until their deaths.
In exchange, the spirit who gave the blessing would bring the village many boons. Altinea, beloved by Skyfolk, was a spirit of wind. She would stave off wind and rain damage, bringing stability to their climate. As a result, their harvest was ever bountiful. The village people had deep respect for Altinea and her priests.
But even then, the difference between Zell and Glad began to become clear. A too-excellent older brother, a too-average younger brother. It was a difference made all the more conspicuous by everything they shared in common. At the end of it all, they fell in love with the same spirit. This put a gulf between them.
If things had been slightly different, it might not have ended like this. Unfortunately, tragedy befell these brothers.
Chimera Clausen had attacked their village, targeting Altinea herself. It was then that one protector, Zell himself, betrayed his people. He saw it as a way to settle things between himself and Glad—to steal his beloved Altinea away from his brother.
Despite the survivors’ attempts to persuade him otherwise, Glad, too, had left the village. He had discarded home and kindness for the sake of the one he loved. Whenever he caught wind of his odious enemy, he went running, taking information and lives as he went. His very soul had been dyed with hatred, closing him off from all tenderness. All he saw was gray, all he discerned was the enemy. He kept on killing and killing; he became a monster.
Despite this, one thing remained in his heart: his love for Altinea. That was why the spirit’s blessing still worked. When Glad was in peril, even if he didn’t realize it himself, her blessing shone on him.
***
Meanwhile, now a member of Chimera Clausen, Zell used the great spiritual knowledge he’d cultivated in his village to make Altinea’s power his own.
Animist villages had strong ties with spirits, and with those came great understanding. Zell created technology that could make use of every last drop of power within a spirit. It would be no exaggeration to say that eighty percent of Chimera Clausen’s developments were thanks to his contributions.
That technology had led to weaponry, and the organization’s power had increased exponentially. The spirit bomb was developed by none other than Zell himself. His exploits were recognized, and he climbed the ladder to sit among Chimera Clausen’s highest elites.
When Chimera Clausen’s members sent Zell captured spirits, their sacrifices served to accelerate the progress of his knowledge and technology. It was possible that nobody in the world knew more about spirits than Zell. However, there were many things in the world that knowledge alone could not get you—for example, the heart of another.
At some point, the blessing bestowed on Zell had lost its shine. He’d believed the cause to be the loss of Altinea’s free will. But in his final moments, he was faced with Altinea’s blessing shining brighter than ever on Glad’s arm. He was forced to realize his mistake.
There was one other way to defend against a spirit bomb besides wearing gear made from the same spirit—a method that would never occur to Chimera, who’d used spirits against their will. It was a spirit’s true blessing, proof of the bond between human and spirit.
Now this bond was the decisive factor in a fight between one who had chosen to abandon the bond, and one who could not.
***
Once the spiritual power filling the air dispersed, the flames disappeared like a mirage. What formerly shone red from fire was now cloaked once more under the curtain of night. The stars regained their luster.
Under the night sky, there was a dull, heavy sound. It was the sound of Zell falling to the ground. He gazed up at the sky as blood gushed from his neck, his eyes already clouding over. Glad stood next to him, bloodied dagger in hand, and moved his lips to speak. His words were too quiet for anyone to hear, fainter than a whisper and more ephemeral than a prayer. It was a saying from their home village, the funereal words for those about to die.
With an expression absent of rage, hatred, joy, or sorrow, Glad dropped a vial of holy water onto Zell’s chest. Then, he poured the last of his strength into it to kindle blue flames.
It smoldered like an ember at first but gradually grew in force.
Glad turned and walked away from his fallen brother. His destination now was near the small village, where his friend awaited.
He would not make it.
Under the night sky, there was a dull, heavy sound. This time, Glad was the one to fall.
“Is this the end…?” Glad had reached his limit. He’d used his Forbidden Arts for far longer than intended, burning out the rest of his life force.
He managed to move his failing body enough to turn over and lie on his back. “Even after I promised you… I’m sorry.”
They hadn’t known each other long, but looking back, the past two weeks had been fun. Glad turned his eyes to the village. Some of the blue flames were still flickering. He knew that he would not be able to grant her wish to spar with him. He offered up a prayer of gratitude for her no-doubt valiant battle on this night.
He turned his eyes back to the sky, seeking the constellation he’d often gazed at with Altinea. But his fractured glasses distorted the sky too much for him to focus, so he gave up and closed his eyes. “I can’t…see the stars anymore.”
Only the sound of the wind grazed his ears. His body was as heavy as lead, and his consciousness was distant, as if underground. Glad had left nothing behind. His objective was complete. This was his plan all along, so he let go of his consciousness, ready to let the dark take him.
Just then, a quiet voice began to whisper in Glad’s ear. It was indistinct, ephemeral. His eyes flew open as he looked for his beloved in his misty vision. He would never mistake that voice; it belonged to Altinea.
“Altinea… We finally meet.”
There she was, next to his symbol-covered arm. Even in the distorted world beyond his lenses, Altinea looked just the same as in his memory. He sighed in relief. “I see… You’ve always been by my side…”
Altinea simply nestled close and smiled. Glad gazed at her face and wrung out one word after another, as if trying to take back the time that had been stolen from them. “You were…so close, but I…never realized. I… Oh, I know… Maybe my vision got too bad for my glasses…”
He grinned and managed to move his arm, taking off his broken glasses. When the world was no longer distorted and Altinea came into view, he nodded slightly. “Oh… Sorry, they’re broken. You picked them for me, and I… Well, at least I can see you now. It’s okay…because I know you’re here now. I won’t lose sight of you again.” The sentences came out broken. Glad’s gaze wandered once more until he found Altinea and stared at her again. “We can just…buy new ones. You can…pick for me again…”
He grinned sheepishly, then slowly closed his eyes.
As all sound disappeared, quiet fell upon him. Glad’s body—having gone beyond the limits of humanity, life, and mortal vessel—crumbled into dust that was carried away by the wind. All that remained were his singed clothing, his bloody dagger, and a pair of broken glasses.
Thus, one story came to its end. The blue flames blanketing the village gradually guttered and faded, and the night grew dark once more. Was it mere coincidence that the wind blowing through the crag began to rise and fall on the musical scale? That its tones, combining the softness of a lullaby and sorrow of a funeral dirge, echoed far across the sky under the flickering stars?
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