One Who Waits Ii - Past, Present, And Pain, ...Can you face the consequences of the choices made by others? Options

[Mikey]

Prologue
A Matter Of Time

There was nothing she could do to convince him to stay.

Listlessly, she stood alone on the rickety orphanage’s front porch, feeling the chill of the early Desert morning. She shivered slightly—not from the cold, but from the gradual onset of a bitter, bitter loss.

Moving away from her, the lanky figure of a child began to disappear into the murky distance. He was leaving the orphanage for good, and he was taking nothing with him…

…save for a reason to be alone, and a promise that could no longer be kept.

The hurt soon overwhelmed the Priestess, and she fell in a heap onto the fragile floorboards—but not before her silver cross slipped through her fingers and struck the porch floor with a sorrowful tinny sound.

Her head on the dusty floorboards, she watched through teary eyes as the boy’s form faded and disappeared into the distance, never to be seen again.

• • •

Seven nights later, the Priestess sat at her desk, half-heartedly thumbing through some reading material, dated 1388, that she had brought with her to this orphanage almost three years before. She remembered how she often let the boy into her room to read her books and magazines, all the while heartened by his eagerness to learn. They would sit at her desk for hours after the other kids had gone to bed, talking about wondrous things far removed from the Desert and the turmoil they were experiencing those days…

Sighing, she closed the book she was reading. It seemed, even after a week, she could not get her mind off of the boy.

Three quick knocks came at her room’s door, and she looked up with a start. The sound seemed to come from the upper portion of the door—none of the orphans were tall enough to reach that far.

She swallowed. Was it them again?

As quickly as her weakened body could carry her, she left her desk, took a quarterstaff in her hands and reached for the door, removing the latch and pulling it open.

A tall, heavyset bearded man in plated armor stood at her door, silhouetted by the moonlight. A large shield was slung over his back, and a massive Iron Mace hung from his belt. The old man looked down on the young Priestess, noting her short, unkempt hair, the dark circles under her eyes, her tattered Priestly clothing, and her tarnished silver cross. He remembered how she looked like only thirty months ago, the last time he visited the orphanage. She was vibrant and optimistic back then… now, it seemed as though he was looking down at an empty shell that used to be his Apprentice.

The Priestess’s eyes narrowed and filled with tears at the sight of the large Cleric in front of her.

“Father… Rubalkabara…” she uttered his name, dropping her quarterstaff and falling forward into his large arms.

Rubalkabara held her close in a comforting embrace. “The War is over, Matilda,” he whispered. “We are going Home.”

• • •

Rubalkabara sat on her desk chair, watching in the faint candlelight as Matilda prepared some bitter tea for him. While crushing the brittle leaves in a bowl, she mindlessly droned on what had happened during the thirty months since she last saw her Master. When she reached the part about what had taken place in the orphanage only seven days ago, Rubalkabara stopped her.

“He saved you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “A single Nomad boy saved you and the other orphans, you say?”

Matilda nodded, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. “I thought it was him,” she replied. “I wish I had read more about Yosuke’s writings to be sure.”

“Did he have strange eyes?”

Matilda froze. Slowly she looked at her mentor over her shoulder.

“Did he have blue hair?”

Matilda’s mouth opened, but the shock of hearing Rubalkabara’s knowing inquiries prevented her from answering.

“Was he ten years old?”

The Priestess left the bowl on the kitchen sink and approached Rubalkabara breathlessly.

“Was it him?” she frantically asked. “Was he really the one?”

Rubalkabara sat unmoving. “If the answer to all of my questions is ‘yes’…”

Matilda ran to her closet, throwing its doors open and shoving her clothes into a backpack.

“I should have stopped him when I had the chance!” Matilda wailed, packing some bread and dates into the bag. “We must find him quickly!”

She threw a cloak over her shoulders, slung the bag onto her back and picked up her quarterstaff on her way to the door.

“Matilda,” Rubalkabara’s calm, deep voice called after her.

The Priestess had the door open, but she was not able to step onto the porch outside. She had stopped at the sound of her name being called.

“You said he left seven days ago,” the old Cleric stated. “He could be anywhere by now. Do not do anything rash—your health is fading. You would die before finding him.”

“But he must be found!” she protested.

“Worry not,” Rubalkabara said, not rising from his chair. “If he truly is the one promised by Yosuke in his writings… if he is truly the child of prophecy… if the fate of Midgard truly lies in his hands… then he will be found.”

Matilda stared at her mentor, her will teetering between Rubalkabara’s assertions and her own tribulations.

“He will be found,” Rubalkabara repeated for her sake. “Ten years after his death, the first part of Yosuke’s secret prophecies has come to pass.”

“But…” she began.

“You have played your part in this scheme, Matilda. Nothing more needs to be done by you. The second part of Yosuke’s prophecies will come in its own time.”

Matilda wasn’t convinced. “In its own time,” she repeated to herself, not exactly liking the idea.

“He will be found, Matilda.” Rubalkabara reassured her for the third instance. “It is only a matter of time.”

Matilda turned to look through the door. A brilliant crescent moon hung in the deep blue night sky, throwing a pale light over the bleak Desert landscape. Her troubled thoughts gravitated to the consoling belief that the boy was somewhere among those shifting sand dunes, and that he was alive and well, waiting to be found by the person who would play the next part in this scheme.

A smile etched itself on Matilda’s lips as she wished her best for the boy.

“Isaac,” she whispered into the crescent moon.

• • •

Underneath the same moon, somewhere in vastness of the Sograt Desert, a lonely Nomad boy slowly made his way northward, unaware of the destiny that had been waiting for him for 10,000 years.

• • •

One Who Waits II

The Journey Continues
2007

[Mikey]

Chapter One
Scars To Be Borne

Mikieru Makimachi drummed his fingers idly on the surface of his oaken office table, eyeing the stack of cardboard folders that towered in front of him. It was Wednesday afternoon, the middle of the week, and the Cleric was basking in the realization that this was the worst day of the week for most government employees. He spent most of his shifts holed up in his office, doing lots of paperwork and not much else, and the weekend was still three days off.

It wasn’t always like this for the tall, 29 year-old Cleric. He had held a Prontera Constable’s job for over three years—not liking it much either at the time—until his superiors decided that his actions during the anarchy in Al de Baran two years past merited some sort of recompense. The Constabulary elevated Mikieru to the position of Prefect, giving him command over his own scene-of-the-crime investigation team. The Cleric was at first gladdened by the promotion, primarily due to the increase in salary that went with it—only to eventually sulk at the new job description. Now, stuck in his office with a ton of paperwork due first thing in the morning, he mused at how much he missed spending the day out on Prontera’s streets, patrolling his beat and keeping the peace.

A resigned sigh of exasperation escaped Mikieru’s lips, and instead of reaching for the top of the stack he reached for the day’s periodical on the other side of his table. He scanned the tabloid’s front page, looking for something to take his mind off his job for a moment. He looked at the day’s date: May 17, 1396 SR.

Already, Mikieru thought.

It was only a week before Napolde’s second death anniversary. A more courageous soul had not crossed Mikieru’s path before she did, and a greater sacrifice had not been made before hers. Almost two years had passed since he, the Merchant Jared Wycrow, and his friends laid the brave Elf’s memory to rest.

The thought of paying the Elf’s gravesite a visit crossed Mikieru’s mind for a brief moment before it was overshadowed by the image of what caused her death.

Mikieru put the newspaper down and turned to look at the bookshelf behind him. In a locked compartment behind a row of tall books, he had hidden two smooth, three-faced rocks. One was Jared’s—and the other was one he found after the expiration of the Taishou… or, more aptly, Urd…

Who was Urd? the Cleric thought to himself again. He was never able to find the answer since he returned to Prontera after Al de Baran’s liberation. The worry never left him, even after Urd’s death. He unnervingly felt that he was being watched by evil eyes after that grisly battle—after all, Urd had revealed her name only to him.

Getting off his seat, Mikieru walked over to the bookshelf. His gloved hand brushed over the spines of the several aged books that his friends from the Prontera Cathedral had “donated” to him—for purposes of making his new office look “smart.” While the Cleric never had time to read most of them, one book caught his attention almost immediately after he received it. Finding it, he pulled it from the shelf.

He laid the large book on his table. The leather cover had the following words engraved onto it:

Mythology Of The Nordic Ages

Listlessly, he took a seat and opened the book to page 1.

• • •

On page 32, something caught Mikieru’s green-and-blue eyes. It was an etching of an old woman, seated on a rock and clothed in a tattered cloak. A bony hand stuck out of the folds of her robe and tended to a sewing wheel. Underneath the etching were the words:

Urd, Norn of the Past

…it has been widely surmised that aside from the three Norns living at the base of the great Yggdrasil’s root, there were countless other Norns existing in Midgard. Legend has it that a Norn was present at the birth of every man and woman in Midgard to determine the child’s fate. Even Odin, the greatest of the Aesir, had his fate sown by the Norns, indicating an inescapable destiny that all creatures in the Nine Worlds had to face…

Mikieru looked up from the book.

Nine Worlds, he thought. Midgard, Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Svartalfheim, Jotunheim, Nidavellir, Muspellheim, and Niflheim.

The Cleric looked out his office window in deep thought. He knew that recent scientific discoveries had largely disproved Old Nordic Mythology. For instance, Midgard was not a vast garden in the middle of an endless ocean—it was a planet, shaped like a sphere, which revolved around the sun once every 365 days. Storms were caused by meteorological disturbances in the atmosphere and not by the Norse god Thor’s mighty hammer. And the great Yggdrasil tree, whose roots the Old Norse claimed to stretch from the depths of Niflheim all the way up to the Aesir’s halls in Asgard, simply did not exist.

And yet there were still several Old Nordic insistences that had not yet been disproved. Among them was whether Midgard was truly headed towards a great Twilight—known to the Old Norse as Ragnarok—and whether or not there was a force known as Fate holding sway over the lives of its inhabitants.

Sighing, Mikieru turned the page. He had read this book several times before, and he knew that the answers he sought could not be found in the book. Still, he pored over its cracked pages, hoping that a fresh reading would unlock some badly-needed insight into the mystery known as Urd…

• • •

Three quick raps came at Mikieru’s door, causing the Cleric to look up with a start. Blinking, he shot a glance at his window—the sky was already showing hints of orange. Three hours had passed after he opened the book, and he had not noticed it.

Mikieru exhaled, closing the large book. “Come in,” he called.

The brass doorknob twisted, and the massive door leaf swung inward to reveal the lanky form of Shin-ju.

“Shin-ju,” the Cleric greeted.

The boy smiled. “It’s already half-past five, Senpai,” he said, a grin on his handsome tan face. “Are we gonna practice or what?”

Mikieru returned the smirk as best he could. Shin-ju had grown up so quickly during the past two years—the 13 year-old Nomad boy was now a young man at 15. Despite the dour experiences they had both gone through in Al de Baran, the bond they shared did not waver over the years.

“Yes, yes,” Mikieru replied after a moment, arranging the forgotten stacks of paper on his desk. “You go on ahead to the courtyard. I was doing some paperwork and I must have gotten engrossed. I’ll meet you there.”

Shin-ju shrugged, the familiar grin still on his face. “Well!” he chuckled, turning to leave. “I guess you’re liking your new job, after all.”

Mikieru stopped moving for a moment after hearing Shin-ju’s comment. He glanced at the closed door with a raised eyebrow, as though indicating that Shin-ju got him there. In spite of all they’ve been through over the years, the boy acted as though it didn’t bother him in the slightest, unquestioningly working his mundane janitor’s job and looking forward to afternoon sparring matches with his Master.

• • •

Of course, Mikieru knew why Shin-ju was this carefree…

• • •

Before replacing the large book on the shelf, Mikieru glanced at the tiny letters engraved at the bottom of the back cover:

Printed in Juno, Republic of Schwartzvald

• • •

Sean Garner walked down the second-floor hallway, followed by his team of Constables. It was six in the afternoon, and he and his team was on their way out of the Constabulary HQ for their first assignment of the day.

At 28, Sean was still one of the youngest Prefects on the Constabulary. The recent elevation of his friend Mikieru Makimachi to the rank of Prefect was both good news and bad news for him—while he was happy for his friend’s fortune, he knew that his own position was slightly shaken. He would be the first to admit that Mikieru’s sleuthing skills were superior to his own.

The sounds of combat greeted Sean and his team as they rounded a corner that overlooked the courtyard.

“Whoa,” one of the Constables commented. “Look at that.”

“They’re at it again,” another said.

Sean looked over the railing, his eyes widening at the fantastic one-on-one battle that was unfolding in the courtyard below. Mikieru and Shin-ju were deep in their Blessing trances, each emanating a bluish-white aura from their bodies. The sandy courtyard surface was marred by footsteps and skid marks—Sean guessed that most of those marks were made by the feet of the Shin-ju, since it was quite obvious that it was the Nomad boy who was on the offensive.

One of the Constables winced as Mikieru soundly blocked a sweeping mid-air kick from the boy. “That would have broken my arm,” he stated, shaking his head.

“Or your skull, if you weren’t fast enough,” one of his peers said.

Sand flew as Shin-ju lunged one more time towards Mikieru, flinging a straight right at his Master’s jaw. The Cleric nonchalantly leaned away, avoiding the boy’s fist by inches, and parried the boy’s arm to the side.

Instead of getting knocked off-balance, Shin-ju’s body twisted in mid-air, like a cat compensating for a fall, and threw a sweeping backfist at Mikieru’s head. The Cleric’s eyes widened—this was a counter-attack that he didn’t expect.

“Whoa!” Sean spat as the boy’s fist swept in.

At the last moment, Mikieru ducked, planted his feet on the ground, and slammed an open palm into Shin-ju’s exposed midsection. With a grunt, the boy flew backwards, his feet landing on the ground and carving two long skid marks from the Cleric’s position. When he slowed to a stop, Shin-ju clutched his midsection and fell to his knees, his Blessing aura fading into nothingness.

“Do not be so careless, Shin-ju!” Mikieru scolded, standing upright. “You are so fixated on attacking that you make yourself vulnerable to reprisals!”

Shin-ju gritted his teeth, trying in vain to keep his hold on his Blessing trance. Soon only Mikieru had the bluish-white aura wafting from his shoulders.

“For the millionth time, protect your torso,” the Cleric continued. “The Blessing trance is a Cleric’s main advantage. You cannot afford to lose it even once by absorbing a blow to your midsection… casting it a second time is more difficult, more dangerous…”

“I know, Senpai, I know,” Shin-ju interjected angrily, the fire of the match still in his blood. “…and it might kill me if I force the issue. I know. Now let’s go!”

The boy rose to his feet, one hand still clutching his stomach as he got up. Defiantly, Shin-ju assumed a fighting stance, although he was slightly bent from the pain in his midsection.

Mikieru allowed himself to stare at his Apprentice for a moment. He felt a pang of guilt for the extra-heavy counter-attack he had just delivered, but he knew he would not have executed that instinctive palm strike if he wasn’t in any real danger—and Shin-ju’s sweeping mid-air backfist came lethally close to connecting. Although still very young and raw, Shin-ju was admittedly getting better.

Instead of settling into his own barehanded fighting stance, Mikieru turned his face skyward and noticed the dark rain clouds that were gathering from the wind’s direction.

“Shin-ju,” Mikieru said calmly, releasing his hold on his Blessing trance. “That is all for the day.”

“Aww, but Senpai!” Shin-ju protested.

“You are weakened,” the Cleric explained. “If the weather gets to you tonight, the fever will take days to shed. Continuing any further would only do you more harm than good.”

Shin-ju bit his lip in frustration, but knew that there was no convincing his Master otherwise. He loosened his stance and began to walk towards the steps that led towards one of the HQ’s halls.

“However,” Mikieru said, catching the downcast boy’s attention. “I will give you this much. You almost got me with your last attack.”

Shin-ju’s eyes widened. “Really?” he spat.

The Cleric smiled, raising a gloved hand high above his head. “Put it there, pal,” he said.

The boy grinned at the rare congratulatory remark that Mikieru gave him. He took a running start and leaped to return the Cleric’s high-five. Together, the two friends headed towards the steps, where they had left their towels and water canteens.

With the fight over, Sean and his Constables went on their way to their day’s assignment.

“Say, Sean,” one of Sean’s Constables piped up. “Ever thought about sparring with them?”

An audible sound of amusement came from Sean’s lips as he gave his reply.

“What am I, stupid?”

• • •

[Mikey]

Mikieru and Shin-ju sat on the stone steps, resting and toweling off their sweat. While Shin-ju drank from his water canteen, Mikieru sneaked a look at him. The Cleric noted how differently Shin-ju looked today from the first time he saw him in that cold alley in the Dolter district. He especially noted Shin-ju’s face—it had the tan skin of a White Nomad, and yet there was something about his eyes, nose and lips that looked Caucasian. If Shin-ju’s skin was lighter, he would almost easily pass as a Northfolk… and a quite handsome blue-haired one, at that. Mikieru thought that if Shin-ju ever decided to refuse training in the Holy Arts, he would eventually go out and break some poor girl’s heart.

Shin-ju noticed Mikieru’s glances after a moment, and he turned to look at the Cleric. With a puzzled half-smile, the boy shook his head. “What?” he asked.

Mikieru laughed softly, turning away. “Nothing,” he said. “It is only that you seemed to have grown so much these past two years. When I found you, you were… what, four-foot-four? Four-foot-six tops?”

Shin-ju grinned, trying to shrug off the embarrassment.

“Now you are closer to five-foot-six. That is about six inches a year. I do not think I grew up that much when I was your age.”

Shin-ju laughed. “Seriously, Senpai, I can’t imagine you to be any shorter than six-foot-three.”

“Hey, this is about you, not me.”

“I don’t wanna talk about me,” Shin-ju laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’ll jab at how squeaky my voice used to be.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Mikieru poked. “I kind of liked the way you sounded before your voice broke.”

“Gimme a break, Senpai. I sounded so girly back then.”

“Quite. Like… ‘It’s not what you think, Senpai!’”

Shin-ju guffawed as Mikieru tried to mimic the boy’s pre-teen voice. “It was squeakier than that! It was like… ‘Can’t I have something to eat that’s NOT over a day old?’”

Mikieru chuckled. “Or, ‘Whoa! I’ve never seen bugs THIS big before!’”

“And don’t forget my favorite line, Senpai!” Shin-ju whooped between fits of laughter. “Like… ‘My name is—’”

“Shin-ju Yang?”

“Yeah, exactly like that—” Shin-ju’s voice trailed off. The boy thought Mikieru finally mimicked the exact high-pitched note that Shin-ju used to have, but it wasn’t the Cleric who said the last line. Together, the two friends turned their eyes towards the courtyard, where the very feminine voice came from.

• • •

A Kafra delivery lady was standing in the middle of the courtyard, holding a letter envelope in her hand and glancing between the two men seated on the steps.

“Er…” Shin-ju stammered, getting up. “I’m Shin-ju Yang.”

“Ah,” the Kafra lady smiled, pleased. “I have a letter for you from a certain Yamakuno Yoriko, in Payon…”

Shin-ju froze.

“Serious?” he said loudly, leaping up and briskly approaching the Kafra Lady, leaving Mikieru alone on the stone steps.

Shin-ju had written several letters to Yoriko over the past two years. At some point in all of the letters he wrote, he asked what she had meant by the words she said when she left him in that Al de Baran infirmary warehouse. He had never received a reply from the girl, leaving him with the gripping feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Now, she had written back.

His heart beating wildly, he signed the Kafra Lady’s receiving list. Then he took the letter from her fingers and ran back towards the steps.

“G’night, Senpai!” Shin-ju called, sweeping up his towel and water canteen on his way up the stairs. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything!”

Shin-ju never waited for a reply. He was in the building and on the way up to his utility room bedroom well before Mikieru had a chance to answer.

Moreover, Shin-ju failed to see the grim expression that came over the Cleric’s face when Yoriko’s name came up.

• • •

Shin-ju ran to the utility room where he was staying, threw his stuff into the broken closet, lit a candle and climbed to the top of the stack of boxes beside the window. With quivering fingers, he opened the sealed envelope and took out four pieces of paper. Moving them close to the candlelight, Shin-ju eagerly began to read what Yoriko had to say to him after two years.

Dear Shin-ju-kun,

How are you? I hope you are all right. I apologize for taking so long to write back. Do not worry—I have received all your letters and I have read them all… over and over, in fact. Even after two years of being away from you, I still think of you… and it is quite funny how even your handwriting reminds me of how happy we used to be.

I am all right here. Papa told me that I gained some weight, and I am happy to hear that. I do think my body has been developing rather rapidly… I had to change my kimono sets more than three times the past year because my shins were showing!

Shin-ju noticed the handwriting on the paragraph that followed. It was still Yoriko’s, but it looked as though the girl had paused for several moments before resuming the letter.

Hmm… it seems I do not know how to keep the mood of this letter as light as I want it to be. I suppose I should just say my reason for writing straight away…

Please do not be angry at what I am about to tell you, Shin-ju. It was Papa who told me not to write to you, and he does not know that I am writing you this letter now. I am in the Archers’ Village now, about to enter my third year of schooling, and it is much easier to hide in a Kafra mailing station here, since I do not have my Papa’s eyes watching my every move.

This is the reason why I left you, Shin-ju-kun.

Shin-ju’s smile faded as he turned to the second page.

I want to say sorry. I lied to you on that day in Al de Baran. When you woke up after the battle with that monster, you asked me what had happened… and I told you how my Papa and his Knights managed to cut it up into pieces, and Mikieru-sama managed to invoke an exorcism spell before the creature could rise again. This was what my Papa told me to tell you if you asked.

But that is not what really happened…

Papa and his Knights could not even wound the creature. Its bones were harder than the blades of their Katanas. Even with their self-enhancement skills, they could not contain the monster—and it was not long before many of them, my Papa included, were wounded by the monster’s bones. When Papa and his Knights fell back, the creature began to approach Jared-sama again—only to freeze when you stood in its way.

• • •

The boy froze, reading the last line again.

He stood in the creature’s way?

That couldn’t have been true… he lost consciousness just before Akira and his Knights pressed their combined attack against the monster!

Turning to the next page, Shin-ju continued to read the girl’s grim letter…

• • •

I could not believe what you did after that, Shin-ju-kun. I saw a deathly orange aura emanate from your shoulders. And it seemed that the creature could not move while you stood in front of it—and it did not resist when you raised a hand in the air and threw it down, slicing the creature’s body cleanly into two parts!

I do not understand what happened in the several moments that followed after the creature fell to the ground… it seemed as though it, and you, were locked in each other’s stare. I do not know what you were doing. Then, without warning, the orange aura that enveloped your entire body weakened into nothingness, and you fell backwards onto the ground, unconscious. It was then when Mikieru-sama rose, took his weapon, and exorcised what remained of the creature.

