Chapter 54 The Last Fight
Wataru walked on through the crystalline collage of all the towns and villages he had seen in Vision. Eventually he came upon a vast ruin that stretched as far as the eye could see.
The Imperial Capital of Solebria.
There was no mistaking the crumbled city wall and the flattened houses. Everything was fashioned from the same crystal, making the broken pillars and the stripped roofs more otherworldly. In a way, the cityscape was even more beautiful than anything he had seen thus far.
If the shapes had been abstract, it would have truly been a work of art. As it was, Wataru lacked the words to express the irony of the view, but he could taste it like a bitter tang in the back of his throat. He hadn’t been able to properly process the destruction of the real Solebria—the wounds were still too fresh in his mind. Though the translucent crystal rubble neutralized the feeling of tragedy, it could not lessen the rage, fear, and sadness he continued to feel.
He wondered what Meena and Kee Keema were doing. Did they make it safely to the Isle of Dragon? Had the south been warned about the demonkin invasion?
Wataru lowered his eyes and ran. He ran and ran and ran until something large and looming blocked his path. He had been going so fast he nearly collided with it. He caught his breath and looked up.
It was a large gate. It looked like the front gates to the Crystal Palace. Here, in this precise model of Solebria, the gates to the Imperial Palace stood impossibly unblemished.
For a moment, Wataru recalled the Porta Nectere. These gates were far smaller than the real thing.
The intricate crest carved in the middle of each door was most likely that of the Imperial Family. It looked kind of like a star chart with all the paths of the celestial bodies. Also included were a sword and shield, a night and dragon, and above it all, a single crown.
Wataru pushed and pulled at the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. A dead end.
He looked around, but saw nothing resembling a way out through the sparkling sea of rubble surrounding him. If he couldn’t get through the double doors, he wouldn’t be going any farther.
He contemplated climbing the gate, but soon gave up the idea. It was far too slippery for him to get a good grip.
How am I supposed to get beyond this point?
Scratching his head and walking in circles, Wataru felt his anger and frustration grow. He gave the door a swift kick.
Ouch! That hurt. Wataru looked down at his throbbing foot and saw the faint outline of a pattern or diagram on the ground. It vaguely resembled the Corridor of Light star sigil he had seen many times before. But this pattern was only about half the size of a manhole.
Wataru looked around and found others—he counted five in all. They were all laid out in a semi-circle in front of the gate.
He tried placing his feet on one of the patterns.
Suddenly Wataru felt an inexplicable joy well up inside his chest. He could hear laughter ringing in his ears. Who is that? What is this? He jumped back, startled, and the laughter faded.
He did it again and the same thing happened. He stepped onto another diagram and suddenly he felt angry. And just like before, the feeling disappeared when he jumped away.
The next pattern made him sad. The fourth made him so happy he wanted to skip.
But the fifth pattern did nothing.
Wataru carefully stepped away from the fifth pattern and folded his arms across his chest.
Joy, anger, sadness, and happiness. One emotion for each pattern.
It’s just like the huts in the Village of the Watchers! Wayfinder Lau had been mad in the Hut of Anger, sad in the Hut of Sorrow, and gentle in the Hut of Kindness—all so his own mood wouldn’t influence how he treated each Traveler who came to him.
Maybe this works something like that. Each pattern has an emotion associated with it. It must be some sort of riddle—but what?
Joy. Wataru stood on the first of the patterns, closed his eyes, and searched his heart. He thought about things that had brought him joy in Vision. Kee Keema loomed in his mind’s eye. He remembered meeting him for the first time in the grasslands the day he left the Village of the Watchers.
“Oy! Ooooy! You there!”
That cheerful voice, and the darbaba cart racing across the grasslands, sending up a trail of dust into the sky.
“Don’t eat too many o’ those baquas now, y’hear?”
How he had been overjoyed when he heard Wataru was a Traveler—his “good luck charm.” He picked Wataru up, tossed him in the air. Now that was joy—without a doubt, the first joy Wataru had experienced since arriving in Vision. He had done nothing but worry about what he’d gotten himself into until that moment.
There was a dull clunk, and the pattern disappeared from beneath his feet. Wataru blinked. At the same time, a sliding noise came from the gate, as though a bolt had been released.