The turmoil was over after that… but not in my heart.

I knew that only Demonic creatures emanate the orange aura that you did. Papa and Mikieru-sama knew this as well. They knew something was very wrong with you, and that only you would know what had transpired when you cleaved the creature in two. Mikieru-sama, however, thought that it was a possibility that you had no conscious thought when you defeated the monster. That was when Papa told me to stay with you until you woke up. And when you woke up, I would tell you the lie they had concocted if you had no memory of the incident. That was the case when you woke up… and that is why I lied to you…

So, now you know why I said those words when I left you in that infirmary, Shin-ju-kun. I truly do believe you are a good person, and not a Demon. Papa and Mikieru-sama are without a doubt only thinking of what is best for you, so please… do not hold any spite against them.

It is my wish, Shin-ju-kun, that we try, as hard as it might be, to put the event behind us. I truly do hope it is over so that all of us—you, most of all—could get on with our lives. As troubled as my heart is over the circumstances surrounding this letter, I am still trying my utmost to live my new life as an Archer as best I could.

Shin-ju listlessly turned to the last page.

Coming this June, me and my buddy Kuusuke will be undergoing training missions into the Forests Of The Moon. You remember that place, yes? It is where I was found by my Papa five years ago, and… you may think this funny, Shin-ju-kun, but that uncharted was also the place where Kuusuke was found. Yes, he is a Demi-human like me… a half-Elf, in fact. Among all of the new Archers in Payon, he is the best one among us… and…

Shin-ju could not believe what Yoriko wrote next.

…I love him.

It pains me to tell you this, Shin-ju-kun, but I truly do. Being the exact same as me, he understands all of my feelings and all that I am going through in my life… and now that he is my buddy, he has proven to be the inseparable companion I had expected him to be, and more. If things were only different, Shin-ju-kun, I would like you to meet him, only…

Shin-ju-kun, I am sorry, I really, really am. But I need to tell you the truth about everything. I am about to leave you with this letter, and I want no lies to remain between us. Please promise me, Shin-ju-kun—do not write back. Papa does not know that I am writing to you, and I cannot bear to betray his trust any more than I have with this letter.

But, as before, I will leave you with the same wish I made for you in the Tao Shrine. Please find yourself, Shin-ju-kun. Please find whatever it is that you are looking for, and most of all—please live with the Tao’s love and my own.

Goodbye.

Yoriko

• • •

A gust of wind flew in through the small window, blowing the sheets of paper from Shin-ju’s limp fingers. The flame on the candle died with the wind, surrounding the boy with the darkness of night. Listlessly, Shin-ju looked out the window, his eyes watching the steady fall of rain outside. He sat there, on top of the tall stack of boxes, for the rest of the night.

• • •

The rain persisted throughout the night and past the sunrise. It was now seven in the morning, and a drenched Mikieru stepped onto the Constabulary locker room. Expectedly, no one was there yet. None of the day-shift Constables had reported for duty, even one hour after the swing shift had logged out. It was quite the main problem the Cleric had with his Constables.

As he took off his raincoat, the Cleric turned his head to the sound of a mop moving over the locker room’s tile floor. It was Shin-ju, and he was beginning his janitorial duties the same way he did everyday for the past two years. This day, however, Shin-ju did not greet the Cleric as he passed by Mikieru’s locker.

Mikieru sat on his bench, watching Shin-ju’s listless form as the boy rounded a corner and disappeared behind a row of lockers.

I knew Yoriko would not be able to keep our secret forever, Mikieru thought. Her soul is much too pure to live a lie against her only friend.

The Cleric lowered his head and closed his eyes.

I am sorry, Akira, but I cannot hold this lie for long, either, Mikieru apologized in his mind. But there is not much we can do now. I have to tell Shin-ju the truth. After all, the boy deserves more than this.

Try as he did, however, Mikieru could not find the strength to rise and approach the boy right away. He felt that he had to find the right words to say before he could confront Shin-ju with the lie they had perpetuated for two years.

• • •

At the Constabulary HQ’s gate, a Peco-peco carriage slowed to a halt. Its door opened slowly, and a pair of steel-toed boots stepped onto the wet pavement.

She was relatively young, yet the manner in which she carried herself exuded a bearing well beyond her years. The silver cross that hung from a choker around her neck gave testament to the rigorous training she had gone through in her youth. She was a Cleric—one of the very few remaining in Midgard today—and she was here on a personal mission, even resigning from her teacher’s job in Payon to make the trip to Prontera.

She opened an umbrella and held it over her head. She exhaled, knowing that this was her trip’s final destination. Adjusting her large spectacles, she took a look at the fortress-like building that rose in front of her.

“This must be the place,” she said to herself, not minding the cold wind that blew at her face and long auburn hair. “Prontera Constabulary HQ.”

She gave herself a few moments to stare at the HQ, as though reveling in some secret, personal victory, before she began walking towards the building’s main door.

• • •

End of Chapter One

[Mikey]

Chapter Two
My Name Is Lara Murakami

“Excuse me.”

Mikieru looked up with a start, turning his head towards the locker room door and the source of the youthful female voice.

The Cleric had been sitting on a bench for the past several minutes, trying to come up with the exact words to say to Shin-ju—the boy now obviously knew about the secret that he, Akira, and Yoriko had been keeping from him for two years. Mikieru had no inkling as to how the Nomad boy would react to this, and thus had qualms about approaching Shin-ju directly. He was about to get to his feet when the voice sounded over the lockers.

Squinting slightly, Mikieru saw a pretty young Priestess standing at the locker door. Upon seeing the Cleric, the Priestess began to walk towards him—chin slightly raised, one hand on the sling of her handbag, the other swinging confidently with her stride. Her long auburn hair and purple robes trailed behind her as she trotted with measured, balanced steps towards Mikieru. The Cleric thought that she exuded a manner that was simply too mature and too curt for a child of Payon who couldn’t possibly be older than 23.

Mikieru stood up and turned his head away from the approaching Priestess. “Female on the floor,” he called over the lockers.

The clicking of Shin-ju’s mop stopped for a moment, then resumed as though the boy did not care the least.

Mikieru made a move to remove his round-rimmed dark glasses in respect. He opened his mouth to greet the Priestess, but was cut short by her sharp remark:

“Where are the Constables? It’s already past eight in the morning and the Constabulary is empty?”

The Cleric cleared his throat uneasily. “I apologize, I…”

“Fitting,” the Priestess interjected, adjusting her large spectacles at the Cleric who towered over her petite frame. “You’re a Prefect, aren’t you? I can see by the Pin on your coat. Yes, the only thing a Prefect can do is apologize for his subordinates. I suppose I can overlook your negligence, if you do not put the blame on them and instead take full responsibility for this show of clear delinquency.”

It took Mikieru a moment to give a reply.

“I will,” he said. “I mean, I do, Mother. I do take responsib—”

“Sister,” the Priestess rudely interjected again. “I’m a Cleric, not a Presbyter. Will you look a little closer and try to do something right for a change?”

Mikieru’s face contorted in a frown that he hoped was too slight to be detected by her. She was wearing a white muffler that hid her neck and shoulders from view—he had no immediate way of telling what kind of cross she was wearing, or if she was wearing one at all. Through his dark glasses, he sneaked a peek into the muffler’s folds and saw her cross—it was silver, wrapped securely around her slender neck in a choker. She was a Cleric, like him.

“I see,” Mikieru said, exhaling. “My apologies. You fooled me with the way you unloaded on me like that.”

The Priestess’s face slowly exhibited a look that could have passed for either annoyance or amusement. She placed her hands on her hips and raised a curt eyebrow at the tall Cleric.

“Your manners, sir Knight, your manners,” she deadpanned, staring at him unblinkingly. “I realize I have not been misinformed about the Constables’ rudeness here.”

Mikieru tried a little levity. “Cleric,” he corrected, taking off his dark glasses. “Perhaps you should look closer as well, Sister.”

The Priestess’s eyes widened after a moment of thought. Her hands left her hips and reached up to hastily adjust her large spectacles again. Her fingers on the frames, she looked at Mikieru’s eyes—blue-and-green—then at the silver cross hanging on a chain around his neck, then back at his eyes.

Mikieru could have sworn that her hands were shivering as they dropped from her specs. “You’re…” she began weakly, “…you’re the Kitsune?”

The Cleric closed his eyes, the edges of his lips curled in a calming smile, then opened them again.

“I—I’m sorry!” she stammered, bowing profusely. “I’m terribly sorry, good Brother! I didn’t know—the Kitsune! That means… that means you’re…”

The downcast Priestess turned her eyes up respectfully. “That means… you’re my superior…”

“It means nothing, Sister,” Mikieru assured her, the soothing look still on his face as he offered his large hand. “No offense was taken.”

The Priestess reluctantly reached up and shook Mikieru’s hand. Her face, which Mikieru swore was the epitome of the rudeness in all of Midgard only thirty seconds ago, gradually brightened into an impish grin.

“Totally sorry for my arrogance, Brother Kitsune,” she apologized again, giggling. “I’m nearsighted, see… and I sorta didn’t recognize you right away until I took a closer look. I heard stories about the Kitsune working somewhere in Prontera these days… but I had no idea I’d be meeting him so soon!”

“That is well, Sister,” he answered. “To be quite honest, I found being berated to be a refreshing change of scenery. With the exception of my Magistrate, people almost always keep their distance as soon as they recognize me.”

“Well, yeah… I prolly would’ve been a li’l more careful if I knew who you were when I walked in here,” she confessed. “From all I’ve heard about you, I sorta had a totally different image of what the Kitsune was like.”

“And what would that be?”

“Older, for sure. And a whole bunch crabbier, too.”

The two Priests laughed easily, then cleared their throats at the same time. Then they realized their hands were still locked together in a handshake, and they both let go with some noticeable haste.

She tried to hide a smile and pretended to pat some dust off her robes, and he cleared his throat one more time before continuing.

“Anyway, Sister,” he began. “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, that’s right!” the Priestess remembered, raising a finger. “I’m here looking for someone, a certain blue-haired Nomad boy named ‘Shin-ju’. I heard he was last seen working here, in the Prontera Constabulary grounds… would you happen to know someone like that?”

Mikieru’s smile faded at this remark. “Well,” he answered after a moment’s silence, “as a matter of fact, I do.”

The Cleric turned around slightly and called over his shoulder.

“Shin-ju!” Mikieru’s voice sounded through the locker room. “There is someone here to see you.”

Behind several rows of lockers, the two Priests heard the sound of a mop dunking into a bucket of water. Then, a few footsteps. Shin-ju emerged into the aisle, taking off his rubber gloves and favoring the two Priests with a questioning look—besides Mikieru, no one had ever come to the Constabulary HQ to see him.

The Priestess stood perfectly still. Even with her impaired sense of vision, she knew that the boy stepping towards her was the one she had been looking for.

Shin-ju tucked the gloves into his overalls pocket. “Yes, Ma’am?” the boy greeted.

Instead of answering, the Priestess raised her chin slightly, closed her eyes, and took off her glasses. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping the lens. Then, taking her time, she replaced the cloth in her pocket, lowered her head and put the glasses on again.

She stayed in the last position for a moment longer than Shin-ju and Mikieru expected her to, and the two exchanged wondering glances at each other.

• • •

Three quiet words escaped the lips of the Priestess. Mikieru did not hear what she said, but Shin-ju did, although the boy did not know what she meant at that time.

• • •

Mikieru cleared his throat, his usual mannerism to break an uncomfortable silence. “Shin-ju, may I introduce you to…?”

At that, the Priestess raised her pretty face to Shin-ju, her eyes narrowed and her lips stretched in a genuinely happy smile.

“Hello, Shin-ju. My name is Lara Murakami. How would you like to study at the Prontera Training Grounds this year?”

• • •

[Mikey]

Shin-ju fidgeted in one of Mikieru’s visitor’s chairs. The Cleric had led both he and the Priestess, Lara Murakami, to his office after the first of the Constables began arriving in the locker room. His eyes fluttered back and forth between the Priestess, seated in front of him in the other visitor’s chair, and Mikieru, who sat across his desk. The two Priests had been carrying the conversation for him—he had not said a word after he heard the Priestess’s shocking offer.

“So you’re a teacher at the Payon Training Grounds?” a question came from Mikieru.

“Yes,” Lara answered. “Rather, I used to be. I submitted my intent to transfer to the Prontera Training Grounds last week. I knew I would be making the trip to Prontera to find Shin-ju anyway, and so I decided to accomplish two things with one move.”

“Really?” Mikieru quizzed. “That… sounds like a long shot to me.”

“I know,” she confessed. “I know I actually stood little chance of finding Shin-ju when I got here, but the news article helped me out a lot.”

Shin-ju raised his eyes slightly at this remark.

“News article,” Mikieru repeated.

“Yes,” Lara answered, reaching into her handbag. “This one in particular.”

The Priestess drew out a copy of the Payon Gazette, a Common-language periodical that circulated the highlands once a week. This one was dated over two years ago. On the lower right corner of the front page, a small article was encircled in red ink.



Boy saves girl in flooded water channel

PRONTERA—Constables last week rescued Joanne Lynas, 13, from Prontera’s West Water Channel. The Channel was filled to its limits by torrential water runoff from Mt. Mjolnir, which has been experiencing unusually heavy rainfall for the past several weeks. Lynas and three other companions were apparently conducting an ocular inspection of the West Water Channel when the steel bridge they were standing on collapsed. Her three companions managed to climb to safety, but Lynas was swept away by the waters.

According to some Constables, a certain blue-haired Nomad boy jumped into the West Water Channel and managed to bring the girl safely to the banks. At the Prontera General Hospital, where Lynas stayed for two nights, Nurses also claimed that the boy answered to the name of “Shin-ju,” although neither of these assertions was verified as the Gazette was unable to find this boy for comment.

Joanne Lynas is the first person to ever survive after falling into a flooded water channel.



Mikieru gave a low whistle. “You made the gossip column, Shin-ju?” he chuckled. “You’re famous!”

Shin-ju couldn’t help but smile as he read the column, and felt that he had to say something. “I, uh… I’m surprised they got my name right.”

Lara laughed. “Anyway, this is basically the reason why I’m here,” she explained. “Like I said before, I used to be the Social Science Head Instructor for first-years in Payon. Being such, I’m entitled to give one scholarship grant to any one child I see fit every year.”

Mikieru nodded. “And you are giving this year’s grant to Shin-ju,” he concluded.

“Yes.”

Shin-ju looked up warily. “But… why me?” he asked. “By this article alone, you couldn’t have possibly been sure I even existed.”

“Oooh, well. Let’s see,” she shrugged, turning her hazel eyes upward. “Long story short… I know how Prontera’s water channels are built, and I know for a certainty that once you fall into the water, there’s absolutely no way for you to get out. I figured that there was something special about this ‘Shin-ju,’ who not only survived the channel, but also saved someone from it. I figured he was someone worth looking for.”

Shin-ju and Mikieru stared at her for a moment, and she pouted at their lack of expression.

“That’s it,” she said, a bit loudly. “Believe it or not, but that’s it.”

Mikieru turned to Shin-ju. “So, what do you think, Shin-ju?”

Shin-ju smiled a bit, staring into space and waving his hand beside his face. “It’s sorta still sinking in at this point…”

Lara laughed again.

“So, it’s settled then?” she asked. “The school year starts in a little over two weeks, and it would be best if we could finish the enrollment procedures as early as we can.”

Shin-ju glanced at Mikieru, his face expressing a quiet question if it was okay with the Cleric.

“Well, it is up to you, Shin-ju,” Mikieru replied. “Would it be all right with you if you downgraded from an Apprentice to a Novice?”

The boy replied with a blank stare, and Lara noticed it.

“Oh…” she interjected politely. “You mean you’re not familiar with the Novice-Grandmaster hierarchical structure, Shin-ju?”

Shin-ju shook his head no.

Lara smiled in understanding, turning in her seat to face him squarely. “It’s like this. Listen well, Shin-ju.”

• • •

[Tutorial Mode. XD]

“Every person in Midgard begins his ascension through any career path he or she chooses by enrolling in a Training Grounds. This is called the Novicehood stage. During this stage, the Novice learns more about his or her proficiencies and preferences regarding the various career paths in today’s society. Once he makes a career choice and earns the corresponding necessary credits, he becomes eligible for the next stage: Apprenticeship.

“As an Apprentice, one begins to take hands-on training on his chosen career path under the tutelage of one or more superiors. Usually, the superior is a Master of the individual’s chosen field of study—for instance, a Swordsman takes lessons from a Knight, a Draftsman learns from an Architect, a Priest teaches an Acolyte… the list goes on. Note that an individual may choose to remain an Apprentice for the rest of his life.

“The individual may, however, choose to go higher in his/her chosen field of study and become a Master. Eligible Apprentices may be recommended for ascension by his/her Master, and the graduation usually takes place en masse—as is the case in the Chivalry, where they hold graduation ceremonies for new Knights every March. In the Church, Priests decide which Acolytes are eligible for ordination at certain times during the year.

“As an example, Kitsune and I are Masters of the Brave Priesthood. We have the authority to take Apprentices under our fold and teach them the ways of the Clerics.

“Finally, the highest point in the hierarchy is called the Grandmastery. Very few Grandmasters exist in Midgard today. The exact details for eligibility is not known, but it is common knowledge that Grandmasters must exemplify the greatest in his chosen path, and that a sacred process known as the Rebirth Ritual is the ultimate test of an individual’s worthiness in accepting the greatest of honors. Grandmasters hold all authority over their chosen career paths, and make all major decisions regarding the practice and welfare of such. High Priests, Lord Knights, and Whitesmiths are examples of Grandmaster levels.”

[End Tutorial. XP]

• • •

Lara brushed her hair aside, as though she held great pride over the short lecture she had given. “So, you think you got all that, Shin-ju?”

“Yeah, I, uh… I guess so,” Shin-ju replied, not exactly sure.

“So you’re ready for the Novicehood?”

Shin-ju turned to Mikieru, again asking silently if the Cleric allowed this.

Mikieru nodded. “You know I have no objections, Shin-ju.”

Shin-ju smiled and slowly bowed his head. “Thank you… Senpai.”

“Great!” the Priestess whooped, clapping her hands together. “So, Shin-ju, can you like, meet me at the lobby in an hour or so? I suppose you’ll need some time to pack your things.”

The boy turned to stare at the Priestess as he heard the last line she said. “I, uh… I’m sorry?”

Lara pouted again. “Pack your things,” she repeated. “As a scholar, you get your own dorm room.”

Shin-ju turned to Mikieru again. This time, he had a full smile on his face.

“This is awesome!” he yelled, eliciting laughter from the two Priests.

“Best be going, Shin-ju,” Mikieru said. “Won’t do to keep the good Sister waiting.”

“Thanks, Senpai!” Shin-ju yelled, jumping off his seat and running towards the door. Before he left Mikieru’s office, the boy turned to Lara and bowed deeply.

“Thank you so much, Sister,” he intoned.

Then he turned around without another word and closed the door behind him.

• • •

“Sister?” Mikieru ventured.

Lara turned to him. “Yes, Brother?”

“I cannot thank you enough.”

She smiled, but shook her head as though she wasn’t following.

“You do not know how much this means to both Shin-ju and I. Myself, I have been struggling for two years to earn enough to send the boy to school… and now here you are, saving him and I from a great deal of grief.”

“Oh, you’re welcome to it, good Brother. It’s always been my nature not to stay in one place and do just one thing for any length of time. Life’s too short for that. I wanna experience as much as I can while I’m still alive, see, and this… I think this is a good release for me. But… I have to admit, I’m a little uneasy about one thing.”

Mikieru nodded. “Uneasy,” he repeated.

“Shin-ju has been your Apprentice for two years, but… starting today, he will be taking lessons under my watch. I can only imagine how it might feel for you.”

The Cleric shrugged easily. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But we both know that this is the best thing we can do for Shin-ju, and if the boy is happy, I am happy.”

“I am glad to hear that from you, Brother Kitsune.”

“Please. You can call me… Mike.”

Lara gasped. “No!” she laughed. “That would be rude.”

“You’re telling me,” Mikieru joked. “Seriously, think about it. I would still like to see Shin-ju’s progress every now and then, and that would mean we will be keeping in touch very often. How would you feel if you called me ‘Brother Kitsune, Brother Kitsune’ all the time?”

“Well…”

“Mike will do just fine. All right?”

Lara displayed her impish grin once more. “Only if you call me Lara,” she declared.

Mikieru smiled at this. “Deal,” he said.

The two Priests, grinning like children, shook hands on the deal.

• • •

Meanwhile, Shin-ju rummaged through the utility room where he had been staying for the past two years. He opened every cabinet and drawer in the broken closet, emptying his meager belongings into a backpack. The boy’s heart was pounding—he had not felt excitement like this for the longest time. He was going to school! The mere thought made him forget about the pain he experienced only one night before—until, carelessly, he accidentally opened the last drawer in the broken closet.

The smile on his face faded as he looked at the drawer’s contents. A chimed sakkat, a few Payonese trinkets, and a letter… all of these came from Yoriko.

Shin-ju paused for several moments, staring. He wondered whether or not to bring the drawer’s contents with him. Yoriko had hurt him deeply with her last letter, but he wasn’t exactly sure he had it in him to simply forget everything they had gone through…

• • •

Please find yourself, Shin-ju-kun. Go with the Tao’s love… and my own.

• • •

Shin-ju opened his eyes.

He closed the drawer loudly. He turned around and picked up his backpack with a sweep of his arm. Without a word he left the utility room, promising himself never to return.

• • •

[Mikey]

After exactly an hour, Shin-ju descended the stairs to the lobby, catching sight of Mikieru and Lara standing on both sides of the main entrance doors. The two Priests each had a tall carton cup of mocha in their hands, and they nodded when they noticed that the boy had finally finished preparing.

“Ready?” Lara asked, a smile on her face.

Shin-ju returned the smile, nodding. “Let’s go,” he said.

The boy walked on a path that would cross between the two Priests. As he neared the doors, Mikieru and Lara each put a hand on a door leaf and pushed outwards. As the double-doors swung open, Shin-ju walked through, the crisp morning air and warm sunlight giving him a feeling of triumph.

Shin-ju stood for a moment on the Constabulary HQ’s front porch, flanked on both sides by Mikieru and Lara, breathing deeply and reveling in the fact that he was no longer a janitor and was, from this moment forward, a Novice.

The boy had never felt happier in his life.

• • •

It happened that Sean Garner and his Constables were crossing the courtyard in front of the porch where Shin-ju stood at that moment. They noticed the large backpack on the boy and wondered what he was up to.

“Hey, Shin-ju,” Sean greeted, eyeing the backpack. “Where’re you going?”

Shin-ju waved. “Hi, guys!” he greeted jovially, descending the steps. “Guess what! I’m going to school!”

Sean and the Constables were stunned.

“School?” one of the Constables blurted out. “Get outta here!”

“Exactly! That’s what I’m doing!” Shin-ju laughed, approaching the Constables on the courtyard.

A female Constable scratched her cheek at the sudden news. “Really? You’re leaving?” she said, a bittersweet hint in her voice. “You won’t be working here anymore?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can work while I’m studying,” the boy laughed again, pleasantly surprised at the Constables’ sudden show of interest in his welfare. “Uh… you don’t like the idea?”

“No way,” the female Constable replied, shaking her head dourly. “It’s just that… I didn’t know you’d be going so quickly.”

Shin-ju grinned mischievously. “Aha!” he whooped. “You’re gonna miss me!”

Sean laughed. “The heck’re you talking about, Shin-ju?” he cracked, approaching the boy. “We always miss you. Watch this—”

The Knight swung an open palm at Shin-ju’s head, and the boy instinctively ducked, avoiding the mitigated attempt.

“Woohoo!” a Constable guffawed. “You did miss him, Sean!”

Shin-ju whooped again, getting ready for another mock sparring match with Sean and his Constables. “So it’s like that, huh?” he yelled, jumping up and running around in an attempt to land his own palm strike at Sean.

“Yeah!” one of the Constables yelled as he joined into the romp. “I swear, I’m really gonna score my first hit on you today!”

Laughter filled the courtyard as Sean and his Constables tried in vain to score a hit on the fast-moving Nomad boy. They knew that this would be the last time they could play with Shin-ju like this, and it didn’t matter to them if they were already late for their day’s assignments—they were about to say goodbye to this very remarkable child, and they were going to spend their last moments in the best way they thought possible.

• • •

Mikieru and Lara stood on the front porch, watching as Shin-ju romped around with Sean and his Constables on the wet courtyard below them.

“You will keep an eye on him, will you?” Mikieru asked quietly, not turning to her.

Lara eyed the tall Cleric. She was taking a sip of mocha when she heard his whispered inquiry. She waited for him to continue, but he did not elaborate.

“Sorry, but… why do you need to ask me that?” she whispered in return.

Mikieru sighed, closing his eyes. “Shin-ju is special, Lara,” he replied. “I have no doubt in my heart that he is capable of great things. But as special as he is, he is also troubled. I never meant to hide anything from him, but we thought it was the best course of action at that time...”

• • •

In his mind, Mikieru saw the image of a slouching Shin-ju, his eyes lidless and iris-less, his skin blackened, his entire frame enveloped in a Demon’s pulsating, wafting orange aura…

• • •

“Mike?” Lara asked, wondering what Mikieru meant with his words.

Mikieru opened his eyes, seeing a very happy Shin-ju romping with his Constable friends in the courtyard. The boy he was watching now seemed so different from the one that managed to destroy the creature Urd without even a single touch…

“Lara,” Mikieru answered, “Shin-ju has had a troubled youth. He was orphaned at a very young age and left his hometown when he was ten. He wandered the entirety of Sograt Desert for three years before he reached Prontera, only to be judged despotically by the color of his skin…”

The Cleric wanted to enumerate what had exactly happened two years ago in Al de Baran, but decided against it at the last moment. He sighed and made his point.

“I love the child,” he said. “I just do not want anything to happen to him.”

There was silence for a moment, when he allowed himself to watch Shin-ju’s playful form a while longer.

“Well, that’s weird.”

Mikieru turned to face Lara, seeing a very puzzled expression on her face. He raised his eyebrows slightly at her, as though asking what exactly she found ‘weird.’

Lara shrugged, and matter-of-factly asked: “How’s anything gonna happen to him if you don’t let anything happen to him?”

• • •

“Hey, Sister Murakami!” Shin-ju called from the courtyard. “Are we riding a Peco Carriage to the Training Grounds? ‘Cause there’s one at the HQ gates that looks like it’s waiting for you!”

Lara turned to Shin-ju, waving. “Yeah, that’s ours! Go ahead, I’ll be right there!”

The Priestess sipped the last of the mocha from her cup and handed it to Mikieru. “Thanks, Mike,” she said, winking at the tall Cleric with both her eyes. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Without another word, Lara descended the steps and walked across the wet courtyard towards their Peco Carriage. Soon she and Shin-ju would be off on their way to the Prontera Training Grounds, where she would guide the boy into a new life as a Novice.

Mikieru stood rooted at the porch, two empty paper cups in his hands, watching the Priestess as she trotted away. Her last question caught him totally off-guard. It was as if she had asked him something that was, at the same time, both incredibly idiotic and impeccably wise.

The Cleric laughed quietly at himself. Lara Murakami, he thought, turning around to walk back into the HQ. Looks like I have yet another mystery on my hands…

• • •

End of Chapter Two

[Mitsune]

do i need to read the first part? XD

[Mikey]

Chapter Three
Starting Out

Shin-ju walked up to Mikieru’s office door and knocked three times.

“Come in,” the Cleric’s voice came.

The boy turned the knob and walked in. Mikieru had his back turned to him, facing instead the bookshelf behind his book-laden desk. The Cleric seemed to be preoccupied with choosing which books to take from the shelf, besides those that he had already pulled. Shin-ju stood at the doorway, waiting for Mikieru to turn around and look at him.

Surely enough, the Cleric noticed the silence and looked over his shoulder after a moment. His lips moved slightly when he saw Shin-ju, standing smilingly at the doorway, in full Novice garb.

“Shin-ju,” Mikieru greeted, eyeing the boy up and down. “Going somewhere?”

“You know it,” Shin-ju laughed, closing the door behind him. “But I guess I should be asking you the same thing. Why all the books? And what’s with the bags?”

Two large bags were sitting on Mikieru’s visitors’ chairs, where Shin-ju and the Priestess Lara Murakami sat across each other only six days ago. Shin-ju took one of the bags and laid it on the table edge so that he could take a seat.

“I am taking a short vacation,” the Cleric answered. “I have already informed my Magistrate. I will be gone for perhaps three weeks.”

Shin-ju made a face. “Three weeks?” he repeated. “What kinda short vacation takes three whole weeks?”

Mikieru pulled a handful of books from the bookshelf. “One in Juno, I would imagine.”

“Oh,” the boy bit his lip. “Really? That far? What gives?”

The Cleric laid the books on the table. “Oh, let it lie that I have gotten fed up with Prontera after all these years,” he chuckled, turning back to the bookshelf. “I desperately need a change of scenery, and I thought perhaps the Eternal City would be worth a look.”

Shin-ju eyed the stack of books curiously. “It can’t possibly be just that, right?” he ventured.

Mikieru nodded. “You listen between my words. Juno is the City Of Wisdom, after all. I was planning to do some research on Old Nordic Mythology… as well as to find any inkling about the history of these.”

Shin-ju watched wordlessly as Mikieru turned a key in a hidden, locked compartment in the bookshelf. The Cleric opened the compartment and reached into it.

• • •

The boy immediately saw what he expected to see. Mikieru drew his hand out, turned around, and laid two smooth, three-sided stones on the table.

One was from a friend. One was from an enemy.

• • •

“We both know that I will not likely find any information about these in archives and libraries,” Mikieru said grimly, his eyes fixed on the two stones. “And that is the leading reason why I am going to Juno. I am going to ask my questions to the only person in Midgard who can be called the authority on this matter.”

Shin-ju’s eyes moved from the hated stones to Mikieru’s uncovered blue-and-green eyes. “And who would that be?”

“The person who was once my Master,” the Cleric answered, taking the Stones and stuffing them into one of his coat’s inside pockets.

• • •

Half an hour later, Shin-ju was helping Mikieru load his bags and books onto the Cleric’s Peco-peco. While the boy strapped one of the bags to the saddle, he spied as Mikieru locked the last buckle on his utility belt. The Cleric moved his shoulders easily, adjusting to the weight of the Redeemer strapped to his back again after two years.

“Dangerous ride, huh,” Shin-ju asked quietly.

Mikieru sighed. “Five days of wasteland between Al de Baran and Juno,” he answered simply.

Shin-ju nodded, pulling a belt’s free end. “You’re gonna tell your Master about me, too, aren’t you.”

The boy turned away. Mikieru looked at him thoughtfully, knowing well that there were no more secrets between he and Shin-ju. The Cleric felt guilty for having kept it from Shin-ju all this time, but at the same moment knew that this was how he wanted his relationship with the boy to be—with absolutely nothing to hide.

“Listen to me, Shin-ju,” Mikieru intoned, walking towards the downcast boy. “No one knows what really happened in Al de Baran, save for you, me, Yoriko, Akira, and a select few Payon Knights under his command. The history books will always say that the whole anarchy was fueled by Garrione’s mutiny, and that the Shousa’s warriors were able to defeat a Wraith summoned by the traitorous Taishou.”

Shin-ju didn’t fidget even as Mikieru moved beside him.

“But think about what really happened. Think about how the creature spared you from certain death. Think about how you managed to defeat it. And think about the fact that you have no memory of the incident. All the journalists and all the history writers will not know what we speak of if we ever tell them the truth… but the evil persons behind the actions of Garrione and the Taishou will, once they hear about it. And that will do nothing but put you in danger.”

Shin-ju shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he complained quietly. “Can’t we just leave it at that? Can’t we just bury it and move on?”

“I know what you mean,” Mikieru answered. “I know how much you would like to forget about everything that has happened. But there are simply too many unanswered questions about this matter. We need to know as much as we can about you… and these Stones… while times are good and the battlefields are silent.”

Shin-ju did not reply.

“Unless you already know the answers?” Mikieru asked.

At that, the boy turned to face the Cleric. Shin-ju’s mouth was closed, but his gray eyes were widened slightly, as though he had realized something very important for the first time.

• • •

Mikieru rode away on his Peco-peco, one arm raised high above his head in a gesture that he was saying goodbye to Shin-ju. The boy stood at the Constabulary HQ gates, waving weakly. He and Mikieru had just said their goodbyes to each other only moments before, but their conversation still echoed in the boy’s mind.

• • •

“Unless you already know the answers?” Mikieru asked.

At that, the boy turned to face the Cleric. Shin-ju’s mouth was closed, but his gray eyes were widened slightly, as though he had realized something very important for the first time.

“N-no,” Shin-ju answered quietly. “No, I don’t, Senpai. You’re… you’re right. I don’t know the answers.”

Mikieru smiled, laying a gloved hand on the boy’s head.

“I hope you understand, Shin-ju,” the Cleric finished. “I know that you are looking for the answers even more than I am. I only hope we will have found them when I return.”

• • •

Why did I say that? Shin-ju wondered, getting into a gray jacket. Why did I say no?

Almost twenty-four hours had passed since Mikieru left for Juno. Since then the boy kept asking himself why he replied with the negative to the Cleric’s question. In truth, he had some insight into what supposedly took place in Al de Baran two years ago. After all, it wasn’t the first time it had happened…

Still, Shin-ju did want to forget everything. Maybe that’s what made him lie.

Tsk, the boy thought to himself. To think I was being such a sourpuss when I found out about the secret, only to tell a lie to Senpai in return… still, if I could just forget about everything, maybe then it won’t be a lie, right?

The Nomad boy slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked towards the door, stopping only to look at himself in the mirror. Brushing his fingers through his blue hair, he took a deep breath. In a moment, he would leave his dorm room and join the rest of Prontera’s Novices in trooping towards the Academy Building and the first day of the school year.

• • •

[Mikey]

Shin-ju took a good look at the huge Main School Hall as he approached it from a tree-lined pathwalk. It looked like a cross between a stepped pyramid and a castle. It had six levels, each one smaller than the one below, with irregular walls that formed alcoves for numerous decks, atriums, and playing fields. It was the center of the Prontera Training Grounds, converging in crossroads between dormitory communities, commercial establishments, and other institutional elements. Even after only a few days of staying here, Shin-ju could already see how the Prontera Training Grounds was considered to be the best in Midgard. It was complete, self-sufficient, and beautiful. Merely walking towards the Main School Hall electrified Shin-ju.

The boy soon saw other Novices walking towards the Main School hall. Some looked no older than twelve years, while others seemed to be at least eighteen. Each one was garbed in the traditional Novice uniform, and each looked as if they shared Shin-ju’s sentiments about starting the school year.

However, Shin-ju could not help but notice the curious glances thrown his way by the other Novices. No doubt they were surprised that a blue-haired Nomad was coming to school with them.

Shin-ju sighed and kept his eyes on the ground in front of him as he approached the Main School Hall’s steps.

• • •

Alone on a balcony overlooking the fields in front of the Main School Hall, a girl leaned on the parapets with her chin on her hand. She sighed as she watched the flocks of Novices below her, moping at the prospect of spending one more year in the Training Grounds. This was her third year, and she desperately wanted to start her career in Architecture soon.

She had always wanted to become a Drafter, owing to her fondness for drawing. But her mediocre grades in Physics had discouraged several Engineers and Architects from taking her in as an Apprentice. Her friends, who similarly did poorly in Physics, had moved on and shifted to other majors, while she stubbornly insisted on trying one more time.

This year, she wished to herself. This year, I hope many things will change.

Mournfully, she clasped her arms and rubbed. This Midsummer morning was unusually windy, and the chill was getting to her. She had to go back indoors soon or she would get sick—again.

Aside from thinking of herself as a half-wit—due to the fact that she could not manage to earn decent grades at Physics even after two years of trying—she also considered herself as clumsy, unattractive, and flat as a washboard. And now, on the first day of school, she was catching a cold.

As she turned to walk back indoors, she took one last glance at the flow of Novices heading into the Main School Hall—and froze when she saw, among the crowd, a blue-haired Nomad boy ascending the steps.

She thought she was hallucinating. But after she looked away and slapped herself once, she looked again—and saw him again.

Here.

It’s him.

And he’s here.

Forgetting the chill, the girl ran back indoors and leaped down two flights of stairs. She maneuvered herself among the crush of bodies moving the opposite direction as she ran towards the Main School Hall entrance.

“No running in the halls!” a passing Instructor shouted at her. But she didn’t hear.

She jumped a few times, trying to see a head of blue hair coming her way. She pushed against the flow when she thought she saw him again, only to trip on someone’s shoe and fall soundly on her face. A few sounds of surprise came from the crowd.

Slowly she pushed herself off the ground, her face and arms dirtied by the fall, and got to her feet slowly. A Novice was standing in front of her, his hands halfway into the motion of assisting her.

Her eyes slowly rose to his.

The boy found it strange that most of the Novices who took notice of him initially showed curiosity, suspicion, and even fear after only a single glance—and yet here in front of him was a girl, gazing at his empty gray eyes with her own sky-blue stare, a smile of amazement and gladness splayed over her dirty cheeks.

“It’s you!” she whispered in awe, trying to catch her breath.
Shin-ju knotted his brow, his hands still looking as if they would reach out and grab her at any time. “I, uh…” he began. “…I’m sorry?”

“It’s you,” she repeated, swallowing. “You saved me… remember?”

A look of recognition slowly made its way over Shin-ju’s face, and he slowly returned the smile. “You’re… you’re Joanne,” the boy said. “Yeah… I remember.”

The two kids laughed at each other, trying to hide their excitement at seeing each other again after so long. Shin-ju held her by the arms and helped her walk through the moving crowd. Joanne took notice of the hands that held her—they were the same hands that furiously held on to her while she tumbled helplessly in that Water Channel. She was amazed at how his touch instantly made her feel safe, even more than two years later.

• • •

Shin-ju helped Joanne take a seat on a bench beside a nearby open garden.

“You okay?” Shin-ju asked.

Joanne made a face, lifting her foot onto the bench. “Yeah, I guess… clumsy me,” she said uneasily, rubbing her knee from above her jeans. “My knee hurts though, I think I bruised it…”

The boy nodded, eyeing the knee. “Mind if I take a look at it?”

She looked at him quizzically. Here they were, having only met each other a minute ago, and he was asking if he could see her knee. The thought made her blush slightly, but she obligingly rolled up a pant leg after a moment.

“Ow,” Shin-ju said, seeing a bad bruise on the side of her kneecap. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“N-nah, it’ll be fine,” she stuttered. “I fall when I’m excited—I mean, I get hurt like this when I’m excited—but I’ll be okay. Really. It-it’s no big deal.”

He looked at her with one eyebrow slightly raised. Then he lowered his eyes to the bruise again, wondering what made her so nervous.

“Lemme try something,” Shin-ju offered, glancing at her and edging closer.

Joanne’s eyes widened as Shin-ju moved closer to her. “U-uh… sure…”

Shin-ju took a breath and clasped his hands together. Then, without taking his eyes off the bruise, he channeled some mana onto the palm of his right hand.

She never blinked, even as his right hand emitted a faint, pale green light. Then she held her breath expectedly when he laid his hand on the gash on her bare knee.

To her surprise, the pain began to fade within seconds.

“There,” Shin-ju exhaled, removing his hand from Joanne’s knee. “Good as new.”

When Shin-ju withdrew his hand, Joanne spied an Acolyte’s Rosary under his sleeve.

“Th-thanks,” she said, smiling bashfully. “You’re… you’re training to be an Acolyte?”

He stopped for a moment. Then he sighed, pulling back his right jacket sleeve slightly to reveal his Acolyte’s Rosary.

“I guess so,” he answered, his eyes on the beads. “I mean, I don’t think I have a choice on the matter, anyway. My Master is a Cleric, and I need credits in Philosophy and Social Sciences to remain a scholar.”

“Okay…” she said quietly, brushing her fingers uneasily through her short blonde hair.

“How about you?”

“Me? Oh… I’m—I want to be an Architect one day.”

“Really? That’s cool…”

“Yeah, I guess,” she sighed in resignation, glancing at the garden beside them. “If only I was cut out for it, too.”

Shin-ju raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Mm… It’s just that I keep flunking Physics,” she confessed. “I’ve already gotten my credits for Art and Humanities, and I just need to pass Physics to advance to Apprenticeship. I’ve been trying for two years, and…”

Her voice trailed off. Shin-ju looked away and nodded in understanding, knowing that Physics was also in his curriculum for the First Semester.

After a moment, they turned to each other at the same time.

“Can I have your schedule?” the two kids asked together.

After an embarrassed moment of silence, they laughed again. Then, without another word, they took out their respective Class Schedules for the other to copy onto their notebooks.

Then the bell for the first period sounded, making the two kids look up with a start. Already, the other Novices walking in the hallways were quickening their paces to get to their classrooms in time.

“Wow, first period,” Shin-ju said a bit loudly. “I guess we gotta go.”

“Y-yeah,” Joanne agreed, handing back Shin-ju’s documents to him.

The boy hurriedly stuffed his notes into his backpack and slung it over his back. “Hey, so I’ll, uh… I’ll see you later?” he asked, getting up.

“Uh, yeah—okay,” she said, managing only to nod with a smile.

Shin-ju returned the smile, then turned around to troop towards his classroom on the third level.

W-wait a sec… Joanne thought, instinctively reaching out towards the boy. As the boy walked away from her, she opened her mouth to call his name—but her voice died in her throat. She watched helplessly as he moved into the crowd and disappeared around a corner.

Her hand dropped limply to her lap. Her other hand reached up to slap herself on the forehead, her eyes shut tight and her teeth bared in an exasperated cringe. After almost two-and-a-half years of looking for him, she had him right in front of him—and still, she couldn’t tell him how she felt!

Staring into space, Joanne half-closed her eyes and quietly murmured the words she had been practicing to say if she was ever going to meet the boy named “Shin-ju” again.

“I wanna let you know how much I owe you for saving my life. I want you to know that I totally appreciate it. Where do you live? What’s your sport? Do you like WordTwist? I hope we could hang out sometime. It was great seeing you again. Take care. I love you.”

She laughed in silent self-depreciation. Now that Shin-ju was studying in the Training Grounds, she’d have a lot of opportunities to say those words to him. But she looked at her knee and thought about how he cast the Heal spell to treat her bruise. She remembered that he was training to be an Acolyte. Now she was wondering whether it was okay for her to tell him those words—especially the last three…

She brooded on the bench alone for a few more minutes after that, not minding the other kids rushing to class in the hallways around her.

• • •

[Mikey]

“I’m surprised that your Magistrate actually let you take three weeks off, Mike. Not so much because I thought it was impossible, but because I thought you could never afford to take a break with your new job as a Prefect.”

Mikieru had left Prontera for Juno yesterday. Today was the 24th of May, however, and he decided to stop by Al de Baran to pay a visit to Napolde Linwelyn’s gravesite. It was the Elf’s second death anniversary, and Cleric was sure that his young Merchant friend, Jared Wycrow, was in town. Now, late in the morning, the two friends were out on Al de Baran’s surrounding fields, heading towards a certain ridge near the eastern cliffside.

“It was not as difficult as you might imagine,” Mikieru answered. “My Magistrate was actually pleased that I asked for some time off. If he had his way, I am sure he would have me leave the Constabulary permanently.”

Jared laughed. “What in the world is his problem? He afraid you might take his place one day?”

Mikieru shrugged. “Whatever it is, it does not concern me. I have gone through too much to worry about such immateriality.”

The Merchant nodded, sighing. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But you’ll have to admit… there was a time in our lives when trivial matters were everything we knew.”

Mikieru did not answer right away, as he finally saw the small alcove of bushes that surrounded Napolde’s gravesite. He slowed his pace somewhat, allowing Jared to reach it before him. The Merchant stood in front of the Elf’s tombstone for a moment, in silence, before kneeling and placing a wreath of flowers in front of it.

“She changed everything,” Jared said.

Mikieru walked over to the kneeling Merchant’s side. “You must be thankful,” he ventured.

Jared nodded again.

“Back then, I used to worry when my stock deliveries were late, or when the month’s profits were slimmer than projected,” the Merchant said. “I used to get sleepless nights whenever my Trading Post was heading towards a loss. But that all changed when Napolde showed up on my doorstep.

“She showed me what really mattered. Life was too short to worry over the little things. She taught me to figure out what was really important.”

Mikieru nodded, his hair being blown about by the ocean wind. He allowed Jared to continue.

“I mean, since then I’ve been able to put up a small hotel in Alberta, opened a money-lending business at my Trading Post, and sponsored a few Training Ground scholars here and there. I could’ve done this years ago, but it still cost Napolde’s life to make me realize all this.”

The Cleric sighed. “One must lose oneself to find oneself.”

Jared slowly moved his head side to side, as if painfully taking in another one of Mikieru’s double-meaning statements. Then he answered after a moment.

“Maybe,” Jared said. “But it took someone else’s sacrifice to wake me up.”

Mikieru thought about this for a few seconds. Then he took a few steps towards Napolde’s tombstone, placing his fingers on the smooth marble.

“Do not diminish your beginnings, Jared,” the Cleric intoned. “It took the sacrifices of many other people to wake me up, and it only took you one. And despite that, you still have taken control of your life much better than I have.”