I guess I’ve cleared the first pattern.
The next was anger. He stepped on the pattern, and without even consciously thinking of it, an image came to mind. It was of the two ankha boys who had tricked Meena into helping them steal, then snuck into her hospital room and threatened her. Wataru could feel his skin burn just remembering it. He had dived through the window, forgetting his own safety in order to save her.
Thunk. The pattern disappeared. There was another creaking sound from the door.
Onto the third. Sadness. This was an easy one too. His heart was still bleeding from the wound left by Kutz’s death. She had tried to console him to her last breath. The feel of her gentle hand upon his cheek.
The third pattern disappeared. Wataru moved over to the fourth.
Happiness. This would be a hard one to narrow down. Listening to Meena singing atop the darbaba cart. The feast of the waterkin in Sakawa. All the good food he’d eaten at various lodgings. The conversations he’d had with his friends on the road. All the memories sparkled in his mind.
Then from among them, one memory stood out—the night he saw the performance of the Aeroga Elenora Spectacle Machine in the mountains outside Maquiba. Meena was a lively girl, but on stage she was incredible. Her high-wire tricks made Wataru fidget with fear even as they thrilled him. And he remembered the close of the show, when all the performers threw flowers. He looked at Meena and thought that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He had clapped until his hands were red and raw.
Thinking about it now, all of his happiness and sadness in Vision came from the times he was with his friends.
Thunk. The fourth pattern faded. Another clunk came from the gate, and with a slow groaning noise, it began to open.
I did it!
Wataru thrust his fists into the air. The riddle hadn’t been that hard to solve after all.
But what about the fifth pattern? It was still lying there on the ground.
Wataru tried stepping on the pattern again. Nothing happened. Maybe it was a blank, set there to confuse him?
Joy, anger, sadness, and happiness. What other emotions were there? Maybe it wasn’t worth worrying about. The gate had opened anyway.
Wataru was running out of time. He turned his feet toward the gate. His heart thumped in his chest.
As he walked through, everything swirled around him. For several seconds, he could see nothing but a dazzling whirlwind of light. When his vision cleared again, everything had changed.
He was in the Swamp of Grief.
It was a perfect replica. The flat surface of the water somehow managed to look just as ominous, even in crystal. He half imagined that somewhere down there was a crystal kalon, waiting for prey, its sawlike teeth bared and menacing. The meager clumps of grass growing around the edges of the lake would cut a man’s hand if he wasn’t careful. If his feet should catch on a root, and he fell into the water, his body would freeze. The black water of the Swamp of Grief would numb him with its poison, slowly robbing him of life.
Am I supposed to cross this?
Wataru hesitantly took a step and found the surface of the lake to be solid under his foot, as though it were frozen. No matter what shape it took, crystal was crystal after all. Still, with every step, Wataru couldn’t help but imagine the kalon swimming somewhere far below. What if it came up through the surface of the lake to claim its victim?
I’m fine, I’m fine. That can’t happen. He walked hesitantly at first, but soon regained his confidence. From then on he walked normally. I just need to make it to the other side of the lake.
As he walked, he remembered what had happened to him in the real Swamp of Grief. He couldn’t help it—the details of the vision he had seen there were etched indelibly into his memory: the other Wataru, the murder of Yacom and Lili Yannu, the stone-baby that had chased him.
Had it all been a hallucination brought on by the toxins in the swamp water? Had poison found a way into his heart when he met the pair who looked like his father and his father’s lover? That would explain the horrible outcome of that encounter. He never wanted to go back to the Swamp of Grief again, and here he was walking through it once more.
Let’s get this done with quickly. He tried to shut off his memories so he wouldn’t have to see the faces of Satami and Sara again. And he especially didn’t want to think about that crawling baby that continued to haunt him with every step he took. Wataru had to stop and shake his head to keep the phantoms at bay. He had reached the center of the lake. Seen from the middle, the Swamp of Grief was almost a perfect circle, rimmed by the marsh and thickets of sickly-looking grass.
Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to him. The circle is like a stage. I’m the only actor in a show of one. And my audience? The sullen swamp air and a few muddy clumps of reeds. Lovely.