Jared looked up at the Cleric, stunned momentarily by the revelation. Then he allowed himself to lower his eyes at Napolde’s tombstone one more time.

“True,” Jared said slowly. “I guess that’s true. Thanks for saying so.”

The two friends stayed at Napolde’s cliffside gravesite for the rest of the morning, talking about how they have been for the past two years. They discussed Mikieru’s trip to Juno, Jared’s plans of studying again, and Shin-ju’s first time going to school under the eye of the Cleric, Lara Murakami.

Mikieru would stay one night in Al de Baran. Then he would set out on the arduous five-day ride to Juno, and to answers long overdue.

• • •

End of Chapter Three

[Mikey]

Chapter Four
Shadows Not To Be Feared

The final afternoon bells tolled throughout the Academy, and the Novices began to file out of their classrooms. For most Novices, it was the end of the last class and the start of the extra-curricular periods. Some boys and girls made their way to the playing fields to join their respective sporting clubs, while others filed towards special activity halls in the Main School Hall. Everyone had something to do.

For Shin-ju, anywhere was fine, as long as he got out of his classroom as soon as possible. The first two days of school was very unsettling to him, owing to the stares and hushed whispers that his tan skin earned from his classmates and peers.

His last period was a Homeroom class, and the Cleric Lara Murakami was his class’s Instructor. She had asked the thirty students present about the careers they planned to pursue, and nineteen Novices—more than half the class—claimed to have interests in joining the Chivalry. A few wanted to enter the building industry, and even fewer wanted to take a medical or legal profession. In the whole class, Shin-ju was the only one who raised his hand when Lara asked for aspiring Acolytes—and the whole class had erupted in raucous laughter when he did.

Shin-ju later realized that many of the kids his age found the Priesthood quite unappealing, due to the difficult vows Acolytes had to make. One smug-looking boy had even interjected: “Acolytes can’t get any! Only nerds become Acolytes!” Lara mitigated Shin-ju’s embarrassment by telling the class that she herself was a Priestess, and that while the Priesthood is perhaps the toughest career path one could take, it was also the most rewarding in the long run.

Apparently, none of the Novices believed in ‘the long run.’ Very few in Prontera those days did anymore.

Sighing, Shin-ju pushed through a few Novices who were loitering at the classroom door, avoiding their stares as he moved past them. He was glad that the schoolday was over and that he’d be away from his classmates for at least the rest of the day.

• • •

Unknown to Shin-ju, someone was waiting for him to come out of his classroom. She was hiding behind a nearby column, peeking around the corner at his room’s door. In her hands, she held a WordTwist puzzle book.

She hid behind the column as soon as she saw Shin-ju walk out of the classroom.

“Okay, Joanne,” she whispered to herself, holding the book in front of her face as if getting ready to do something big. “You can do this… just take a deep breath…”

She peeked around the column again. He was walking in her direction. Only a few more steps… and he’d be close enough…

At the right moment, Joanne stepped from behind the column, put on the biggest smile on her face, and opened her mouth to greet Shin-ju when…

• • •

“Hey, Shin-ju!” Lara called, stepping out of the classroom. “Wait up!”

Shin-ju turned around at the sound of Lara’s voice at the exact same moment that Joanne emerged from behind the column. “Lara?” he called back at the Priestess.

Joanne still had the goofy smile plastered on her face, but Shin-ju, unaware of her presence, had his back turned to her. The girl felt strange stares from the other Novices in the hallway, thrown in the direction of her and Shin-ju. With a bead of sweat running down the side of her face, she slunk back behind the column stupidly, never losing the awkward grin on her face.

• • •

“In a hurry, aren’t we,” Lara chuckled, walking over towards the Nomad boy. “Where’s the fire?”

Shin-ju made a face. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he sighed, trying to look away. “It’s just that I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

“Aw, c’mon,” the Priestess teased, grasping Shin-ju’s sleeve and pulling him along as she walked down the hall. “They don’t know what it’s like. Everyone makes such a big deal about poverty vows these days. I mean, even chastity isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”

Shin-ju’s face turned red. “Lara!” he muttered her name under his breath.

Lara giggled. “You’re blushing!” she taunted the boy. “You’re so cute!”

The boy turned away and mumbled something incoherent. Lara laughed lightly, loving every moment of getting under Shin-ju’s skin. She looped her arm around his and laid her head on his shoulder, earning a lot of stunned glances from the Novices hanging around the corridor as they passed by.

They had known each other for only a little over a week, but Shin-ju and Lara had already become very close. The Priestess had turned out to be a pre-teen trapped in a 23 year-old’s body, often exhibiting traits and views that were considerably less mature than Shin-ju’s own. For the boy’s part, he was very surprised when he first got to know Lara’s true colors—but ultimately, he found a strange ease in her company. While she would never show it initially, Lara was a philosopher at heart—and Shin-ju found that it was much easier for him to confide in the Priestess than with anyone else he knew. The boy was actually surprised that he began calling the Priestess by her first name one day—and even more surprised when Lara didn’t mind the least.

“Say,” Lara piped up. “Tomorrow’s a Wednesday. Thought of something cool to wear yet?”

Shin-ju gave her a blank look. “For what?”

The Priestess pouted. “’For what,’ he says. It’s a Wednesday. Wash day. Ring a bell? You don’t have to wear the Novice rig tomorrow. The other kids usually come to class in more comfortable clothing… and, hey, I’d like to see what your taste in clothing is like.”

The boy listened to her for a moment, then stared ahead. “Gee, I… I didn’t know that. I don’t think… No, I don’t have any clothes at all,” he said. “None without patches and seams all over, that is.”

Lara laughed again.

“Well, I kinda thought so,” she said. “So I’ll tell you what. It’s still half-past three, and there’s a little Fair at Central Park right now. If you wanna, we could spend the afternoon there and pick out a few suits for you.”

“R-really?” Shin-ju asked. “You’d spend for me?”

“’Course. I mean, you can’t spend for yourself, or can you?”

Shin-ju smiled sheepishly at Lara’s kind offer. “Thanks, Lara,” he said. “But… I can’t leave the Training Grounds yet. I decided to join the Literature Club yesterday and we have a club meeting today.”

“Ooh,” Lara smiled. “You’re a reader.”

Shin-ju shrugged. “Well, it sure beats hanging around at the Dorm room doing nothing.”

“Okay, then,” Lara said, removing her arm from around Shin-ju’s. “How about we meet six p.m., at Central Park? We could have dinner there too.”

Shin-ju grinned. “Sounds great… I’ll be there.”

“Neat,” Lara said, waving goodbye as she turned down a different corridor. “I’ll see you at Odin’s Font at six, aight?”

“Aight,” Shin-ju laughed, waving. “See ya.”

The lighthearted conversation left a smile plastered on Shin-ju’s face, which was dour through-and-through the minute before Lara caught up with him. The boy then made his way towards the Literature Clubroom with a lighter spring in his step.

• • •

Meanwhile, Joanne was still behind the column. She had managed to hear a bit of the conversation between Shin-ju and the mysterious, youthful-looking girl named “Lara” as they passed her by. She had no idea who or what Lara was, but the knowledge that Shin-ju was already friends with another girl—and a very pretty one, at that—made her feel a painful twinge in her chest.

Sighing regretfully, the blonde-haired girl waited until Shin-ju rounded a corner and disappeared from her sight once again. Then she took a look at the WordTwist puzzle book in her hands, and whispered the words she wanted to say to him.

“Shin-ju, hi! You busy? I was wondering if we could hang out beside the football fields today. I just got this new WordTwist book. Do you know WordTwist? It’s a really cool puzzle game where you try to guess words out of jumbled up masses of letters. It’s loads of fun… well, that is, if you don’t got anything better to do. Hee hee. So, uh… can we, like, hang out for a bit, just you and me?”

With her back and head pressed against the column’s cold surface, Joanne closed her eyes. She smiled sadly at her own misfortune and hopelessness, and hoped that she’d have better luck the next time around… if there ever was a next time for her.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Shin-ju lost his way twice in trying to find the Cyril Hall among the numerous other Halls in the Main School Hall. When he finally found it, it was almost fifteen minutes past four.

He climbed the stairs to the third floor and scanned the wooden signs that hung over the doors. He stopped when he found one that read:

Literature Club

Shin-ju knocked twice and pushed the door open. The smell of paper and dust greeted him.

“Hello?” he called, stepping into the room. It was empty, save for three tables grouped together near the middle of the floor, a heap of notebook leaves and old newsletters littered over them. No one seemed to be there.

Something shuffled from inside a small anteroom to the right. Turning his head to the sound, Shin-ju called. “Anyone there?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” an impatient female voice came.

Shin-ju walked towards one of the tables and stood in front of it, one hand on the table surface, the other clutching a strap of his backpack. A few seconds later, a girl came out of the anteroom.

The girl had black hair, clipped behind her head into a plume that resembled a miniature peacock’s tail. Her Payonese eyes were heavily lined by black makeup, giving her a strangely beautiful, foreboding look. She wore a tight-fitting white shirt, with sleeves that drooped past her elbows and a neckline that dropped a little lower than it should.

“Yes?” she asked, a bit curtly, one of her hands on her hips, the other loosely holding a strap of her black handbag. “Can I help you?”

“Uh,” Shin-ju began, jerking his thumb behind him. “I saw the ad in the ECA bulletin board yesterday, and I, uh… I thought I wanted to join the Club.”

The girl smiled, amused. “Well, aren’t you the weird one. People these days don’t normally join the Lit Club by choice… and only on the second day of classes, too. Either you’ve got the wrong club, or you simply don’t have a social life.”

Shin-ju shrugged at her sassy remarks, but declined to say anything until the girl finished.

“Well, anyway,” the girl sighed, “I suppose I should be thanking you. You’re officially the second staff member of the Visor.”

Shin-ju knotted his eyebrows at this. “…I’m sorry?”

“The Visor,” she repeated. “The Prontera Academy’s schoolpaper. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”

“N-no, I thought…”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Can you work right away? As in, like, now?”

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

“Good.” The girl pointed to a small pile of paper on a corner of one of the tables. “Those are the articles we’re gonna put in the next schoolpaper. I want you to lay them out, throughout eight pages, as neatly and as comprehensively as you can. Sorry I can’t help you, but I have interviews with some of the new Instructors in the Training Grounds, and I’m running late. I’ll be back in an hour… if ever. I just want you to remember… I need those ready by tomorrow."

With that, the girl grabbed a notepad and a pencil and left the room, passing Shin-ju as if he was never there.

Shin-ju stared at the pile of paper on the desk.

From reader to proofreader, he thought. This isn’t what I thought the Lit Club would be…

Then he realized something.

I never got to ask her name, he thought, staring over his shoulder at the door…

Shin-ju took the sheets of paper in his hands and walked to one of the tables. He cleared the mess from it and took a seat on a stool, reading through the articles one by one. Taking a previously printed schoolpaper in his hands, he used it as a reference as he began composing the layout of the next issue.

• • •

Two-and-a-half hours later, Shin-ju was sitting on a bench near Odin’s Font, looking around for any sign of Lara. It was already a quarter to seven, and the Priestess hadn’t showed up yet like she had said. Sighing, the boy looked up at the clear blue Midsummer sky from under his hood.

Odin’s Font was the majestic marble fountain that marked the middle of Prontera’s Central Park. It was situated at a crossroads of the landscaped district, and many of Prontera’s citizens liked to unwind there after a hard day’s work. There weren’t too many people here today, being a weekday, and it wasn’t very chilly either, but Shin-ju still chose to wear a large jacket with a hood. He simply had enough of the stares thrown at his tan skin today.

Music was playing at a nearby bandstand, and some kids were playing ball and running after the pigeons in the tiled plaza around Odin’s Font. People were sitting on the nearby benches, chatting. And somewhere, a clock bell sounded the hour.

It was seven p.m., and Lara still wasn’t around. Shin-ju sighed in exasperation and got to his feet, deciding to take a walk to stretch his legs.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Shin-ju looked at the shops that lined the pathwalks of the Fair. Many were food stalls, selling fruit, nuts, and farm produce. Others were apparel shops, while others drew young girls to their shelves with their displays of flashy accessories and such. Still, none of the shops interested Shin-ju until he rounded a certain corner.

Even before he turned down this pathwalk, Shin-ju had noticed faint music that seemed oddly nostalgic. He followed the sound with an irresistible eagerness. He stopped at a certain tent, where he was sure the music was coming from. A sign read above its tent-flap entrance:

Dunewear™

Intrigued, Shin-ju pushed through the heavy canvas flaps and walked into the tent’s dark interior.

Shin-ju suddenly realized why the music sounded so familiar. It was a White Nomad melody. He seemed hypnotized—within the tent, he felt some semblance of…

…home.

Shin-ju walked over to the dimly-lit front counter, where a music box played the music that he liked very much. The music had stopped only moments before, reaching the end of its coil. Shin-ju stared at the strange, gold-edged box for a moment. Then his hand slowly reached for the key.

Tenderly, the boy rewound the music box to its beginning, filling the tent with the melancholic music again.

Shin-ju turned and looked around the dim tent. Candlelight illuminated displays of Nomadic trinkets, clothing, and weapons. On one side, the boy saw wooden bracelets and anklets, coral earrings, and beaded necklaces. Clothing hued in deep browns, pale yellows, and reddish-orange lined the shelves. Behind the counter, numerous throwing knives, daggers, iron katars, and scimitars were displayed against the wall—but there seemed to be no one else in the tent.

“Hello?” Shin-ju called quietly. “Is anyone here?”

The boy walked over to the clothing shelves, all the while squinting in the darkness, looking for an attendant. No one answered him, so he allowed himself to browse the tent’s wares while waiting.

Within minutes, he had picked out a pale yellow robe, baggy brown pants, and a brown tassel. He also picked out a brown sweater—one with an oversized opening for the head and pale yellow zigzags running across its torso and sleeves. Shin-ju then ducked into a fitting room, changing into the robe and pants.

He stuffed his old clothes in his backpack and emerged from the fitting room. He walked straight towards a full-length mirror, smiling slightly at what he saw.

The robe had a deep brown trim that parted it at the middle, exposing a part of Shin-ju’s tan chest and went down almost towards his navel—it was truly a suit for the desert. The boy moved his shoulders, feeling the almost weightless fabric against his skin. He had not worn anything so comfortable in years.

Shin-ju then moved towards the counter to pay for the clothes. There was still no attendant behind the counter, so he stayed there, listening to the music for a few more moments.

The boy’s gaze soon gravitated towards a picture frame that hung on a wall near the counter. The picture was that of a middle-aged Northfolk man with swept-back gray hair. His face was devoid of any facial hair except for a goatee that made his face even more angular than it already was. His eyes were half-closed, but his stare was piercing nonetheless.

Shin-ju blinked. He could swear that the man in the picture was clothed in a black-and-purple leather uniform—the exact same worn by those…

• • •

…Assassins…

• • •

Then Shin-ju saw something move in the picture’s glass face. He spun on a jolt, coming face-to-face with a young girl in a mock Assassin’s uniform. Shin-ju hadn’t heard or felt her presence until the last moment—it was almost as though she had magically appeared behind him at that instant.

The girl had flaming, wavy red hair that bounced down to her shoulder pads. She was undoubtedly Northfolk, but her pose—hands at navel, one hand clasping the wrist of the other—and her calm demeanor upon facing Shin-ju seemed unnervingly Nomadic.

“At last,” the girl intoned, smiling slightly with half-closed eyes. “An honorable child of the Desert finally graces us with his presence. This is a glad moment indeed.”

With the middle and index fingers of her right hand, The girl touched her navel, then her forehead—then bowed her head, extending her right hand in a receiving gesture towards Shin-ju. It was the Ecrudis—the traditional White Nomad greeting.

“Th-thanks,” Shin-ju began after swallowing. “Uh… who are you?”
“I am just the attendant of this Desert Tent,” she replied. “I am an Apprentice of the Scholastic, Balthesar Yeary.”

“Balthesar Yeary?” Shin-ju repeated.

“Yes,” the girl answered, motioning to the picture frame on the wall. “He is the man who owns this shop.”

Shin-ju turned to look at the picture again as the girl explained.

“My Master rarely speaks of himself, but he has already made known to us, his Apprentices, of his involvement in the Frontier War,” she intoned. “He used to be a Knight on the Alliance’s Antioc Front. He told us that even the dishonor of failing to reach the White Nomad Capital in time was but a pittance of an insult compared to the dishonor done to him and his peers by the Kingdom of Prontera those days.

“They were ordered by their Majors, several times in fact, to attack many friendly Nomadic villages on their march to Antioc. Sir Yeary was only following the orders of his superiors, and yet he was still indicted as a proponent of those faulty raids. He was soon recalled from the frontlines and stripped of his rank of Knighthood.”

Shin-ju winced. He had heard these stories of the Kingdom’s injustices before.

“Since then, Sir Yeary has resigned from Chivalry service and instead devoted himself to the study of Nomadic culture,” the girl continued. “He has written several books on the ways of life in the White Nomad villages—based on his own observations during the Frontier War—and he has made several studies into the intricacies of the Shadow Arts. Presently, he is the only known Master of the Shadow Arts in Prontera—and I am one of his Apprentices. Our school here in the Capital, small as it may be, is known officially as Assassin Nation.”

Shin-ju turned to her. “Assassins…” he began. “You’re studying to be a Shadow Artist?”

“Your worry is uncalled for,” the girl answered him. “Sir Yeary is only working to make the Nomadic way of life known to Prontera in order to erase the misjudgment and prejudice held against Nomads here. I do not mean to assume, but I believe you have felt your share of bigotry in this city.”

Shin-ju nodded slowly.

“I am Northfolk, but even I have suffered the intolerance from others of my race, due merely to my association with Sir Yeary’s school. We do not mean to sow any turmoil here. We are Shadows Not To Be Feared.”

The girl approached Shin-ju slowly, never taking her eyes off his.

“It would be an honor for Balthesary Yeary… and his Apprentices… if you were to join Assassin Nation and be one of us.”

Shin-ju swallowed, all of a sudden feeling uneasy. He reached for his wallet.

“Listen,” he said. “I can’t stay long. I’ll take these clothes… and this sweater, here… and I’ll be—”

Shin-ju stopped with a shock, realizing that his wallet wasn’t in his back pocket.

“My wallet—” he said loudly, only to be cut off by the sight of the girl in front of him. Her right hand was in front of her, and Shin-ju’s wallet was in it.

Wordlessly, Shin-ju took the wallet from her hand.

“I am sure Balthesar Yeary would want you to receive those clothes as a gift,” she intoned, withdrawing her hand. “And, perhaps, as an invitation as well.”

Shin-ju did nothing as the girl leaned in and moved her lips close to his ear.

“It was your heritage, after all,” she whispered. “And it can be yours again, if you wish it.”

• • •

“There you are!” Lara whooped, jumping off the bench at Odin’s Font. “Shin-ju!”

Shin-ju smiled in greeting as he and the Priestess walked towards each other.

“Sorry I’m late!” Lara apologized, giggling. “I sorta got caught up with this WordTwist puzzle at my pad, and I… ooh, hey. That’s an intriguing get-up.”

Shin-ju had walked out of the Dunewear tent wearing the Desert clothes he had been given. Undoubtedly, many glances were again thrown his way—only this time, he did not seem to mind. He always liked his Nomad heritage. Only now, he did not feel the need to hide it from the scrutinizing gaze of others.

“You like it?” Shin-ju asked, striking an easy pose. “It was a steal.”

“Mm, yeah, it suits you,” Lara agreed, eyeing Shin-ju’s chest area. “I guess I don’t have to pick out clothes for you anymore. Wanna do dinner? I’m starved.”

“Sure,” he answered easily. Soon they left Odin’s Font and looked for a place to eat—arm in arm, as usual. The two were quite a sight that night.

While Lara gave her excuses for being late, Shin-ju snuck a look over his shoulder. What happened a while ago at the Dunewear tent left in him a curiosity about the Shadow Arts and Balthesar Yeary that would stay with him for days after that.

• • •

End of Chapter Four

[Mikey]

Chapter Five
The Eternal City

Mikieru Makimachi knotted his eyebrows in intense concentration as his Peco-peco barreled mercilessly through the clouds.

Clouds, indeed. Who would have thought.

This was his fifth day of riding through the Schwartzvald wilderness. He had caught sight of his destination yesterday—the majestic floating city of Juno—and he had decided not to stop for the night. The sun was rising now, but he could not see it. He was riding through a dense cumulonimbus cloud that floated around Juno’s massive, rising Land Bridge. In a moment, he and his Peco-peco would emerge from the cold white mist into the majesty of the Eternal City.

Juno and the sunrise greeted Mikieru as he rode through the Eternal City’s gates. Some took notice of him as he rode by—guards, civilians, children—but none dared to stop him or question his identity. The combination of his black Cleric’s coat, silver cross, and round-rimmed dark glasses made him known immediately to the populace.

Mikieru had never been to Juno before, but his deeds were quite well-known here. Juno was the seat of the Holy Church. It has been some time since the Church began to train its Apprentices here, in preparation for their missions on many parts of Midgard. The lives of Clerics past and present were avid topics of discussion and deep study here, and the Kitsune has earned some renown among the younger Brave Acolytes in the hierarchy—although the reasons ranged from his stalwart performances in his Acolytehood to the eminence of the man who was once his Master.

The Cleric had no trouble finding his way through the cobblestone streets. His Master’s last instruction, given to him almost six years ago, echoed in his mind:

“Do not forget the place to find me in Juno. I doubt you will survive this War, but if by chance you do… then you will realize all along that I was correct in everything I had taught you.”

Mikieru did survive the War. And now, he was going to meet his Master again.

The Cleric rode onto a ridge that overlooked the entire floating city, and he stopped his Peco-peco. He removed his dark glasses and took a good look at Juno, feeling the Eternal City’s uncorrupted atmosphere moving through his being.

Juno was everything the books had claimed, and more. A clear sky hung perpetually over the city—there was neither rain nor snow in Juno. Flora and fauna teemed with life nonetheless, seemingly nurtured by the very air they breathed and the soil they laid their supports upon. Many buildings had no roofs—there was often no need for such—and people lived, worked, and played in the open. The avenues were alive with buyers and Merchants alike, going about their daily lives under the shadows of Juno’s arches, statues, and fountains. It was, in a sense of speaking, perfect—but none of this elicited any emotion from Mikieru’s stone-face, until the Cleric turned his eyes eastward and saw, for the first time, the spires of St. Capitolina Square—the Home of the Pious, and the very headquarters of the Holy Church itself.

Mikieru’s mouth tightened at the stunning sight. With a flick of his wrists, he set his Peco-peco into motion again—and he rode at top-speed towards the Square, stopping at absolutely nothing.

• • •

“Look!”

“That man has the Redeemer!”

“My God! Is that the Kitsune?”