Then he heard a voice.
—Traveler.
Wataru tensed.
—Young Traveler, Wataru.
The voice was mechanical, flat—if crystal itself could speak, it would probably sound just like this.
—If you come to kneel at my feet, you must prove beyond all doubt that you are a Brave.
To kneel? Is the Goddess talking to me?
—As the hand of the mother guides her child from morning to evening, I beseech you—call home the split soul, the wandering one. Call him back to you.
Call what back? How do I prove who I am?
The voice of the Goddess spoke again before Wataru had time to sort his muddled thoughts.
—Now, rise, and triumph!
At a loss, Wataru stood, then he saw it.
Something was approaching from the far edge of the lake—a person, walking toward him, one step at a time. Something about his gait seemed familiar—the shape of the head, the angle of the shoulders. Then he realized why it seemed so unnervingly familiar.
He was looking at his own reflection. It was another Wataru.
His jacket was off, a sword was stuck through the hempen belt at his waist, even the wear on the soles of his weather-beaten boots was identical. The only thing different was his expression. His mouth was twisted into a defiant smirk beneath a pair of eyes that were blazing with rage. The skin of his face was drawn tightly over his cheekbones, and Wataru thought he could see drops of blood splattered across the front of his shirt.
It was Wataru as he had seen him in the Swamp of Grief. Wataru the murderer.
That was just a hallucination. It wasn’t real. It was a nightmare. None of that really happened. It’s a lie, a liar, a lie!
Trembling, Wataru stepped backward. The other Wataru was rapidly closing the distance between the two of them. He came so close he could see the shadow his eyelashes cast on his face. In one smooth motion, the other Wataru drew his Brave’s Sword.
His evil twin opened his mouth, but the voice that he heard was that of the stone-baby who had chased him in the Swamp.
“I’ve been waiting for you, murderer.”
Then Wataru realized. This reproduction of the Swamp of Grief was no stage. It was an arena. A place of combat. He would have to fight this hallucination—this image of himself—right here and right now.
Rise, and triumph!
The other Wataru kicked the surface of the lake with the toe of his boot.
Wataru didn’t have time to think. He didn’t even have time to reach for his sword. In a flash, his double had closed the distance between them, and the Brave’s Sword cut keenly through the air just below Wataru’s chin. Wataru’s legs buckled and he fell flat on his back, looking up at the sky. The inertia of his fall sent him skidding across the crystallized water.
Unable to change his direction, Wataru slid until he collided with the feet of his double who had run ahead of him. The sword was coming down straight at him. Wataru screamed and rolled off to one side. The edge of the sword bit into the surface of the lake, sending shards of crystal flying through the air.
Wataru crawled away, finally managing to regain his feet. His murderous double was behind him now. The sword swung a second time, coming so close that the wind from the blade’s passage through the air was enough to slice into Wataru’s ear. Blood trickled down his neck.
He didn’t have time to feel pain. The blood was warm on his cheek, and droplets soaked into his shirt. Wataru’s head spun with such fear and confusion that he couldn’t tell which one of them led and which followed, which was real, and which was merely an image. Is it him? Is it me?
Wataru ran, but his reflection grabbed his shirt from behind, and pulled him down. They both fell to the hard surface of the lake. Wataru felt the coldness of the boy beneath him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. What is this thing? It felt like it was made out of ice.
But it’s real, it moves, even though it’s not alive and it’s certainly not a ghost.
Wataru’s adversary swung his arm, bringing the hilt of the Brave’s Sword in his hand down on Wataru’s head.
“I’m gonna kill you!” his double screamed, mocking him with his own words. The hatred emanating from his reflection was palpable.
Finally he managed to grab the hilt of his own sword. He couldn’t think of any words, he merely prayed. Fly!
It was enough. In the blink of an eye, Wataru found himself on his back at the edge of the lake. He hadn’t escaped completely, but at least he had time to stand up, catch his breath, and draw his sword. His legs and hands continued to shake and his shoulders heaved.
The other Wataru was still in the middle of the lake, standing straight and calm as though nothing had happened. Even his posture mocks me. His face was still twisted in an evil smile. He seemed ready to laugh out loud. This was the hardest thing to believe. No matter how low I sink, I could never smile like that.
“H-hey, you!” Wataru said through trembling lips. He lifted his Brave’s Sword. It wasn’t a fighting pose. He was gripping the hilt of the sword like a drowning man grips a life preserver.
“You’re not me! You’re not! You don’t exist! You’re a hallucination!”
Wataru fired a magebullet. His double easily dodged the glowing bolt as it arced over the lake. The next shot he caught with the blade of his sword, sending it straight into the sky like a meteor in reverse.
“You’re not real!” With that as his battle cry, Wataru launched himself at his double. His look-alike broke into a run too, coming straight for him. Just when he thought his blade was in reach, the double leaped. His foot came down on the hand in which Wataru held his sword and jumped clear over his head.
Uh-oh! Wataru sensed the kick coming even before it hit him in the back. He went sprawling face first.
He’s too fast. There’s no way I can beat him like this. Despair and powerlessness morphed into fear. What do I do now? How do I win? How can I even survive? I need to hide.
Barrier magic!
Bracing himself against the pain, Wataru chanted a quick spell and moved the tip of his blade in the shape of a cross. His heart was already beating fast. The added strain of raising the barrier made his heart and lungs scream.
Wataru disappeared. His double narrowed his eyes, one hand at his waist, the other hand letting his sword point dangle down toward the lake. He was grinning.
Safe behind his barrier, Wataru began to move, slowly. If I can only get close enough to strike.
He could feel his strength draining away. The pain made his eyes pop out of his head. White noise filled his head. His consciousness began to slip.
His double stood straight and tall as if to say I have nothing to fear from you, little boy.
His back is turned. He can’t see me. Now’s my chance. I have to do this, I have to!
Three more steps. Two more. One more step and I’ll reach his back.
Wataru lifted his sword, and his double whipped around, an evil grin on his face. “Nice try!”
With a mocking laugh, the double thrust out his sword. Wataru was holding his own blade high over his head—he was wide open. The point of the Brave’s Sword slid deep into his chest.
Wataru’s mouth snapped open. He had been holding his breath and now he exhaled in one giant heave. Arms still raised over his head, he slowly looked down at the blade sticking into his chest. Blood was seeping out around the blade, soaking his shirt. The mirror-image Brave’s Sword was buried deep in his chest.
Wataru felt no pain, but he was freezing. The sword had found his heart and was pouring icy coldness directly into his body.
I’m going to die.
It was a logical conclusion.
My double defeated me. I’m going to bleed, and then I’ll die.
His strength left him and his legs bowed. Wataru dropped to his knees onto the surface of the lake. His arms hung limply by his side. His own sword fell loose from his grip, its sharp point hanging listlessly between his knees.
Wataru’s conqueror yanked his sword back. Now free of the blade, Wataru collapsed to one side. Laughter rang in his ears. “Pitiful boy. Sad little boy. It’s over.”
The assailant turned his back on Wataru and began walking toward the far shore. His gait was ebullient—he was almost skipping. Wataru’s blood dripped from the tip of the Brave’s Sword hanging from his hand as he left.
—Wataru.
The gemstones in his sword were calling to him.
—Steady, Wataru.
—Remember what the Goddess said.
—You mustn’t fight.
—Your double is you.
—Remember the Goddess’s words.
Blood flowed from his wound, spreading across the crystalline surface of the water. Wataru was lying in a puddle of his own blood.
The Goddess’s words?
Wataru hung on the brink of consciousness. He stretched out a hand, desperately trying to retain his grip on sanity.
—Call him back.
—The split soul.
That double? That murderer?
—Yes, yes. Because that is you, Wataru.
Wataru lifted his head. A stream of blood trickled out of his mouth. He had no strength left in him. I’m drowning in a sea of blood.
Somehow he mustered enough strength to sit up. The gemstones were all calling for him now.
—Wataru, Wataru, don’t die. Don’t give up.
—Don’t leave your other half alone. Acknowledge him. Accept him.
After much effort, he was able to sit at the edge of the lake. His double was already standing on the far shore and had begun to disappear through the swamp reeds.