“Why is he here?”

Awe and tension gripped the halls of St. Capitolina Square’s East Wing, which was where the Holy Church’s educational pursuits were concentrated. Acolytes and young Priests regularly studied in its halls, libraries, and repositories, and their Instructors made sure silence was observed in the Wing at all times. However, there was no stopping the gasps and tense glances that followed Mikieru as he made his way towards his Master’s hall.

Some adulating Acolytes, seeing their hero for the first time in their lives, even left their study sessions to follow the Kitsune. The whispering mob walked after the Cleric, but kept a respectful distance—it was obvious by the way Mikieru walked that he was here on a mission of importance, and would not be hindered in any way. They never missed a step throughout the marble halls, the statue repository, and the grand staircase.

The older Priests in the East Wing also took notice of Mikieru, but they did not share the excited sentiments of the Acolytes. As known for his deeds as Mikieru was, he was also known for the rift between him and his Master. Many feared the Kitsune, but the Kitsune’s Master was feared by all. Apprehension was ripe in the East Wing as it became apparent that Mikieru was heading towards his Master’s office—and he had the Redeemer strapped to his back!

• • •

Mikieru walked down a marble hall that was considerably less well-lighted than the other parts of the East Wing. He walked on until he reached a pair of large, steel-braced doors. A plaque beside the doorjamb read the words:

OFFICE OF THE HIGH EXORCIST
Lionheart

With one hand on the shaft of the Redeemer behind him, Mikieru approached the doors and pushed them open with one shove of his other hand.

The tall black doors opened with loud creaks, and Mikieru walked into the office hall. He was undaunted even by the men and women in black coats that stood inside the office, grouped around a large oaken desk.

Clerics.

With his uncovered eyes, Mikieru stared at each Cleric in turn. Every one of them recognized him, but the looks in their eyes showed uncertainty. Mikieru had no doubt that if he ever tried to take the Redeemer from the latches of his coat, these Clerics would gladly draw their own weapons and give their lives to protect the man standing behind the desk.

Mikieru then looked into the eyes of his Master.

The features of the old man had not changed much since the day they went their separate ways. He was still huge and heavyset, and still wore the same heavily-plated armor that served him well during the Frontier War. His head was a shock of short white hair, and a full white beard lined his face—yet his eyebrows were still black, giving his piercing blue eyes a menacing appearance as he returned his Apprentice’s stare with his own.

The other Clerics shot unsure glances between Mikieru and the High Exorcist. They had heard news of the Kitsune’s arrival earlier, and they had immediately come to the High Exorcist’s side in fears for his safety. They waited for any words to be exchanged between the two.

Mikieru said nothing. His chin slightly lowered and his eyebrows narrowed in hostility, he stared at his Master with unrelenting blue-and-green eyes. He needed no introduction to the old man.

“So,” the High Exorcist announced in a deep voice, “the Prodigal Apprentice returns.”

Mikieru did not answer.

“I see you have gone through great dangers to make the journey here,” the old man continued, eyeing the unshaven stubble beard on Mikieru’s jawline. “Am I to expect that you are here to offer your due apologies?”

At this, Mikieru did answer.

“Apologies may be due and regrets may be deserved,” he said calmly, never losing the intensity in his stare. “But indulgence in these will have to wait another day.”

The other Clerics visibly tensed up at the Kitsune’s audacity, but the High Exorcist was not impressed.

“As it is, then,” the old man countered. “I have it in me to have you washed head to toe, have a new cloak wrapped around your shoulders and have a gemmed ring put on your finger. I have it in me to slaughter the best ox in the herd for a feast in your honor… and yet you deny yourself this?”

“I do not ask for your patronage, Father,” Mikieru retorted. “I am not your son.”

At this, the other Clerics clenched their fists. Some of them bared their teeth in anger, almost drawing their weapons at Mikieru’s challenges—only the High Exorcist’s calm kept them from attacking the Kitsune.

“Your Holy Siblings, here, do not take kindly to challenges,” the old man warned. “But you have even greater to fear from me, Mikieru, if you do not hold your tongue. Even if you were once my Apprentice, you hold little remaining favor with me. State your business and be done with this farce.”

Again, Mikieru eyed each of the other Clerics in turn. Then he took his hand off the shaft of the Redeemer and faced the High Exorcist.

“I need to speak with you on a certain matter,” Mikieru said quietly. “Its importance is such that can be comprehended by only you.”

The High Exorcist said nothing for a moment. Then the old man closed his eyes opened them again, indicating it was an acceptable request.

But Mikieru was not finished. “In private,” he insisted.

Stunned, the other Clerics looked at the High Exorcist—and each was even more surprised when the old man nodded at them, whispering: “It is well.” They had no choice but to leave the old man with the Kitsune.

Each of them filed for the door, shooting a hostile glance at Mikieru as they passed him by. Mikieru kept his stare on his Master, even after the other Clerics closed the doors shut behind them.

The High Exorcist made his way to the front of the table. Then he crossed his gauntleted arms in front of his heavily-armored chest.

“Speak,” the old man commanded.

Mikieru slowly took two steps towards the High Exorcist. Then he went down on one knee, extending his arms slightly behind him. This was the highest form of respect in the Church—the genuflection—and the Kitsune was offering it to the man who was once his Master.

“Thank you for having me,” Mikieru intoned, “Father Rubalkabara.”

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

The Militant Church—or more widely known those days as simply the Church—was the core elite of God’s forces on Midgard, consisting of two fundamental divisions. These were the Pious and the Brave Clergies. The Pious Clergy were the scholastics: Acolytes and Presbyters tasked with the interpretation of the Holy Scriptures and the dissemination of this wisdom to the lands of Midgard. They were also the healers—where plague and famine struck, it was the Pious Clergy’s duty to alleviate the people’s suffering. Pious Acolytes and Presbyters were the champions of the poor and the oppressed, and their deeds were well-known across Midgard.

And then there was the Brave Clergy—the armed forces of the Militant Church. This division consisted of Battle Acolytes—Battlytes as they were nicknamed—and the Battle Priests, better known as the Clerics. The Brave Clergy were the enemies of the evil powers-that-be in Midgard those days, always ready to do battle with Demons, Undead, and misguided Humans. This widely-misunderstood arm of the Militant Church had suffered a massive decline lately, due to heavy losses during the Frontier War—and due to the rise of the widely popular philosophy known as Freethinking, which rejected the idea of God and the supernatural and instead promoted consumerism and individualism.

Despite these setbacks, the Brave Clergy still held its ground in Midgard—and on the forefront of their stalwart stand was the greatest Cleric alive, High Exorcist Algus Rubalkabara—known to most people as the mighty “Lionheart.”

• • •

Rubalkabara gazed down at Mikieru for a few moments, noting how his former Apprentice managed to keep himself still in a perfect genuflection. Even in his youth, Mikieru had already caught Rubalkabara’s attention with his excellent control of his body. His prowess in combat earned him his ordination into the Brave Priesthood at the young age of 18.

“Rise,” the High Exorcist said after a moment.

Mikieru obeyed, slowly rising to his feet.

Rubalkabara wordlessly turned around and walked towards an adjacent sitting room in his office hall, his heavy greaves making metallic sounds with every step he took. Mikieru followed, noting how even his own large frame seemed thin in comparison with the old man’s huge build.

“I am surprised you would come to me after all this time,” Rubalkabara commented, reaching to turn up the firelight in a tabletop oil lamp. “I cannot think of any reason that would merit me the honor of your visit.”

Mikieru glanced about the sitting room. It was neatly furnished, with Junotopian furniture set around a large stone fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls, and three large door-windows opened onto a balcony—but these were closed at the moment, and the heavy drapes that fell in front of them were still.

“I am curious as to what you are expecting me to tell you,” Mikieru answered calmly.

“Not so much expecting as in hoping,” the old man drawled, walking towards the fireplace. “I am hoping—perhaps in vain—that you are here to apologize for the things that I berated you over many times in the past. Your involvement in suspect secular practices, your brash attitude, your drinking problem—and everything in between. I am hoping the War made you realize some things, but I am more inclined to believe that it only succeeded in thickening your skull even further.”

An audible sound of amusement escaped Mikieru’s lips, but he did not say anything right away. He watched, hands in his long coat’s pockets, as Rubalkabara took a plank of dry firewood from a rack and snapped them into two with just his hands.

“Master,” Mikieru began, “what I am about to ask you is of no trivial value. I need to talk with you about the Chronicles of Yosuke.”

Rubalkabara visibly stopped for a moment.

Then the old man sighed, throwing a piece of firewood into the hearth. “Why the sudden interest, Mikieru?” Rubalkabara asked, not turning to face his former Apprentice. “If I recall correctly, you resented my involvement with Yosuke’s writings even more than my witty insults.”

“Because Yosuke may have been correct all along.”

At this, Rubalkabara straightened and turned to face Mikieru. This was a comment that he never thought Mikieru would say in his lifetime, let alone at this very moment.

“I am listening,” Rubalkabara intoned.

Mikieru walked towards the table with the oil lamp, the firelight illuminating his tall frame as he approached. “What do you know about the uprising in Al de Baran two years ago?”

The High Exorcist thought for a moment. “You were there,” he answered. “You and the Payon Shousa stopped Garrione Sheppard’s uprising, and afterwards you were able to destroy a Wraith summoned by the Payon Taishou… who was behind the scheme all along. What of it, Mikieru?”

Mikieru eyed the flame in the oil lamp. It reminded him of the flames in Al de Baran that day. It helped him find the right words to say.

“The historians do not know one thing,” the Cleric continued. “It was no Wraith that the Taishou summoned. Wraiths do not speak to people. This one did. To me. In the Archaic tongue. And when I asked for its name, it gave it to me. It told me that her name was Urd.”

Mikieru looked up at Rubalkabara.

“The Old Nordic Norn of the Past,” Mikieru finished simply.

The High Exorcist held Mikieru’s stare. “What is your proof of this?” the old man asked quietly.

Wordlessly, Mikieru reached into an inside pocket of his coat. With one hand, he drew out the two Stones.

One was from a friend.

The Cleric laid the Stones on the tabletop, allowing the oil lamp to illuminate the tiny Nordic runes on their faces.

One was from an enemy.

Mikieru straightened, and returned his hands into his pockets. He looked up at Rubalkabara again, waiting for any reaction to come from the High Exorcist’s face.

The old man stared at the Stones in disbelief. Then he looked at Mikieru again.

“Tell me everything, then,” the old man urged.

Mikieru likewise obeyed. He told his Master of everything that had happened in Al de Baran that the historians did not know. It was not a Wraith that was summoned in that battle. It was not the Taishou who planned it all. And it was not he who defeated the creature known as Urd.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Mikieru followed Rubalkabara into another part of the large office hall, a vault in one corner that had thick stone walls and no windows. The High Exorcist moved led his former Apprentice down a dark stairwell that led into another steel-braced door at the end, which opened into a dark, dusty library.

“I am surprised the Church actually let you keep your copies of Yosuke’s Chronicles within St. Capitolina Square itself,” Mikieru noted, squinting into the library’s dark interior. “I always thought the High Priests would ban it as Sorcery.”

Rubalkabara shook his head, briskly walking towards a small podium in front of the door. “Yosuke knew what he was doing when he wrote his ideas,” the old man explained hastily, reaching forward to touch a crystal on the podium. “He knew that his studies about the legends of the Nomads and Old Norse bordered on heretical, so he put down his themes in relation to Church dogma. His Chronicles have never been published, but as Church theory, the manuscripts are tasked to be kept by a safekeeper. Me.”

Mikieru watched as Rubalkabara channeled some of his mana into the crystal. In a moment, several other crystals lining the walls of the small library glowed to life, illuminating its dusty bookshelves and scroll receptacles. This was a system of lighting that was special to Juno—special crystals that were powered by organic mana and offered soft, diffused lighting in all directions. Mikieru’s eyes were so unused to the steady glows of the crystals that he had to wear his round-rimmed dark glasses before he surveyed the library.

It seemed as though the library had not been used for years, and yet Rubalkabara had managed to fill most of the bookshelves with his own studies about Yosuke’s Chronicles.

• • •

Mikieru knew little about the enigmatic Cleric Amaru Yosuke, who was Rubalkabara’s first Apprentice. What Mikieru did know about Yosuke, though, was enough to make him decide not to look any further into his life and works. Among other ideas unacceptable to Mikieru, Yosuke suggested the existence of Fate—that all beings in Midgard had a pre-destiny that was unavoidable. Mikieru disliked the idea with a passion. He, and the Church, had always advocated Mankind’s freedom of choice. That his own Master, Algus Rubalkabara, tolerated Yosuke’s Chronicles was an infamy for Mikieru in his youth.

• • •

“Stay at the door, Mikieru,” Rubalkabara ordered as he walked towards the end of the library. The High Exorcist took a few scrolls from the shelves and walked towards a podium that faced the door. Placing the scrolls on the podium, he removed the seals and opened each of them in turn.

From his position at the entrance doorway, Mikieru tried in vain to see the contents. “What are those?” he asked.

“Yosuke’s Chronicles,” Rubalkabara said, not looking up at Mikieru. “Or rather, certain parts of Yosuke’s Chronicles pertaining to his studies on the Old Norse legends.”

Mikieru bit his lip. “You think he wrote about Urd?”

“I know he wrote about Urd, among many other things in the Old Norse legends. I am specifically looking for what he had written about those Stones of yours.”

Silence.

“He wrote about these Stones?” Mikieru asked, stunned.

“Yosuke wrote about many things,” Rubalkabara answered, still poring over the scrolls. “But for the most sensitive topics—like those that contrasted some of the beliefs that the Church has held over the centuries—he wrote in riddles and cryptic poetry. I seem to remember having pondered over one of his more oracular prophecies… about two to open the door…”

Mikieru knotted his brow. “What…?” he whispered.

All of a sudden Rubalkabara stopped moving, his eyes fixed on one spot in the scroll he was reading. Then he straightened, his eyes still on the text, his lips parted in deep concentration.

“Here it is,” he whispered.

Mikieru made a move to approach his Master, but Rubalkabara held up a hand in a halting gesture.

“Do not come closer, Mikieru,” the High Exorcist commanded, not looking up at the Cleric. “If you read from these writings, I will be forced to keep you in Juno forever. No, stay at the doorway. I will recite it to you once. Listen carefully to what Yosuke had prophesized.”

Mikieru obeyed, allowing Rubalkabara’s words to etch themselves into his memory forever.

• • •

Fire to rage in the city of coal,
Darkness to rule its hills,
And swaddle hope with gloom’s black shoal
As summon the Tides it will.

From the chaos Two will emerge,
Two to open the door,
Two to herald the early Rise
And seven brothers more.

• • •

Mikieru stood unmoving as the words sank in.

Fire.

Dark.

The city of coal.

“This… can’t be,” Mikieru whispered.

Al de Baran was the city of coal.

“Two to open the door for seven brothers more,” Rubalkabara drawled grimly. “Mikieru, aside from the idea of Fate, Yosuke also suggested that Mankind’s existence on Midgard had an eschatology—an end, a twilight, a Ragnarok. I will not elucidate any further for your sake. What I can tell you is this: he prophesized that the emergence of the Two was the beginning of it all. He referred to this… as the Tides Of The Rise.”

Stunned, Mikieru looked down at the two Stones in his gloved right hand.

“The Tides of the Rise…” he muttered in disbelief.

“Mikieru,” the old man said in a quivering voice.

• • •

“This is the beginning of the End.”

• • •

End of Chapter Five

[Mikey]

Chapter Six
Beginning Of The End

“This cannot be possible,” Mikieru seethed.

Rubalkabara stood unmoving. “Mikieru, this is the second instance in which Yosuke’s prophecies has come to pass.”

“Coincidence,” the Cleric spat, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is not what the Church teaches. God gave Mankind freedom. It makes no sense for us to be bound to Fate.”

“The Chronicles tell us otherwise. If you would but lend me the Stones, perhaps we could validate other parts of Yosuke’s writings…”

Mikieru looked up, shocked at his Master’s request. Rubalkabara was seeking to prove the authenticity of Yosuke’s theories.

“You really believe all this?” Mikieru asked quietly.

Rubalkabara held Mikieru’s stare. “It is better to believe nothing than to believe what is wrong, Mikieru. I am only seeking the truth.”

Mikieru’s mouth tightened in rage, his fingers visibly shaking as he held the Stones in his hand. He took one step towards the reading table between he and his Master, raised his arm, and slammed both Stones onto the table surface.

“I am going back to Prontera,” Mikieru announced, turning his back to his Master. “You can stay and study the Stones for as long as it pleases you.”

Rubalkabara watched wordlessly as his former Apprentice walked out the library’s doorway, leaving him alone in the gem-lit stone hall. Then his eyes gravitated to the two Stones, which Mikieru had left on the reading table.

• • •

Rubalkabara swore that the light around him faded into darkness for an instant.

• • •

Mikieru ascended the stone steps and emerged into Rubalkabara’s office hall once more. He made for the doors, but something stopped him from reaching up to pull them open.

The Cleric was angry. He felt betrayed by his own Master. But at the same time, he knew there was nothing that could be done about the matter. Rubalkabara was the only one he could have turned to for answers. He received his answers—only, they were not to his liking at all, but none of this was Rubalkabara’s fault…

“Second thoughts, I see.”

Mikieru looked over his shoulder. Rubalkabara was approaching him.

“Mikieru,” the old man asked calmly. “What was the last Holy Art I taught you?”

The Cleric thought for a moment before giving a reply.

“The DEUS Trance, Master.”

“As it was,” Rubalkabara answered. “And if I recall correctly, you left your studies and served in the Army right after learning it. You thought it would be enough, that it would be all you would ever need.”

Mikieru lowered his gaze.

“But this was not the case in Al de Baran, was it?” the High Exorcist continued. “Despite its power, you failed to defeat Urd. That you were able to survive the encounter should be gratifying… but will you be as fortunate on your next battle?”

The Cleric looked up again. “You believe there will be a next battle?”

“As Yosuke wrote,” Rubalkabara answered, “perhaps seven more.”

Rubalkabara calmly made for the doors.

“Suppose we resumed your training?”

Mikieru knotted his brow. “What?”

“The DEUS Trance was not to be my final lesson to you,” Rubalkabara explained, putting a gauntleted hand on a door leaf. “There was more. And I am sure that by your age, you have already gained the necessary strength and experience to master this new, ultimate Holy Art… but it will take you three months at the very least.”

His Apprentice stood unmoving. “The ultimate Holy Art…” he whispered.

Rubalkabara smiled slightly, his piercing stare on Mikieru. “I must attend to my other duties now,” the old man said. “I will give you the night to decide. In the meantime, ponder about the things you have learned today, and the things you intend to do for the future.”

At that, Rubalkabara exited through the black double doors, leaving Mikieru in the Office Hall alone.

• • •

Every night, Juno was blessed with a clear night sky. Gem lights, similar to the ones in Rubalkabara’s library, dotted the streets of Juno much like torchlight in Prontera, sending pillars of bluish-white light into the cosmos and lighting the Eternal City by night. Mikieru’s eyes followed the pillars of light as they rose into the star-studded sky, fading into nothingness at a height impossible to measure.

The Cleric was at his room’s balcony, leaning on the balustrade and thinking. It was a confusing time for Mikieru. The things he realized today did little to assuage the curiosities that he had left Prontera with, and instead filled him with a deep, palpable anger that knew no direction.

Sighing, he thought about Rubalkabara’s offer to him. If he chose to stay, he would be in agreement with Yosuke’s prophecies—more than anything, that this mystery had not ended in Al de Baran two years ago—and he would be forced to stay in Juno for three more months. Mikieru wanted to refuse the offer and the idea. After all, him staying in Juno to receive training from his Master was but a vague direction to take. The Stones were no longer his charge, and it was impossible for him to know any more about Yosuke’s writings without being forbidden by the Church to leave the Eternal City.

After all, at this moment, his only remaining responsibility was a fifteen year-old Nomad boy in Prontera named Shin-ju Yang.

Was the Brave Priesthood really worth this entire quandary?

Mikieru’s eyes scanned the Eternal City’s nightscape, reminiscing the first time he had asked himself the same question. That was almost fourteen years ago, when he was still Shin-ju’s age…

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

The cold mountain air lapped at the young Acolyte’s frame as he sat on the edge of the canyon, looking down at the starlight that reflected off the lake several hundred meters below him. He looked menacing for an Acolyte, with a quarterstaff strapped to his back and a chain hanging at his belt, but he was hardly a warrior. He was the medic and supply custodian of a six-man party, on an Army mission into the Mjolnir Mountain Range.

This was a requirement for the Priesthood—all aspiring Acolytes had to prove their worth in a number of Army missions. Missions mostly involved combat, escort, peacekeeping, relief efforts, and search-and-rescue in various parts of Midgard. This particular mission was already the impetuous Acolyte’s seventeenth, and he had almost grown weary of the tasks he was always subjected to as the last member of the party. This led him to this area in the mountains, a few minutes away from camp, where he could be alone to sort his thoughts about the path that he had chosen for himself.

“Hi, Mikieru.”

The Acolyte turned his head at the sound of the sleepy female voice. A Swordsmaid, a member of his party, was ambling over to him, wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey, Solstice,” the Acolyte returned the girl’s greeting. “Can’t sleep?”

The girl shook her head sleepily, walking over to Mikieru’s side. “I’d much rather not fall asleep in camp alone with those three,” she answered. “I really don’t trust them when Sir Petersen isn’t around.”

Mikieru nodded, knowing what the pretty blonde-haired girl was talking about. Solstice thought she was very unlucky being the only female in the party in this mission. Their party leader, a Knight named Petersen, had left camp to scout around for any hostiles while his charges rested for the night. Mikieru had left camp under Petersen’s orders to find supplies for breakfast, leaving Solstice with their three remaining party members—three pert young Swordsmen who unfortunately found her attractive.

“Those three giving you trouble?” Mikieru asked as Solstice sat down beside him.

“Um,” the Swordsmaid nodded. “You should’ve heard them when I left camp just now. They were calling after me, telling me that it was cold and asking me to come back to bed. I mean, gosh. There’s a world out there, but there’s only one thing on their minds. I totally don’t know how they could live with themselves like that.”

Mikieru shrugged. “I don’t know if you can really blame them,” he answered simply. “There’s bliss in ignorance, after all. There are times when even I wonder if it’s really worth it to join the Brave Priesthood…”

Solstice sneaked a peek at the Acolyte’s blue-and-green eyes. This was an unexpected comment to hear from the Mikieru she knew.

“That’s… a strange thing for you to say,” Solstice said. “I never thought you had any doubt about your convictions, Mikieru.”

Mikieru turned to her with a smile. “Well, it’s really like what you said, Solstice,” he answered quietly. “There’s a world out there… and when I look at you, I sorta can’t help but think of what I’ll be missing out on if I ever got my silver cross.”