“Hey!” Wataru called out. It took all his remaining strength to do so.
The double stopped, turning around silently, a snake sensing its prey.
“I’m not dead yet!”
The smile faded from his double’s face. He lifted his sword.
—Accept him.
With a shrill battle cry, his double charged across the lake. He ran with the speed of a hurricane. The tip of his blade gleamed with reflected light from the crystal.
Wataru closed his eyes and quietly spread his arms. He breathed. Fresh blood spilled from his mouth. But he stood his ground. He was calling. His heart was calm.
I have nothing to fear. I’m just calling him back.
Calling back the soul split from me.
Come home!
The double collided with Wataru—and evaporated. He was drawn into Wataru. Two became one.
The force of the impact blew Wataru’s hair straight up and knocked him sprawling on his back.
Quiet returned to the Swamp of Grief.
When he opened his eyes, Wataru was looking up at the sky, his arms and legs splayed out in the shape of an X. He could feel the hard surface of the lake; it was solid beneath him.
Wataru gingerly moved his hand, poking at his chest. His shirt was dry. He lifted his head. There was no sign of any wound, nor any blood.
Wataru tried standing. His legs held him up.
I’m alive.
A smile came unbidden to his lips, then a warm wave of relief washed through his body. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart beating beneath the skin.
Wataru had parted ways with his hatred back in the Swamp of Grief, and now it had come back. It was home in Wataru’s body where it belonged. At last, he understood. The gate he had passed through to reach the arena: the fifth pattern was the key. He hadn’t felt anything when he stood on it because the fifth pattern stood for hate.
Wataru realized that he had spent all this time trying to keep his own hate away. He lied to himself, pretending it wasn’t his, not wanting to acknowledge the hate he felt toward Rikako, the hate he felt toward his own father. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he could even feel that way. He was deceiving himself.
But that deception had spawned his double and forced it to walk alone, carrying all of Wataru’s hate by itself.
“Welcome home,” Wataru whispered.
He released one last shuddering breath and stood. He sheathed the Brave’s Sword at his side.
It was then that he noticed the mist flowing around him. Where did that come from? The area had been perfectly clear only moments before. Soon it covered the entire surface of the lake. It glimmered with a soft light, and the moisture felt like tears on his skin.
Wataru’s eyes opened wide.
A black robe was lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the lake, shrouded in the mist. A boot was sticking out of one side. Loose hairs spilled out of the other.
Mitsuru.
Wataru ran, but it was like running in a dream—he couldn’t seem to go forward. His feet slipped on the crystalline water. Burning with frustration, he clawed at the mist with his hands, trying to swim through it.
“Mitsuru!” he shouted, throwing himself forward and finally reaching him. At first he felt nothing, only the mist against his hands. He could see the robes right there in front of him, but they had no substance. It was like grabbing a shadow.
“Mitsuru, Mitsuru!” Wataru shouted again. Suddenly, he was there. Where there had only been an image before, now there was flesh and blood. Mitsuru came into focus.
Wataru lifted Mitsuru in his arms.
Mitsuru’s face was pale, his eyes were closed. His cheeks were covered with scars and his arms hung limp at his sides. One of his ankles had been twisted in an unnatural position. It was probably broken.
“Mitsuru! Wake up!” Wataru gave him another shake, and the Sorcerer’s Staff fell from the folds of Mitsuru’s black robe. It had split clean in two. Mitsuru’s pale face, his limp body, the broken staff—they all told Wataru the truth of what had happened here.
Mitsuru had lost.
Mitsuru had faced his own double in this Swamp of Grief, and he had lost.
Wataru understood now. He didn’t want to, but the proof was right in front of his face. Mitsuru had let his hate walk alone, too, and it had grown into something far, far greater than Mitsuru himself—too large for him to call back. In the end, his hate had broken him.
What do I care what becomes of Vision?
All I want to do is reach the Tower of Destiny.
I’ll do whatever it takes.
That hard determination. That will of steel. That mighty sorcerer’s power born by the strength of the gemstones—a power only a Traveler could hope to wield. Mitsuru used it all in his journey. Many were the people he injured, the towns he destroyed, the grief he caused, all leading up to his final act: the destruction of the seal on the Mirror of Eternal Shadow.
Wataru and Mitsuru had been fooled. They both thought Mitsuru knew what he was doing. The destructive will, the desire to kill, the arrogance that led him to trample anyone in his path—these things hadn’t belonged to Mitsuru. They belonged to his double, the one that bore all his hate. Yet that hatred was so close to his own heart. He had told himself for so long that he didn’t need anything else, that his hatred would see him through. At some point, Mitsuru had become unable to distinguish between his double and himself.
Mitsuru, too, had struggled at first, trying to defeat his double, yet this was the same thing as defeating himself.
Mitsuru’s eyelids fluttered, then opened.
Wataru was speechless. It was hard enough to choke back the sob he felt rising in his throat.
Two black eyes slowly focused on Wataru, after much long and painful effort. “You…”
Wataru nodded. Several times. With each nod, a tear fell.
“Why?” He said it like a schoolboy, upset with the teacher at being told to wait after class. How like Mitsuru. “I made it so far…how could this happen? What a disgrace.” Then he whispered, “I almost reached it.” His eyes looked up at the sky. “I could see it, the Tower of Destiny. It was right there. Yet…”
“Don’t speak, you’ll wear yourself out,” Wataru said. He lifted Mitsuru from the hard lake, realizing as he did so that the other boy’s wounds were too deep to ever mend.
“Mitani,” Mitsuru whispered. Wataru looked at him, into the clear eyes of the other Traveler. “Where did I go wrong? What mistake did I make?”
—Not only the one who runs fastest and first may reach the Tower of Destiny.
The Elder in Sakawa was right.
—The Goddess is still waiting for you.
And Kee Keema, standing before the ruins of Solebria. He was right too.
—Wherever you go, I’ll follow.
Wataru was never alone. Meena was always by his side. And when they last saw each other, she held him close and told him to be careful…
I had friends. They watched over my path for me. They didn’t let me stray.
But Mitsuru was always alone. The lone Traveler. Even if he stepped off the path, there was no one there to tell him so.
Mitsuru chose his own path. He chose to be alone.
Even so, it seemed too unfair, the conclusion too cruel.
“I’m sorry.” It was all Wataru could say. He could have ignored Wayfinder Lau’s warning. He could have traveled together with Mitsuru. But I didn’t, and look what happened.
“What are you apologizing for?” Mitsuru said, attempting a smile. That same imperious smile he had turned on Wataru so many times before. It wasn’t working. “You’ve won. Be happy. Why are you crying?” He shook his head. “Too nice for your own good…down to the bitter end.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“I won’t lie to myself,” Mitsuru said, his voice softening with a sudden kindness. “I’ve lost. I’m going to die here. I couldn’t change my destiny.” Then, after a pause, he muttered, “I brought this on myself.” His mind had gone through the same process Wataru’s had and come to the same conclusion. “I just…I wanted reach the Tower of Destiny. No matter…no matter what I had to do, I needed to go.”
“I know,” Wataru said. “Even if no one else will ever understand, I do. I know, Mitsuru.”
Mitsuru closed his eyes and smiled. “Get going. Take the gemstone, leave me here, and go.”
“No, I won’t. I can’t leave you here alone, Mitsuru.”
“Fool. Let it go.” Mitsuru’s body twitched. His breathing became congested, rough. “It’s…better alone.”
Mitsuru to the very end.
Wataru lay him gently down atop the lake in the Swamp of Grief. Lying down, his eyes closed, Mitsuru seemed that much closer to death.
There was nothing left for Wataru to do. Mitsuru wanted to be alone.
Then a memory surfaced in the back of his mind. The quiet forest, where he had said his goodbyes to Kutz…
“Mitsuru.”
“What?”
“Can I…pray for you?”
“I don’t need prayers.”
“Just let me, okay?”
Mitsuru’s eyes opened. They fixed on Wataru.
“Please,” Wataru said.
“Do what you want.”
Wataru reached out his right hand and grabbed Mitsuru’s. He placed his other hand on his friend’s forehead.
Now do I remember the words?
Wataru began to speak, hesitantly at first. “We are the children of the Goddess. We leave the dust of the earth, and rise to you.”