It took a moment before Solstice could return his smile. Touched, she stared into his strange eyes, which she had come to associate with honesty in its most brutal form.

The profound silence between them soon felt awkward for the Acolyte, and he felt like he had to say something.

“So, uh…” he began, turning to look down into the canyon again. “What do you think of this mission?”

“Augh,” Solstice grunted, turning away. “Wild goose chase, and nothing more. Looking for a bunch of miners gone missing in the Mjolnir Coal Ridge… I hate to say it, but it looks like Army activity is at an all-time low these days. And to make things worse, I had to be partied with those three guys with two heads… It’s a good thing you’re around, Mikieru.”

She turned and gazed sweetly into Mikieru’s face, only to knot her brow when she saw a frown where she expected a smile. Then she realized how weird her last two lines sounded together.

“Er… I mean… I’m not saying that you don’t… well…” she stammered, reddening.

At that moment, Mikieru turned to her with a goofy smile on his face and said:

“Little Miki!”

“Eww!” Solstice screamed, laughing at the same time. “Mikieru!”

The two good pals made quite a bit of noise at that canyon mouth for several moments after that, with him trying to defend himself from the slaps and pinches that she was trying to land on him.

Both of them barely fifteen years old, Mikieru and Solstice first met each other during one of their earliest missions together. Since then they had gotten friendly off the field, becoming the best of friends and often trying to land the same Army missions as they went along with their respective careers. This was their first mission together after a long time, and they had missed each other sorely.

They quieted down, trying to catch their breaths. Both of them leaned backwards and propped themselves on their hands to make it easier to breathe. As Mikieru leaned back, his hand brushed against hers.

The two turned to look at their hands. Mikieru’s fingers slowly slid into her hand. When Solstice raised her eyes to his, she found him smiling.

She returned the smile, clasping her fingers around his gloved hand and moving closer until her arm touched his chest. Slowly she allowed herself to lean her head on his firm shoulder.

There wasn’t a sound to be heard on that canyon edge, save for the calming whisper of the wind and the genial sound of moving water in the crevice below them. While Solstice rested her tired eyes, Mikieru moved his head to touch her smooth blonde hair with his cheek. The Acolyte looked up into the stars above them, wishing madly that things weren’t so damned complicated in his life right now.

“Seriously, Mikieru,” Solstice intoned quietly, her eyes still tranquilly closed. “Is your heart really set on the Priesthood?”

Mikieru didn’t answer right away.

“Y’know… it’s not too late to join the Chivalry,” she continued, twiddling her fingers around his. “We seriously need more Knights with your strength and dedication in our ranks.”

The Acolyte thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t know, Solstice,” he answered with a sigh. “To be honest… I hate being the center of attention. I make a real lousy leader. I think I’m better suited behind the scenes, patching wounds and pulling people out of the holes they dig for themselves.”

The Swordsmaid nodded, expecting such an answer. “But still…” she pressed. “Once you become a Cleric, we might never see each other again…”

They both knew this was what it was all about.

“Well,” Mikieru said brightly. “I probably suck as an Acolyte, anyway. I’m sure you remember how healing a few bruises knocked me out for the rest of the day in one of our first missions.”

Solstice giggled, nodding as she lifted her head off his shoulder.

“On top of that, my Master never lets me forget that my attitude is better suited for the rough-and-tumble Chivalry,” the Acolyte continued. “So I’ll tell you what. I’ll shoot for the Knighthood if I screw up in this mission. Deal?”

She raised an eyebrow at the audacious challenge. “Boy, are you serious?”

Mikieru shrugged. “Well… I’m kinda tired of having to make my own choices all the time,” he answered matter-of-factly. “So just this once, I’d like to throw up my ‘destiny’ and see where it lands.”

The Swordsmaid smiled. Besides Mikieru’s never-give-up attitude and unnatural honesty, she also liked this trait in him—a contagious optimism.

“Okay,” she agreed, shaking his hand on their agreement. “Deal. I hope you screw up, then.”

“Sure,” Mikieru’s joked as they turned their gazes back towards the lake below them. “But then again, if I screwed up in this mission, we’d probably all end up dead.”

“Oh, come on,” Solstice’s voice sounded into the blanket of stars above them. “We’re only looking for a bunch of missing miners. How bad can it possibly be?”

• • •

Twenty-four hours later, sweat was pouring down Mikieru’s temple as he pressed his hands on a wincing Swordsman’s side. He and his party had entered the Coal Mines earlier that day and had descended to the lowermost levels in search for the missing miners. They found them—or rather, the shells of what the miners used to be.

The miners had been cursed by an Evil Druid.

The party had no choice but to kill the cursed miners and face the Evil Druid itself. But their mission was originally slated as search-and-rescue—they were not equipped for a battle of this magnitude. It wasn’t long before the first of the Swordsmen fell, heavily wounded by the creature’s claws.

Mikieru dragged the fallen Swordsman to a nearby rocky corner and started to cast a Heal spell on him.

The Swordsman screamed in pain. “AGH! I’M GONNA DIE!”

Mikieru winced at his cries. “Keep this up and you will. Hold still!” the Acolyte commanded, his hands glowing a pale green as he held the Heal spell. The Swordsman kept screaming even as Mikieru released the spell and pressed a towel on the bleeding wound.

Then Mikieru picked up his medical bag and got to his feet.

“HEY, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” the wounded Swordsman yelled after him. “IT STILL HURTS!”

“You’ll live,” Mikieru retorted, running back towards the battle. “If you stop being such a wuss!”

The Acolyte jumped over some jagged rocks and made sure he didn’t trip on the track rails as he made his way back towards his party. Before he could round the corner to the battleground, his eyes caught sight of the two other Swordsmen in his party, crawling and limping away from the battle.

“Aw, for Heaven’s sake!” Mikieru complained, seeing the bloody wounds on them. “Not you guys too!”

Like their peer before them, they raised their hands feebly in the air and loudly begged Mikieru for assistance. The Acolyte wasted no time in pulling one of the swordsmen onto his back and lifting the other in his arms, and he ran back the way he came.

Reaching the rocky corner, he laid the two Swordsmen down beside their partner and began to cast a Heal spell on the more seriously-wounded one. Over the next minute-and-a-half, Mikieru couldn’t help but wonder which was more difficult—healing the Swordsmen’s bad wounds or suffering their piteous, pathetic pleas to be treated first.

I can’t stay long, Mikieru thought, glancing over his shoulder. Solstice and Sir Petersen are fighting alone!

When he couldn’t wait any longer, Mikieru cut off his last Heal spell and ran back towards the battle scene, ignoring the Swordsmen’s miserable screams.

The Acolyte reached the battleground just in time to see Petersen fly backwards and slam heavily into the tunnel wall, victim of a vicious swipe from the hulking Evil Druid.

Standing over nine feet tall, the Evil Druid hovered with its bony feet only inches over the ground. Its tattered red Manteau flew in all directions, like eerie tentacles that wafted in the wind. One bony hand hung freely at its side, acting as the creature’s only weapon, and held an ironclad book in the fingers of its other hand.

“Sir Petersen!” Mikieru yelled, alarmed.

The Knight struggled to get back on his feet. He heard Mikieru call his name, and looked up in time to see the Acolyte make a move to approach him.

“No, Mikieru!” the Knight yelled desperately, throwing up a hand in a stopping gesture. “It’s hopeless! Run!”

Eyes wide open, Mikieru looked between the Knight and the Evil Druid, wondering madly what the right course of action to take was. Petersen himself looked beaten—this was indeed a hopeless case.

But Solstice was on her own!

• • •

Defiantly, the Swordsmaid stood her ground. She held her broadsword with quivering fingers as the Evil Druid turned its attention to her.

She and Petersen had already managed to land several slashes and thrusts at the Evil Druid, but terrifyingly, nothing seemed to hurt the creature. It showed no signs of weakening or slowing down in its rampage—and Solstice was very quickly becoming tired.

Suddenly the Elder Druid stretched the fingers of its other hand, and—horrifically—the ironclad book floated out of its grasp and opened in front of its face. Soon bolts of crackling energy began to emanate from the book as the Undead creature began emitting an eerie, guttural incantation.

Now’s my chance! Solstice thought, poising herself to attack. When she was ready, she pushed off the ground and charged towards the large monster, her broadsword poised to deliver a thrust through its chest.

Suddenly, without warning, the ground at her feet shook—and broke into several jagged pieces. Solstice yelped as her foot got caught in the crushing rubble underneath her, causing her to lose her balance and fall painfully to the ground. Her broadsword came flying from her hands.

Solstice screamed in pain. Her foot was still caught in the rubble, and by falling violently, she had sprained her ankle badly. She looked up in horror as she realized that the Evil Druid had summoned an earth-shattering Sorcery spell—and was now in the middle of another incantation.

Petersen realized this as well—and he gritted his teeth as he pushed himself off the ground and lunged towards the fallen Swordsmaid.

“SOLSTICE!”

At that moment, the Evil Druid raised a bony hand and pointed a finger at Solstice. A purplish ray of light shot forth from its finger and snaked towards the defenseless Swordsmaid—and she closed her eyes and screamed.

A prolonged grunt echoed around the tunnels of the coal mines.

Solstice opened her teary eyes—and gasped in shock. Petersen was in front of her, his two-handed sword raised in front of him in defense. The purple ray of light that shot from the Evil Druid’s finger had snaked past the blade of his sword and pierced his chest.

To Solstice’s horror, Petersen slowly turned to stone—right before her very eyes. Within seconds, a vague stone statue of a Knight stood where Petersen had jumped in to protect Solstice.

There was nothing else she could do. She stared on helplessly, her voice dying in her throat, as the Evil Druid began another guttural incantation, raising its hand one more time. In a moment, it would drop a finger in her direction—Solstice shut her eyes tight, tears flowing down her cheeks, and cursed the fact that she was going to die.

• • •

A shout of defiance and the rustling of chains came next. And to her surprise, the Evil Druid stopped at mid-incantation. Solstice’s eyes shot open.

• • •

The Evil Druid’s arm was held over its head, metal chains holding back the thrust that should have killed her. The girl stared in disbelief as Mikieru stood behind the Evil Druid, both hands on the handle of his Chain and mightily holding back the monster’s bony arm.

The Acolyte had stepped in to break the Evil Druid’s incantation!

The monster, seemingly angered, wrenched its arm free. The Chain broke into several rusty pieces, eroded by the creature’s natural touch of decay. Mikieru stepped back as the Evil Druid turned its attention to him.

This was what Mikieru had hoped for. He knew that the Undead monster would be more attuned to—and enraged by—his own natural Holy aura. He hoped that if he could distract the monster long enough, Solstice could crawl away and escape.

• • •

However, Mikieru realized that Solstice could not move at all—and steeled himself for an inescapable one-on-one battle with one of the most powerful Undead monsters known to Midgard.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Solstice watched incredulously as Mikieru stood his ground against the nine-foot-tall Evil Druid. The Acolyte defiantly threw his broken Chain and reached for his quarterstaff, holding the five-foot long wooden weapon in both hands. Solstice made a move to get her face off the ground.

“Mikieru, run!” she screamed. “Our swords couldn’t hurt it!”

The Acolyte cringed as he held the quarterstaff in front of him, its end raised towards the Evil Druid. He took several wary steps away. He shook his head slowly while keeping a brazen stare at the creature.

“I won’t run,” he answered.

“DON’T BE A FOOL!” Solstice pressed. “SAVE YOURSELF!”

Mikieru didn’t answer. He only tightened his mouth as the monster began to move.

Then the Evil Druid’s book fluttered out of its bony hand once more, and the creature began another incantation. Too late, Solstice watched helplessly as Mikieru drew his weapon back and lunged towards the Evil Druid.

“MIKIERU, NO!”

• • •

But there was no stopping Mikieru on this night.

• • •

The ground shattered at Mikieru’s feet as the Acolyte charged towards the Evil Druid, violently sending up jagged chunks of earth and rock. Mikieru changed his step from left to right as he barreled closer to the creature, avoiding the spots of earth that heaved up everywhere around him. Solstice held her breath.

The Evil Druid’s destructive earth spells increased in magnitude as Mikieru closed the distance between them. It wasn’t long until the Acolyte was about to be trapped between three pillars of earth that moved to crush him from three sides—he would not be able to outrun these.

Not without the Blessing, he thought as the rocky columns rushed closer.

Mikieru closed his eyes for a discrete moment, only to open them again as he completed a short Latin incantation.

Instantly, a bluish-white aura enveloped Mikieru’s entire body—and he zipped past the crushing columns with a speed that Solstice had never seen before. As the pillars of rock crashed together behind him, the Acolyte raised his quarterstaff in attack.

But the Evil Druid was not finished. Now that Mikieru had closed the distance between them, its earth spell would be at its most powerful. It completed another foreign incantation—and six columns of earth smashed through the ground around the Acolyte, tilting inwards to crush him indefinitely.

Mikieru’s eyes widened.

“MIKIERU!” Solstice wailed.

The six columns of earth slammed together at the same instant, creating a shockwave that shook the tunnel and caused a blinding cloud of heavy dust to waft in all directions. Solstice had to shut her eyes and cover her mouth.

The Evil Druid stood motionless in the drifting black haze, its deathly red eyes so fixed on the massive impact point that it almost did not notice a bluish-white glow that came from… above it.

Solstice opened her eyes just in time to see the Evil Druid move back, as though in shock, and turn its skull-face towards the tunnel ceiling.

Mikieru had jumped out of the earth-trap before the rocky pillars converged violently. He had planted his feet onto the tunnel ceiling and pushed off it mightily—and was now spiraling down towards the Evil Druid, his quarterstaff drawn back to deliver a perfectly-aimed, two-handed overhead smash.

The Acolyte barreled downwards and slammed one end of his quarterstaff squarely into the stunned Evil Druid’s forehead, the wooden sound of impact reverberating through the tunnels. The creature fell backwards from the force.

Before Mikieru hit the ground, he let go of his quarterstaff. As the wooden weapon bounced off the Evil Druid’s forehead, the Acolyte landed heavily on his feet, clasped his hands in a praying gesture, and quickly mouthed another, different Latin incantation. This time, his right hand glowed white.

At that moment, with the quarterstaff still in the air and the Evil Druid still falling backwards in recoil to the powerful blow, Mikieru pushed off the ground toward the monster. He drew his right hand back, palm open, and hurled it into the Evil Druid’s chest area, yelling:

“SIGNUM CRUCIS!”

Solstice could not believe what she saw next. The Evil Druid flew backwards, its limbs flailing painfully from the palm strike that emitted a cross-shaped beam of light from the impact point. The creature’s body began degrading—as if decaying right in front of her eyes—and began showing the wounds that she and Petersen had inflicted on it earlier. Then she realized what Mikieru had just done—he had invoked a Holy Art that massively deteriorated the Undead monster’s resistance to mortal injury.

Without missing a beat, Mikieru grabbed his quarterstaff from mid-air with his left hand and pressed a furious attack on the weakened Evil Druid. He charged at the monster relentlessly, throwing a barrage of hacks, thrusts and slashes. The creature, without the advantage of distance and its natural defensive traits, was forced to resort to hand-to-hand combat. The Evil Druid was strong, and a single swipe of its arm could send waves of Undead energy powerful enough to cut through earth and stone—but it was still no match to Mikieru and his peerless mastery of his quarterstaff-fighting style, the Niya-Bojutsu-Ryu.

It wasn’t long before Mikieru, with his Blessing-magnified speed and strength, managed to score a sweeping slash at the Evil Druid’s ankles, sweeping its feet off the ground and causing the creature to lose its balance for a moment—a moment that was all the Acolyte needed.

“EAT THIS!”

Mikieru yelled loudly as he spun in mid-air, propelled by the powerful low slash, and mightily thrust the end of his quarterstaff into the Evil Druid’s chest. The creature flew backwards helplessly, crashing onto the ground and carving a path of broken wood and twisted steel as it barreled towards a cliff edge.

The Acolyte landed on his feet and watched as the Evil Druid smashed through a pair of rickety wooden buffers that marked the edge of the coal-cart tracks. The creature fell.

Mikieru waited. The sounds of steel, wood, earth—and other things not of the earth—falling into the cliff bottom echoed into the tunnels.

Then, there was silence.

• • •

Mikieru exhaled, releasing his hold on the Blessing trance. Then he calmly latched his quarterstaff onto the back of his Scapulare and turned around.

He faced Solstice with a grin on his face. “You okay, girl?”

It took Solstice to find enough ease to return the Acolyte’s smile. “Mikieru, that was… that was unreal…”

“Hm, yeah, you should see me when I’m really insane,” Mikieru laughed quietly, walking towards her. “Well… now back to my scheduled Acolyte duties…”

She was still lying on her belly, her ankle badly twisted. Mikieru knelt at her feet and began to channel mana to his hands. He was going to cast a Heal spell.

Solstice looked at Mikieru tenderly. Here he was, supposedly the last member of the search-and-rescue party, turning out to be an amazing fighter and a friend who would never abandon his party-mates. She thought she was infinitely fortunate to had known this rare gem of a person…

Suddenly, her smile faded, and an intense look of great fear washed over her countenance as she looked past the Acolyte’s kneeling form. Behind Mikieru, the battered Evil Druid rose from the cliff mouth, its ironclad book open in front of its face—and its hand in the air, about to point a stone-cursed finger at the unsuspecting Acolyte.

• • •

“MIKIERU, LOOK OUT!”

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

The next moment happened in a blur for Solstice. She remembered seeing a ball of white light forming between Mikieru’s open palms, the Acolyte jumping to his feet to face the Evil Druid, and him flinging the ball of pulsating antimatter at the creature.

She regained her bearings soon enough to see Mikieru standing still in the follow-through of his projectile spell. Across the tunnel, at the cliff edge, the Evil Druid floated. Its arm was decimated, the purple ray of light that could have cursed Mikieru’s soul into a stone prison fading into a thin, wafting haze. Stunned, the creature held the stump that used to be its forearm in front of its skull-face, then turned its red eyes towards Mikieru’s own blue-and-green stare—before its own body gradually began turning into stone.

Mikieru and Solstice watched as the Evil Druid degraded completely into a stone statue of its former self, victim of its own stone curse. Soon, truly dead, the Evil Druid fell again to the bottom of the cliff, smashing into thousands of pieces as it hit the ground below. Its ironclad book landed amongst its shattered remains, closing as it came to a rest. It would never be opened again.

• • •

“There,” Mikieru said, cutting off his Heal spell. “It shouldn’t hurt too much now. Here, hold on. I’ll help you up.”

Solstice grunted, holding onto Mikieru’s shoulders as the Acolyte helped her to her feet. Listlessly, they slowly made their way towards the rocky corner where he had left the three Swordsmen to recuperate. They stopped at the tunnel mouth, where a statue of a familiar Knight was standing.

“Sir Petersen,” Solstice sobbed quietly, tears falling from her eyes.

Mikieru looked at Petersen’s stone-cursed form. Petersen was not only their party leader—he was also Solstice’s beloved and respected Master. Mikieru would have given his life to either of them, but he wasn’t able to save the Knight in time.

As an Acolyte, he had been taught variations of the Heal spell, used to cure such ailments such as poison and blindness. But this was petrification—Acolytes were not taught to counter such a powerful curse due to the danger it posed to their own lives.

But Mikieru was no ordinary Acolyte. He himself knew this.

“Let me try something,” Mikieru whispered, taking his quarterstaff in one hand.

Solstice turned to him. “What?” she asked.

Mikieru did not answer. He merely gave her his quarterstaff as a support. Then she let go of him as he approached Petersen’s statue.

“You’re not…” Solstice stopped, knowing what Mikieru was going to do. “Mikieru, don’t… it’s too dangerous…”

“I’m sorry, Solstice,” Mikieru soothed, glancing at her with a smile. “I guess I can’t keep the deal after all.”

Solstice couldn’t reply. She remembered the words he said, only last night on that canyon ridge.

• • •

Well, it’s really like what you said, Solstice. There’s a world out there… and when I look at you, I can’t help but think of what I’ll be missing out on if I ever get my silver cross.

So I’ll tell you what. I’ll shoot for the Knighthood if I screw up in this mission.

Just this once, I’d like to throw up my ‘destiny’ and see where it lands.

• • •

“I must do this,” Mikieru said quietly. “It’s the right thing to do.”

The Swordsmaid watched listlessly as Mikieru placed his hands on Petersen’s stone form. They both knew that if the Acolyte failed to overpower the curse, it would overpower him—and turn him into stone as well.

Mikieru took a deep breath, channeled mana into his hands—and engaged the curse in a violent, soundless spiritual battle that lasted several moments.

And Petersen breathed again.

• • •

“Good grief,” Mikieru complained, tying off the bandage on a wincing Swordsman’s wound. “Solstice is more man than you guys’ll ever be.”

“Shut up!” the Swordsman yelled. “It really hurts!”

Mikieru got up and checked on the Swordsman’s two partners. All three seemed to be stable and would be up and about in two days’ time. Then he walked to the other side of the campfire, where Solstice and Petersen were resting.

Petersen was asleep, and Solstice was watching over him.

Mikieru approached them quietly. “How is he?” he whispered.

“Exhausted,” she whispered back. “But he’ll be fine… thanks to you.”

The Acolyte nodded. “He’ll wake up from time to time, thirsty. Make sure you give him whatever he asks for.”

“I will,” the Swordsmaid smiled. “Thanks, Mikieru.”

Solstice watched as Mikieru walked towards the campfire, tending to the hearth and the steaming pot of porridge he was cooking for the party. Later he would scout the mine tunnels for mushrooms, herbs, spring water—anything to sustain the party for the next four days, since it would take that long for Petersen to recover from the stone curse fully. And all the time, Solstice knew that Mikieru would stand guard over all of them.

When the mission began, Mikieru was the last person on the party. Now he had taken charge of the mission—and very ably so.

I guess it’s clear for both of us, Mikieru, Solstice thought, looking at her dear friend tenderly while he watched over her and her party-mates. Whether or not you choose it, you were definitely put on this world to be a Priest. It’s not the road I wished you took, but it’s enough for me to know that Midgard would ultimately be a better place because of you.

She stared at him, his back turned to her, standing tall with a quarterstaff strapped to his back, keeping vigilant watch over the campsite.

Like you said yourself, she thought, smiling bittersweetly to herself. It’s the right thing to do.

• • •

In his room in Juno, Mikieru walked to the writing desk. His trip down memory lane gave him all the answers he needed tonight.

The Cleric sat on the chair, took a pen, and began writing a letter. He knew that if he failed to act on this matter, as he had in failing to stop Garrione in the Knight-Mage’s mutiny years ago, he would regret it immeasurably—and undoubtedly face it again as a ghost of his past.

It is the right thing to do, he thought.

As he wrote the first line, he took notice of the gem-light that reflected off the silver cross that hung from his neck. On the paper, it cast a cross-shaped patch of light.

• • •

End of Chapter Six

[Mikey]

Chapter Seven
Ayame Kusanagi

Rubbing his nose, Shin-ju wondered whether it was the draft in the Literature Clubroom or the dust that caused him to sneeze. He didn’t let it bother him too much, and bent over his work again.

It was ten minutes after four in the afternoon, and as the second member of the Prontera Academy’s schoolpaper Visor, it was his job to proofread the next issue’s articles. The boy found the task tedious, but found small comfort in correcting other people’s mistakes. It made him think that, even with all the peer pressure, choosing the road to Acolytehood was the right move for him.

“You done with the layouts yet?”

Shin-ju looked up at the sound of the female voice.

“Uh, yeah, Chief,” Shin-ju answered, seeing the black-haired girl walk into the room. “They’re on your table when you’re ready.”

The girl had been moving in and out of the Literature Clubroom for the past week, conducting interviews and covering Training Ground events for news items to put in the Visor. She’d come into the Literary Club Room, check on Shin-ju, leave some work for him, then go out to do more fieldwork. She never gave him her name, and she never asked him for his. As a formality, Shin-ju addressed her as “Chief”—a shortened term for “Editor-In-Chief,” the position she held in the Visor.

The girl strutted to a table and threw her handbag carelessly over a pile of old articles. Then she walked to a wall-hung mirror to fix her hair and apply more of her thick black eyeliner.

“Good,” she said, without looking at Shin-ju. “That puts us on schedule. I still have a few more prospective interviews today, so don’t mind if I just leave you the raw material.”

Shin-ju nodded absently, his attention more focused on the article he was correcting. It wasn’t like she did much else besides leave more work for him to do every other day.

“Have you met Architect Angelo?” she asked while fixing her makeup. “I can’t believe his attitude. I came into his office to ask for an interview, and you know what he said? He yelled at me, ‘What! An interview? Don’t you already know who I am?’ I mean, that was okay, like, he is a rich bastard, but then he asked me, ‘Who are you, anyway?’ I mean, what the hell? I used to study Architecture for eighteen months under him, and he didn’t have the gall to even remember who I was? Fuck!”

Shin-ju smiled. She always seemed to have something to complain about, and he was already beginning to get used to hearing an occasional swear word from the girl.

“So, like, I kept my cool and told him who I was. He was like, ‘Oh, dear me, I meet so many people... Such is the life of a Master Architect, you’ll never do without a Secretary or two…’ I mean, fuck—I have half a mind to write a smear article about him. The Visor is, after all, about truth, right?”

She twisted her body in front of the mirror, looking at it from every angle and making sure her curves were obvious enough. “Everybody knows he doesn’t even get commissions anymore. His designs are just plain faggoty. Why do you think he’s teaching? For sure it isn't because he’s ‘doing it as his noble duty to society’ as he says so. Who the hell is he trying to fool? Damn, I hate him so much… he’s probably the main reason why I shifted to a Literature major.”

“Oookay,” Shin-ju muttered, still trying to concentrate on his work.

“Anyway,” she snapped while pulling her shirt down, “I probably won’t be back ‘til tomorrow, so don’t wait up if you’re planning to. I got a few more potential interviews, like I said. Will you be okay on your own?”

He nodded, glancing at her briefly. “Sure,” he answered.

“Aight. Here,” she said, snatching a few sheets of paper from her handbag and walking over to Shin-ju’s table. “Turn these into articles, aight? Nothing fancy, just the usual thing you do. Need ‘em tomorrow.”

“Got it, Chief.”

At that, the girl turned on her heels and walked briskly towards the door, snatching her handbag without missing a step.

“By the way,” she piped up as she passed through the doorway. “You’re from Cape Izlude, right?”

“Uh… no,” a puzzled Shin-ju called. But she was already outside the room when he answered.

She peeked inside for a second. “Well, did you just come in from a vacation there? You got a real sexy tan going,” she winked smilingly at him before withdrawing her head from the doorway.

Amused, the boy looked over his shoulder at the door. “Uh, I didn’t either, but thanks,” he mused.

“Oh, okay,” her voice came from outside the room. “Say, what’s your name, by the way?”

“Uh…” he began, turning back to his work. “…it’s Shin-ju.”

Silence. Shin-ju thought she must have already left.

A few seconds later he heard the door creak open, and the girl stood in the doorway, looking at him. The boy looked over his shoulder, and their eyes met for a moment.

“Shin-ju?” she repeated, stressing the syllables in his name.

He smiled and nodded in reply, his eyes closed. Then he bent over his work again.

• • •

Several minutes later Shin-ju sat up, looking down at the article he was correcting. A particular sentence in the item stumped him. He wasn’t exactly sure whether to correct it, to leave it as it was, or to delete it entirely. His pencil lay between the fingers of his right hand, hanging in midair as he pondered.

It was a tough decision to make. He soon found himself wondering what he’d do if he were faced with such a choice in real life…

• • •

“Hi,” a tender female whisper came from behind him. The pencil fell from Shin-ju’s fingers as the girl’s arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders in an affectionate embrace.

Shin-ju sat on his stool frozen, a doltish look plastered on his face. He had no idea that the girl was standing right behind him for the past several minutes, and now had him trapped in a hug from behind. The girl rested her head on Shin-ju's shoulder as her arms snaked towards his chest, slowly tightening the embrace.

Shin-ju felt the girl’s ample chest pressing against his back—he swallowed and quickly opened his mouth to speak.

“Uh… Chief,” he asked quietly, turning his eyes upward stupidly. “’Severything okay?”

The girl laughed softly and withdrew, lifting her head from his shoulder and sliding her arms off his shoulders. She took a nearby stool and sat on it, legs apart. She grasped the front rim of the stool between her thighs and leaned forward, favoring Shin-ju with her exquisite Payonese stare.

“I’m sorry,” the girl confessed, smiling apologetically. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“Huh?” Shin-ju stammered.

“Your face changed a bit, that’s why,” she continued, reaching up to touch the tip of Shin-ju’s nose with her finger. “Back then, it was still soft and round-ish… now it’s a little more angular. And your voice broke pretty nicely, too.”

He stared at her twinkling brown eyes, trying to make sense out of what she was saying.

“Sorry, but… I don’t think I’m following,” he apologized, eliciting another fond giggle from the girl.

“Shin-ju, don't you remember me?” The girl leaned closer to Shin-ju and moved her head to the side, trying to look as though she was talking from underneath him.

Shin-ju swallowed again, trying to keep his eyes from the drooping neckline of her shirt.

“You don’t, do you,” she said quietly. “Two years ago? West Water Channel? You saved us when the bridge fell. You even yelled at me to run and get help.”

Recognition came over Shin-ju’s countenance. She was the group’s leader, the girl he yelled at to get help from the Constabulary. It was no wonder why he thought the girl’s hairstyle, clipped to form a plume behind her head, looked so familiar.

“Hey, yeah,” Shin-ju answered, his mouth slowly forming a smile. “Now I remember. Your hair was longer back then.”

The girl nodded.

“Sorry I never got your name, though…” the boy apologized.

She laughed. “Naw, ‘sokay. I never told you, anyway. I feel like so retarded… I mean, here you were, right in front of me, and I never took a good luck at you until now. And it’s been, like, a week since you signed up… Anyway, my name is Ayame Kusanagi... and I can’t begin to tell you how great it is to see you again.”

• • •

Over the next hour, Shin-ju and Ayame talked about themselves over some coffee and white chocolate. They shared their class sections, their schedules, and their boarding addresses. As they chatted, Shin-ju noticed that Ayame laughed and edged closer to him with every little thing he said about himself. He didn’t know what he was saying that made her so flirty.

“So,” Shin-ju said, trying to change the subject, “about your interview with Architect Angelo today…”

“Augh,” Ayame groaned, rolling her eyes. “I don’t think I’m gonna put it in the next issue. I’ve always hated the guy, so I guess I’ll just replace his spot in the paper with an article about the Training Grounds plumbing system.”

Shin-ju nodded, chewing on a square of white chocolate. “Y’know, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you seem to hate a lot of things.”

She laughed easily, placing her elbow on the edge of Shin-ju’s table. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she admitted, resting her cheek on her hand. “I guess I just don’t know why everything has to be so fucking complicated in life.”

“Like what?”

“Everything,” she answered, glancing out the window. “School, the Visor, my social life... I mean, just now, the interview with Architect Angelo just rubbed me in such a bad way. He told me he didn’t have a minute to spare for an interview, and then he took fifteen minutes telling me just why he didn’t have a minute. It’s so… just fucking retarded, if you know what I mean.”

Shin-ju’s smile faded while he listened. He nodded when she finished.

“But, hey, how about you, Shin-ju?” Ayame piped up, eyeing the boy with another one of her sweet Payonese grins. “You look pretty sober.”

Shin-ju raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

“Yeah,” she said, moving her stool closer to him. “I mean, if you’re wallowing in deep shit like I am, you sure don’t show it.”

Shin-ju smiled and straightened, trying to find the right words. “Well… I dunno,” he answered. “I just try to live a life of no regrets, I guess. I mean, we all gotta deal with these things every now and then anyway, so… for my part, I just try to make the right choices all the time. It’s a given that things almost never turn out the way we want them to.”

Ayame narrowed her eyes mockingly. “Hm,” she sniffed. “You mean, like, just make the right choices, and to hell with the outcome?”

“Yeah, pretty much. But even then, things still don’t turn out the way I want them to. I just feel better inside.”

“Sounds pretty retarded.”

Shin-ju laughed. “I wonder what isn’t, for you.”

Ayame laughed again. Then she raised her arms over her head and stretched while Shin-ju glanced out the window.

“What time is it?” Shin-ju asked, noticing the fading color of the sky.

Ayame yawned. “It’s a little past five, I guess.”

“Already? Geez, I must’ve lost track of time.”

The girl watched as Shin-ju tidied up his desk and began shoving his belongings into his backpack.

“Oh, hey,” Ayame said suddenly. “You, uh, going somewhere?”

“Yeah, the football fields,” Shin-ju said, putting on a sweater. “I’m supposed to meet someone there. We were gonna compare notes.”

She looked on blankly while he slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“So, uh… I’ll see you around?” Shin-ju asked.

Ayame nodded distractedly, mouthing a soundless “yeah.”

Shin-ju returned the nod, a goofy smile on his face. This was a really awkward goodbye.

“Bye,” Shin-ju said, trying to sound as genial as possible. Then he made his way to the door.

Ayame bit her lip as she watched him leave. Then, at the last moment, scampered off her seat and grabbed her handbag from the table.

“Ah, hey, wait up,” she called, causing Shin-ju to stop at the doorway and look at her.

An inapt moment of silence followed.

“Do you, uh,” she stammered, motioning clumsily with her hand. “I mean, would you mind if I, uh… tagged along?”

Shin-ju stood at the doorway, blinking.

• • •

To be continued

“…I like WordTwist ‘cause it’s so much easier to understand, as opposed to Physics. It also feels more rewarding after solving a WordTwist puzzle, ‘cause in Physics, you get a solution that you hardly understand. So can we make a deal, like, I teach you WordTwist, and you teach me Physics? That way, we’d be…”

Joanne shook her head. “No,” she laughed quietly in self-depreciation. “That’s too goofy.”

Joanne sat alone on a wooden picnic tabletop, facing the football fields. While other Novices played ball games in the grassy fields and walked past in the stone pathwalk behind her, she took a deep breath and tried to practice her lines again.

“WordTwist is a really fun game to play, ‘cause in the end you get to figure things out. I thought that maybe you’d like to try it, ‘cause you seem to be the kind of guy who likes taking challenges and solving problems. I mean, who knows, right? In the end, we might be able to figure each other out and…”

“Ack! No, no, no! Now that’s just waaay too creepy!” Joanne squealed, unknowingly causing a few passing Novices in the pathwalk to glance in her direction curiously.

Sighing heavily, she placed her hands behind her on the table surface and leaned back. Feeling the mild Midsummer wind blowing through her short blonde hair, she closed her eyes. She sniffed the soothing scent of pine that the breeze brought with it. It calmed her senses enough for her to try again—this time, without hiding behind the guise of a WordTwist puzzle book.

“I’ve been a loner all my life. Since my parents divorced, I’ve never really had anyone to talk to. I don’t really mind, I mean, a little solitude can be good for you sometimes. I just can’t ignore the fact that there’s a big empty hole in my life, and every day I’m reminded that I’m alone in this world. But these days I’ve seen a glimmer of hope, a ray of light that fills me up and moves me forward. I’ve realized that I should stop being invisible and open up to a special someone, and I think that someone is… you, Shin-ju. I want you to know how much I like you, and what my feelings are for you, but… I’m just scared about how you’d react…”

“Scared about who’d react to what?”

Joanne half-jumped out of her skin at the sound of Shin-ju’s boyish voice behind her. Fumbling the WordTwist book in her hands, she stumbled off the picnic tabletop and stood on the bench, a panicky look on her face as she turned to face him.

“Shin-ju!” she stammered, smiling down stupidly at the boy. “Wow, hey! I didn’t know you were there! You, uh… you sure know the best time to show up!”

Shin-ju returned the smile, secretly trying to figure out what exactly Joanne meant with her last line.

“Er, yeah,” the boy said. “Sorry I’m late though. I ran into, er… something retarded. OW!”

Joanne stiffened at Shin-ju’s high-pitched yelp. She looked on, bewildered, as a black-haired girl in a trench coat stepped out from behind him.

“That’s not what I told you to say!” the black-haired girl admonished, knuckling Shin-ju in the arm.

Shin-ju grinned apologetically, rubbing the tender spot in his behind. “I couldn’t help myself! But why pinch me so hard?”

Joanne’s eyes widened as she recognized the girl.

“Yami?” she whispered.

At that, Ayame turned to her old friend and grinned. “Hi, Joie, how’ve you been!”

“Oh my gosh! Yami!” Joanne squealed, jumping over the tabletop and running towards the pathwalk. “It’s been so long!”

Shin-ju watched with amusement as Joanne and Ayame hugged each other. He remembered the day he first saw the two girls. Back then, both were hanging on for dear life when the rusty bridge fell into the West Water Channel. He wondered if this moment, with the two friends squealing and hugging each other, would still have come to pass if he wasn’t there to help them.

The three spent the next two hours together at the picnic table, chatting and catching up. Shin-ju learned that the two other girls in the group had likewise moved on from Architecture to other careers after their near-fatal episode at the West Water Channel. One had moved on to take up Chivalry in Cape Izlude, and the other had decided to become an Acolyte in Juno. Ayame, for her part, shifted to a Literature course, while Joanne stubbornly stayed in Architecture to one last try at cracking the tough major.

As happy as Joanne was at seeing Ayame again after so long, she was also a bit disappointed at another missed chance. She had wanted to talk to Shin-ju alone today. She had hoped that today would be the day that she could tell the boy about how she felt, but sadly, it was not to be.

Still, she knew that with Ayame in the picture, she’d have more opportunities for that in the future.

• • •

Shin-ju burped.

“’Scuse me,” he uttered to no one in particular as he stepped into his Dormitory’s empty lobby. He had just come from a diner near the football fields, where his two new friends had treated him to a hefty dinner. He was grateful for the girls’ friendly gesture, but he had never really gotten used to eating so much at one time before. He clutched his stomach mournfully as he made for the stairs.

As he passed by the Dormitory mailboxes, something caught his eye. In one of the pigeonholes, a mailing envelope stuck out. He took a closer look, and—could he believe his eyes—it was addressed to him.

Shin-ju swallowed. There was only one person in Midgard who ever wrote to him, and she was someone he had wanted to desperately to forget…

Listlessly, he reached for the envelope and drew it out.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

In his Dorm room, Shin-ju heaved a sigh of relief. The letter’s sender was Mikieru Makimachi. He read the contents under the light of an oil lantern on his study desk.



Greetings, Shin-ju.

As of your reading this letter, I am still in Juno. I had managed to reach it after five days of riding, and the Eternal City is magnificent. God willing, I will take you here one day to see the sights yourself. I am sure you will like what you see.

I have already spoken to my Master about the Stones. We both believe that, while Al de Baran is now safe and times are silent throughout Midgard, there are certain things about these Stones that cannot be ignored. That is why I have decided to stay in Juno for a while longer.

I mentioned at my leaving that I would be gone for three weeks. Now, it looks more like three months. It is quite likely that I will not be able to see you again until after your first semester of classes have finished.

I am going to continue my training in the Holy Arts under my Master for the next three months. I know this news will not be geared towards your liking, but please trust me on this decision. It is for the best. It is for you.

I will not be able to send you the money you need for your schooling expenses for now. I am sorry to tell you this, but you will have to find some way of earning a little for your food and school supplies. You can ask Sister Murakami for a few zenny every now and then—just tell her that I will pay her back the moment I return.

I will write to you again when I can. In the meantime, do well in your studies and do not cause any trouble for Lara. I am looking forward to taking you in as an Acolyte as soon as my own training here in Juno is done.

Godspeed,

“Senpai”



Shin-ju put the letter down and raised his eyes. A part of him wondered what the heck it was that Mikieru still hadn’t learned about the Holy Arts, being as proficient as he already was as a Cleric. But the even more pressing worry was that he wouldn’t have any financial support for the next three months.

For the next several moments, Shin-ju tried to figure out what to do. Outside, the sky slowly turned to darkness, giving way to a deep blue night sky filled with winking stars.

• • •

Juno. The silence in St. Capitolina square was about to be broken.

A young female Acolyte ran through the East Wing of St. Capitolina Square’s, earning looks both awed and stunned from the Acolytes and Priests who took notice of her breathless form.

This particular Acolyte was gifted in the True Seeing skills—that is, Holy Arts that focused on the use of the eyes. Even at the young age of fifteen, her Ruwach spell was already not only powerful enough to dispel the darkness and see the unseen, but it also enabled her to see into great distances without the aid of a spyglass or telescope.

She had been at the top level of one of St. Capitolina Square’s spires only moments before, using her special Ruwach skill to study the rising moonscape. It wasn’t long before she turned her eyes downward to rest them for a while—and, looking into the desert landscape that sprawled at Juno’s northeastern portions, saw an incredible sight that sent shivers down her spine.

Aspiring Brave Acolytes, both young and old, instantly shot to their feet when they heard the words that the gifted Acolyte was now yelling through the halls.

“The Lionheart is fighting the Kitsune!

“The Lionheart is fighting the Kitsune!

“THE LIONHEART IS FIGHTING THE KITSUNE!”

• • •

Only moments before, Mikieru stood alone in a rock-walled, hollowed-out crevice in the Junotopian Desert. He was in full-battle gear—black Cleric’s coat, steel-toed boots, knuckled gloves—and naturally, the Redeemer. He had spent the past hour here, wondering how a sprawling sandy desert and a lush green forest could co-exist in a city. Then again, he knew that he was in Juno—anything had to be possible here.

He looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps in the sand. His Master had arrived.

Mikieru eyed Rubalkabara curiously. The old man still wore his plated armor, gauntlets and greaves, but now he had a kite shield and iron mace slung over his back.

The Cleric eyed the mace on Rubalkabara’s back.

“Interesting,” Mikieru commented, turning to face his large Master. “A standard-issue iron mace. You are not using your famed Holy Weapon on this battle?”

Rubalkabara snorted, taking a position across the sandy crevice. “You hardly deserve to see it in action,” the High Exorcist claimed. “I am sure even a standard-issue would be more than you can handle… if wielded by me.”

Mikieru narrowed his eyes at this mocking challenge. His lips curled into a wry smile.

“So this is it, then?” the Cleric retorted. “The ultimate Holy Art begins with a lesson in hand-to-hand combat?”

“As it will,” Rubalkabara replied. “There is a reason why Acolytes are schooled in the Arts, Sciences, and Combat basics before being taught any actual Holy Art.”

Rubalkabara raised a gauntleted hand as he elucidated. “Take the Blessing trance, for instance,” the old man explained. “What would the Blessing be worth if you had no strength of mind and muscle to begin with? Simple math, Mikieru. Zero, multiplied by any number no matter how large, is still zero.”

Mikieru said nothing at this.

“I never taught you this,” Rubalkabara said, lowering his hand. “But then again, you never asked. You were content in absorbing all my lessons no matter how poorly you understood them. This proved to be your greatest strength, Mikieru, but it has also made you weak as you are right now.”

Rubalkabara took the iron mace from back and pointed it at Mikieru.

“Zero multiplied by any number is still zero,” the old man drawled. “I will show you how this simple mace will be more than a match for your vaunted Redeemer.”

“Your words are nothing,” Mikieru said.

Rubalkabara raised an eyebrow. “Unh?”

Mikieru slowly took the Redeemer into his hands.

“You assume dangerously much, Father Rubalkabara,” Mikieru said, pointing one end of the long quarterstaff-mace at the old man. “You presume that I am weak, that I had learned nothing over the past ten years. Out of respect for my former Master, I will tell you this much. You are dead wrong. And tonight, I will show you precisely why.”

Mikieru shot an intense stare into Rubalkabara’s eyes. The old man returned the stare, taking note of Mikieru’s mysterious green Elf-eye.

Then, after a moment, Rubalkabara guffawed openly.

“Foolish Apprentice,” the High Exorcist laughed darkly, taking the kite shield into his left hand. “The apologies will be mine tonight. Prepare yourself.”

They faced off. The wind blew Rubalkabara’s cape and Mikieru’s black coat about, while the rising moon reflected off the menacing weapons they held in their hands.

• • •

Above them, hiding behind the large rocks that lined the mouth of the crevice, a handful of Brave Acolytes stared at the two legendary Clerics. The gifted Acolyte, who had audaciously led her peers to this spot against the orders of their Priest-Instructors, looked at her companions in eager anticipation.

“Place your bets,” she whispered excitedly.

• • •

End of Chapter Seven

[Mikey]

Chapter Eight
The Fox And The Lionheart

With one end of the Redeemer pointing directly at Rubalkabara’s chest, Mikieru Makimachi studied the olden image of his former Master from a distance. This was the greatest Cleric alive—the mighty Lionheart—and Mikieru was about to face him in one-on-one combat. This was a man who had almost fifty years of unbending service to the Church. He had fiercely defended its Holy Ranks in hundreds of missions and had proven himself the only eligible candidate for the High Exorcist office in the Church Conclave.

Mikieru had sparred against Rubalkabara several times in his youth—and he had always lost. In fact, Mikieru had never even landed a single blow at the old man. While he had gained invaluable experience from their fights, he had also fostered a deep resentment against his Master. With every loss, none of the words of wisdom or gestures of encouragement was offered to him—and in their stead, insults and ridicule were thrown his way. That, coupled with the fact that all their previous fights did not involve any of the Holy Arts save for the Blessing Trance, reminded Mikieru not to grossly underestimate this opponent.