Mitsuru had once again closed his eyes. Wataru gently brushed his forehead.
“Light most pure, source and mother of all, lead us now. Light the darkness at the feet of this traveler who now comes to join you.” Wataru grabbed Mitsuru’s fingers tightly. “Little child, child of the land. Do you repent your trespasses in the Goddess’s eyes?” Wataru’s lips trembled, the words came haltingly. Whenever he spoke, the back of his throat burned. I can’t cry, not now, he commanded himself. There was a moment of silence, during which the only thing Wataru could hear was his own ragged breathing. Then, he saw Mitsuru’s mouth move.
“Yes,” he said. He answered the prayer. He said yes. He repents.
Wataru’s vision blurred with tears, and he swallowed. “Do you repent your sins as a child of man, the conflict, the anger, the empty struggle, the foolish ignorance?”
This time, the pause was shorter. “Yes,” Mitsuru said again.
“Do you repent the lies, your own greed, your failure to accept the glory that the Goddess has given unto the children of man?”
“Yes.”
Wataru could no longer stop the tears. “Here then your penance is done, your sins upon the land wiped clean as you were at birth. Know peace, child of man, for you will surely be called into that eternal light’s embrace.” Tears like rivers down his face, Wataru finished the prayer. “Vesna esta holicia. Though a child of man knows time, life itself is eternal.”
Mitsuru’s mouth moved slowly. “Those words…”
“Huh?”
“Vesna…esta holicia. Do you know what they mean?”
Wataru shook his head.
“Until you shine through…again…” Mitsuru muttered, his eyes closed. “Goodbye.”
However many times they had said goodbye before, Wataru knew this one would be the last.
Mitsuru slowly began to fade. The mist gathered as it had before. It wrapped around him and covered him in its gentle embrace. Growing pure and luminescent, the mist took in Mitsuru’s life.
On his knees, Wataru wept as he watched Mitsuru’s outline fade. Then he noticed a single ray of light shining from above his head. It was like the light from a small spotlight, as large as his fist. It shone a pale, warm gold, coming down to the dissolving Mitsuru like a hand reaching out.
Mitsuru noticed its touch. Wrapped in mist, his head moved, his face lifting slightly upward. Half-closed eyelids opened again. A small circle of light shone into his eyes.
This light—could it be?
A sudden realization hit him. Wataru swallowed and a warm feeling of security rose in him.
When we die, we become light. A light shining upon the ground. Until the day we are born again.
This light was surely Mitsuru’s sister. His little sister, the one he wanted to bring back to the real world so badly, the one for whom he wanted to change his destiny. She had come back to Mitsuru.
She had come to welcome him.
Mitsuru seemed to understand this too. He smiled faintly. His fingers twitched weakly, moving to meet the light—like he was trying to grab his sister’s hand.
“Go with your brother,” Wataru said quietly. The golden light winked once in reply.
Soon, Mitsuru had completely disappeared, becoming nothing more than a swirling, glowing cloud of mist. The tiny golden circle of light surrounded it and led it quietly upward.
Still on his knees, Wataru thrust out his arms toward the sky. It was as though he were giving another caged bird its freedom.
To the sky…
When it was done, the mist covering the Swamp of Grief disappeared. A final tear dropped from Wataru’s chin.
Slowly, Wataru picked up the fallen sorcerer’s staff and rose to his feet.
The gem at the tip of the staff was glowing with a faint purple light. Soon, four distinct points of light appeared within the gemstone. They too, rose into the air, following after Mitsuru.
Only one point of light remained behind, hovering at Wataru’s eye level. Wataru drew his sword.
Darkness and light be with you, Brave.
Then the final gemstone found its place in the star pattern on the hilt of the Brave’s Sword. A powerful blast of energy ran from the hilt to the tip of the blade. Then it echoed back, traveling up Wataru’s arm, infusing him with strength.
The five gemstones were gathered together at last. The Demon’s Bane was complete.
Wataru lifted his eyes. He knew what would be there, across the lake, waiting for him before he saw it.
The Tower of Destiny stood with its doors open, revealing a long spiral staircase that rose inside, quietly beckoning.