As the sun dipped past the mouth of the rocky crevice they were in, Mikieru silently planned his method of attack. While he would not take Rubalkabara lightly, he would also hold nothing back in this battle. He swore to himself that he would fight the old man to the limits of his capabilities—to show the High Exorcist what the Kitsune was truly capable of.

• • •

On the other side of the miniature desert canyon, High Exorcist Algus Rubalkabara stared thoughtfully—and somewhat warily—at Mikieru’s fighting stance. He had always known that the quarterstaff was the young Cleric’s weapon of choice ever since Acolytehood, and yet there was something about Mikieru’s stance that looked different. The Cleric’s right leg was set slightly further forward and to the right, and his grip on the Redeemer looked more relaxed, the tension instead more concentrated on his trim shoulders. Rubalkabara sensed an evolution in Mikieru’s stance—and rightly expected an evolution in all other aspects of his former Apprentice.

The sun dipped further. In a moment, the entirety of the rocky crevice would be engulfed in the darkness of its shadow.

Not that the two Clerics needed the sun. In this battle, their Blessing auras would provide all the illumination they would ever need.

• • •

Rubalkabara’s stare shot to his right as a bluish-white light suddenly came to life at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one end of the Redeemer rapidly approaching his head.

What? Impossible! the High Exorcist thought madly, instantly doing a 270-degree spin and violently swatting the incoming Redeemer backslash aside with the shield in his left hand.

Deep in his Blessing Trance, Mikieru used the momentum of his thwarted initial attack and spun in the opposite direction. Sand flew as his feet skidded along the ground, the other end of the Redeemer slicing through the rising wall of dust as it thrust towards Rubalkabara’s armored midsection. The metallic clang contrasted with the sound of surprised pain that came from Rubalkabara’s lips.

The Redeemer had met its mark.

As soon as Mikieru scored the first hit, he threw his leg upward in a rising back-kick that slammed under the stunned Rubalkabara’s chin, launching the large man into the air.

Then, in that same instant, one of Mikieru’s gloved hands left the Redeemer’s shaft and discreetly charged a pulsating ball of mana into life. Then Mikieru planted his feet into the ground and flung the Holy Light spell into Rubalkabara’s form in mid-air.

Rubalkabara’s eyes widened as the ball of antimatter barreled through the air towards him. Instinctively, he extended his shield in front of him and tilted it at an angle. Incredibly, the Holy Light spell glanced off the shield, sending itself and the shield spiraling into the heavens.

Rubalkabara somersaulted in mid-air and landed on the ground heavily, with only the iron mace in hand. He didn’t look up, even though he knew that Mikieru was already descending towards him, the Redeemer drawn back and poised for a deadly strike. Instead he took a moment to utter his own incantation.

Mikieru swung the Redeemer down at Rubalkabara’s head.

Blessing!

Mikieru’s eyes widened as Rubalkabara’s large frame emitted a bluish-white aura, illuminating the ground around the High Exorcist’s feet. Then the old man looked up, shooting a hostile glance into the descending Cleric’s eyes before setting up to deliver a massive counter-attack.

It took only one powerful swing of Rubalkabara’s iron mace to send the Redeemer, and Mikieru with it, flying up and away from him. The boom of the impact echoed through the canyon, the vibrations felt even in the sand.

Mikieru flew towards the rock wall. He jabbed the Redeemer horizontally into a jagged cavity in the rock, stopping his uncontrollable flight then and there. The Cleric swung himself up and stepped onto the Redeemer’s shaft, looking over his shoulder and shooting a fiery, wide-eyed stare at his former Master, across the canyon and over a hundred feet below.

• • •

All were aghast in the small group of hidden Battle Acolytes who were watching the battle from the ridge of the crevice. In barely fifteen seconds, they had borne witness to perhaps the first blows ever suffered by the Lionheart, only to see the Kitsune’s attacks thwarted mightily in the end. Their hearts were pounding in their throats as they watched the two great Clerics face off again from a great distance, but none of them dared to utter a word.

That is, until the gifted Acolyte who had let them here noticed a shadow above them. She turned her eyes skyward, then immediately lunged to another Acolyte who was at her side.

“LOOK OUT!” she yelled, wrapping her arms around the boy and yanking him away just in time to avoid getting hit by a chunk of metal that seemed to have fallen from the sky.

She, he, and the rest of their peers stared with wide eyes at what had almost hit them. It was Rubalkabara’s shield, very badly damaged by Mikieru’s potent Holy Light spell. Edges of the large crack glowed in pale white, and smoke rose from the dents. It still bore the emblem of the Office of the High Exorcist, but even this was distorted almost beyond recognition.

Trembling, they slowly crawled back towards the ridge and peeked over the rocks. They still resolved to see the outcome of this battle, even though their thoughts about it weren’t as certain now than before the fight began.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Rubalkabara’s fighting prowess grew from nearly five decades of experience and intense study.

But Mikieru was a Demi-human—a Half-Elf, it was surmised from his green Elf-eye—and as such, held greater potential than any human in Midgard. Thirty years ago, when Algus Rubalkabara was Mikieru’s age, he was elevated to the rank of Exorcist—Grandmaster of the Brave Priesthood. Back then, everyone referred to Rubalkabara as the phenomenal prodigy who became the youngest Grandmaster Cleric in the Midgard’s history.

But now, having traded blows with Mikieru, Rubalkabara admitted that even he himself was nowhere near Mikieru’s level at that age.

Teleportation, Rubalkabara thought, thinking of the Holy Art that Mikieru used to suddenly appear on his weak side. He had learned the spell at age seventeen. But the physical relocation of the body cannot be controlled unless…

The old man’s eyes narrowed while he looked up at Mikieru’s form, standing on the Redeemer high up on the rock wall in front of him. He grimaced as he reached up and rubbed the painful spot under his beard.

No doubt about it, the High Exorcist concluded. He has grown. And if I do not be careful, he will kill me surely…

• • •

The cold night wind blew Mikieru’s long black coat about as he stared over his shoulder. He remembered being in a similar position as this two years ago, in the Mjolnir Mountain Pass where he battled against the Knight-Mage Garrione for the first time. This time, however, Mikieru noted that Rubalkabara had knocked him over twice the vertical distance than Garrione had—and Rubalkabara only used a simple iron mace to accomplish the inconceivable.

Stronger than Garrione, Mikieru observed, his incensed glare fixed on Rubalkabara’s glowing figure in the crevice below.

“Mikieru,” Rubalkabara’s voice came from the canyon bottom. “I will give you this. You have never struck me in any of our previous matches, but you have managed to strike me now—twice—on your first attempt.”

Mikieru said nothing.

“Commendable, I must admit,” Rubalkabara continued. “You are only the second person to ever land a blow on me.”

The younger Cleric raised an eyebrow. Second?

“But make no mistake. The evolution of your Teleportation skill is admirable, that you can now control the point of physical relocation… but it also remains a fact that you developed the skill on your own, without my knowledge or guidance…”

Rubalkabara stopped speaking for a moment. Mikieru waited for him to continue, never taking his glare off of the old man.

Suddenly, Rubalkabara vanished from his sight. Mikieru’s eyes widened in shock as a bluish-white illumination shone from above him.

“…and as such, it is gold untested in fire.”

Stunned, Mikieru shot a glance above him. Rubalkabara was there, his feet on the rock face and both hands on the iron mace raised high above his head.

• • •

The watching Acolytes gasped as the Rubalkabara’s mace smashed violently into the rock, shaking the entire crevice even as far as where they were hiding. Loud crushing sounds and a huge cloud of dust came from the impact point, followed by rocks and large boulders falling from the cloud—and the forms of Mikieru and Rubalkabara shooting from the cloud and flying towards the other side of the canyon.

• • •

The exact same Holy Art as mine! Mikieru contemplated wildly, rapidly approaching the rock face on the canyon’s other side. He knew how to control the Teleportation skill all along? How?

Mikieru glanced behind him. Rubalkabara was hurtling through the air behind him, hot in pursuit. The younger Cleric had barely managed to escape the old man’s devastating attack, but was now pinned into the defensive.

Mikieru glared at the iron mace in the High Exorcist’s hand.

As he neared the canyon walls, Mikieru somersaulted in mid-air and slammed his feet onto the rock face, causing several hairline cracks to appear around his feet. Then he looked up just in time to see Rubalkabara rapidly closing the distance between them and swinging his mace mightily inwards—at Mikieru’s head.

Now!

Rubalkabara’s eyes widened in that instant. He was looking into Mikieru’s eyes as he swung his iron mace in—and swore that the younger Cleric’s green Elf-eye turned yellow.

Another massive crash boomed throughout the canyon.

Rubalkabara remained suspended in mid-air. Mikieru had held the Redeemer vertically in front of him, one end on the rock face, and the other in the exact location where his head was only a split-second before. Mikieru had managed to avoid Rubalkabara’s deathblow—and instead, the High Exorcist’s mace met the Redeemer in the same manner that a hammer struck a nail.

Almost immediately after the impact came, Mikieru reached up with one arm and grasped the shaft of Rubalkabara’s mace for leverage. Then Mikieru threw his legs from the rock face and swung them inward, slamming both feet into a stunned Rubalkabara’s torso.

Rubalkabara spat as he somersaulted backwards, his hands empty. Mikieru had completely disarmed him.

Mikieru fell to the sandy ground below, Redeemer in one hand and Rubalkabara’s mace in the other. Undaunted by the shower of boulders that crashed into the ground behind him, he put one end of the Redeemer on the ground and rested its shaft against his shoulder. He reached up and covered his Elf-eye with the gloved palm of his free arm, a whisper of pain escaping his lips.

Likewise, Rubalkabara landed on his feet on the canyon floor. He stared at Mikieru as he got to his feet, seeing a green eye when the younger Cleric lowered his free hand and returned the gaze.

“Fire?” Mikieru calmly retorted, effortlessly flinging Rubalkabara’s mace into the rock wall behind him. The High Exorcist watched listlessly as his weapon disappeared into the shower of boulders behind Mikieru.

“I have tasted fire,” Mikieru continued, “but my skills have been honed by blood and tears… and not my own.”

Then Rubalkabara stared back into his former Apprentice’s eyes.

Mikieru stood unmoving, glaring at his former Master while his thoughts drifted to a moment two years ago. Back then, he lay wounded and helpless among the flames while he watched tears fall from the eyes of his friend, the Merchant Jared Wycrow. The Elf Napolde Linwelyn, Jared’s beloved, was in the Merchant’s arms—bloodied almost beyond recognition—dead. Gone… utterly, utterly lost.

• • •

So I see, Rubalkabara thought. Mikieru has subjected himself to intense self-training after the incident in Al de Baran. That would explain this new speed and strength, his new mastery of his Holy Arts… and the use of his clandestine Elf-eye.

Rubalkabara, with his hands empty, began channeling mana onto his palms. A large, pulsating ball of energy began to form.

This has become more interesting than I initially expected, Rubalkabara thought, his eyes narrowing. Come, Mikieru. Show me, then, what gold tested in blood and tears is capable of.

As the last of the boulders tumbled into the ground behind Mikieru and an uneasy silence prevailed over the canyon, the younger Cleric took one step towards his master. Soon his trot broke into jog, and finally into a sprint. One of his hands left the shaft of his Redeemer and charged his own Holy Light spell.

Rubalkabara watched in satisfaction as his former Apprentice came to him with nothing less than the intent to kill. When Mikieru came close enough, the High Exorcist began running towards him as well—and soon they were hurtling over the ground towards each other, about to break the silence once again.

Rubalkabara flung his Holy Light spell at the swiftly approaching Cleric, and Mikieru released his own ball of antimatter at the same instant. The two spheres met in a brilliant white flash that illuminated the whole canyon for an instant and sent millions of miniature balls of light flying in all directions from the impact point. At that moment Mikieru and Rubalkabara both lunged off the ground and soared towards each other, amidst the fluttering white specks, in mid-air where there was no escaping an inevitable clash.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Over the next two minutes, which seemed like an eternity for the watching Acolytes, Mikieru and Rubalkabara traded blow after blow after blow. It was a spectacular display of Holy Art coupled with one-on-one combat. Often, entire sections of the canyon walls would crumble and fall to the crevice floor, shattered by the passing of the two legendary Clerics.

“I hope they don’t bring the battle in this direction,” swallowed an Acolyte, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

• • •

All of a sudden, the dust cleared around Mikieru. The Redeemer in his hands, he looked around. He realized that, on the canyon’s rocky mouth, there was only one Blessing aura that remained glowing—his.

Devious, Mikieru thought, standing still in the highest point on the rock, nearly four hundred feet above the canyon floor. He released the Blessing trance in order to hide in the dust and darkness. He is planning to attack me from a blind spot.

Mikieru narrowed his eyes, waiting for any foreign ray of light to appear around him. In his Blessing trance, he would still be too fast and too strong for Rubalkabara to attack without the aid of self-enhancement. The High Exorcist would still have to charge Blessing—and Mikieru was ready to counter at the first sign of its light.

Sure enough, a flash of bluish-white light soon shone behind Mikieru, and the Cleric immediately ducked, spun, and swung the Redeemer savagely.

• • •

The quarterstaff-mace sliced through a weightless pillar of light that vaguely resembled the shape of a winged angel.

• • •

Pneuma! Mikieru thought madly, instantly recognizing the Holy Art. This particular skill allowed a Priest to summon pillars of light, even from a considerable distance away, that would protect a small area from projectile weapons such as arrows, darts, and bullets. Mikieru had no projectile weapons with him, but the Pneuma spell had served its purpose—it had distracted the Cleric for a moment, allowing Rubalkabara to charge in from behind with his Blessing trance full in effect.

Mikieru spun and raised the Redeemer in instinctive defense, one forearm on the shaft to protect against a thrust attack. Rubalkabara barreled through the rising clouds of dust and swung an incredibly limber spinning roundhouse back-kick in mid-air. The heel of one of his greaves hit the shaft of the Redeemer with a loud clang.

Then, incredibly, Rubalkabara’s kicking leg hooked around the shaft of the Redeemer. The old man’s momentum allowed him to plant his other foot on the quarterstaff-mace and kick violently. The High Exorcist somersaulted backwards, his legs wrenching Mikieru’s weapon from his hands. The Redeemer flew into the air, out of Mikieru’s reach, as Rubalkabara landed on the ground and lunged towards the weaponless Cleric.

With hardly any time to recover, Mikieru gritted his teeth as he threw his arms up to block an incoming punch. Rubalkabara’s gauntleted fist slammed heavily into his forearms, throwing him a good distance backwards—and off the canyon mouth’s edge.

Mikieru plummeted headfirst into the canyon. At this height, even he couldn’t be sure of a harmless landing. As soon as he saw it, Mikieru reached out and grabbed the edge of a rock ledge on his way down.

Hanging from the ledge, he looked at the crevice floor below him. His feet still dangled roughly three hundred feet from the floor—still unsure of a safe landing. He would have to find a safer way down.

The sound of footsteps came from above him. When Mikieru looked up, Rubalkabara was standing over him on the rock ledge, the Redeemer in one hand.

“Do you yield?” Rubalkabara asked quietly.

Mikieru did not answer, but glared at the High Exorcist in defiance.

“As you will,” the old man said, allowing himself to stretch the muscles in his shoulders. “You hang at an unsafe height, you are unarmed, and I have the higher ground. The next move is up to me, then.”

Rubalkabara stretched his arms forward, holding the Redeemer vertically in front of him. He held the lower end inches over Mikieru’s gloved fingers. Then he moved his eyes from the Redeemer’s bottom, up its magnificent silver shaft, and onto the flanges of the top end.

“Do you know precisely why we Priests are prohibited by Canon Law from using bladed weapons, Mikieru?”

Mikieru was silent for a moment. When it became apparent that Rubalkabara was waiting for a reply, he suffered the humiliation of giving one.

“Because Demons and Undead can only be crushed to oblivion.”

Rubalkabara’s eyes did not leave the Redeemer. “As it is,” he said. “Yet you will agree with me when I say that the greatest evil in Midgard lies in Mankind.”

Rubalkabara sighed heavily.

“And what use are maces and staves when the worst of men wield swords, spears, and axes? Remember the Frontier War, Mikieru. Our Brave Brothers and Sisters, armed with these weapons, were pitted against the Assassins of Morroc and their poisonous metal blades.

“Many of us fell to the ruthless Black Nomads. Yet we stood our ground and saved thousands of refugees and war orphans. We may have failed to reach the White Nomad City of Antioc, but we prevented deaths. We held evil at bay. We did what we should have.”

Mikieru’s eyes narrowed. “And your point?”

“My point, Mikieru, is that our weapons are instruments of control. If you wielded swords, imagine the power you would have at your hands. Far too much. The power would consume you… and turn you into a monster much worse than the most evil Assassin.”

Rubalkabara lowered his eyes to Mikieru’s dangling form. “Look at yourself,” he challenged. “For eleven years you developed the Holy Arts without my knowledge, and yes, you have grown much. Yet your power and ambition is consuming you. Already, your judgment is clouded and your self-control is weakening.”

Mikieru spat quietly. “I am not evil.”

Rubalkabara nodded. “For now.”

Mikieru bared his teeth slightly at this.

“You claim concern for Midgard when you brought the Stones to me,” Rubalkabara said. “And yet when I—rather, Yosuke—gave you your answers, you rejected them outright. More than a test of power, this battle is a test of submission—to see whether you can swallow that damned pride of yours and see the truth!”

Suddenly Rubalkabara jumped backwards, raised the Redeemer above his head, and thrust its lower end into the rock ledge.

“No!” Mikieru yelled as the crash came. The rock ledge shattered into pieces—and the Cleric began to fall the three hundred feet to the canyon floor.

Boulders, dust, and crushed rock accompanied Mikieru’s free-fall. The last thing the Cleric saw, before the rocks obscured his vision, was the sight of his former Master throwing the Redeemer spinning impossibly high into the night sky.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

The air whipped at Mikieru’s face as he fell. He saw the ground rapidly getting closer and realized that he had to do something or face certain death—if not from the fall, then from the boulders that would surely crush him.

There seemed to be no escape. He could not use the Teleportation skill if his feet were not planted on solid ground.

See the truth? Mikieru thought madly. He would sooner kill me than make any sen—wait.

Mikieru looked at the approaching ground, and then at the large boulders that trailed his fall.

Swallow my pride, see the truth, eh? Mikieru contemplated. It seems my old Master has backed me to a corner once again.

Mikieru realized that there was no escaping this fall—and so he had to find a way through it. He decided to risk it and adopted a body position that allowed him to fall much faster than the boulders behind him. He fell like an arrow towards the sandy ground.

Then, at the last moment, Mikieru somersaulted—and slammed his feet heavily on the ground. He grimaced as an excruciating pain shot up his legs.

With one eye closed in pain, he looked up at the shower of boulders above his head. His legs had no time to recover—there was no escape.

The only way through an obstacle, Mikieru thought, is through it.

With all his might, Mikieru reached up and put his hands together in a praying gesture. He uttered a lingering Latin incantation with his eyes closed, then shot them open as he finished, yelling:

DEUS! LUMINA SANCTI!

An electric-blue aura shone around Mikieru while he flung, one after the other, super-charged balls of Holy Light into the descending boulders. The result was a spectacular show of light that decimated all the rock that fell from the canyon face. It took seventy spheres of antimatter to reduce all the boulders into a cloud of dust and rock that wafted down and sideways.

As the dust fell and enveloped Mikieru, the Cleric fell to his knees, exhausted. He had spent nearly all his remaining strength to avoid being crushed to death—and he knew that the battle was not yet over.

Mikieru jumped to his feet and instinctively leaped backwards, spinning in the air, just in time to avoid being crushed by Rubalkabara himself.

Mikieru skidded on the sandy ground, still unable to recover from the strain. He coughed once, then looked up just in time to see Rubalkabara’s gauntleted right fist swing in.

A loud slap sounded in the canyon.

Rubalkabara stared in incredulity. Mikieru had moved his head aside and raised his left gloved hand, catching the old man’s fist. Then the young Cleric clenched his right hand into a fist and flung it towards Rubalkabara’s face.

Another loud clap sounded.

Rubalkabara had likewise caught Mikieru’s incoming punch with his left hand, and now the hands of the two great Clerics were locked together.

Rubalkabara, with infinitely more strength remaining in him than Mikieru did, pushed against Mikieru’s hands mightily, causing the weary Cleric to fall to his knees.

“Excellent,” the High Exorcist praised, his face showing none of the geniality of his comment. “You are learning. Little by little I am beginning to see you worthy of receiving my tutelage once again.”

Mikieru’s head hung in exhaustion, yet the tension in his arms stubbornly resisted Rubalkabara’s massive strength.

“You see now what I mean, Mikieru?” the old man continued. “It is all about control. If we Clerics did not set limits as to how we could use our Holy Arts, we could very well take over the entirety of Midgard itself.”

Mikieru did not answer.

“This test has served its purpose,” Rubalkabara finished. “Yield now, Mikieru. There is no point in continuing. Accept your defeat and move on.”

• • •

Suddenly Mikieru rose to his feet, pushing a startled Rubalkabara backwards. The old man knotted his brow, wondering where the Cleric’s newfound strength came from. He saw it when Mikieru raised his wrathful face to the old man.

Mikieru’s Elf-eye had turned yellow again. It glowed fiercely, its pupil thinning into a single vertical band.

Still a bit of pride left in you, eh, Mikieru? Rubalkabara smirked. Perhaps it is up to me to erase it for you. Prepare yourself!

• • •

Suddenly Rubalkabara disappeared from his position, throwing the vengeful Mikieru off-balance. The old man reappeared an instant later, three meters behind his original position. Mikieru’s shocked eyes lay fixed on the High Exorcist’s stance—it was one that he had never seen before.

Rubalkabara’s legs were set apart, standing on the bone of the foot, knees slightly bent; his back was bent forward, head bowed; his arms were stretched out to his sides, fists clenched. His cape billowed up and outwards behind him, giving him in that instant a form that even Mikieru found menacing.

And Rubalkabara raised his head, lunged savagely at Mikieru—and, in one instant, the battle was over.

• • •

The Acolytes were listless and motionless, yet each pair of eyes never left the battle until the very end.

“I don’t believe it,” the gifted Acolyte whispered.

• • •

Mikieru crashed onto his back, his face contorted in intense anguish. He skidded to a stop on a patch of sparse undergrowth, every square inch of his body throbbing with pain.

He would not get up again for a long time.

Rubalkabara stood motionless, watching Mikieru suffer. He looked up for a moment, catching a glimpse of the Redeemer falling from the sky. It fell into the ground about a meter behind Mikieru’s head, burying one of its heavy ends into the ground and resting in an upright position.

Like a tombstone.

Apt, Rubalkabara thought, in definition of dying to oneself in order to find one’s soul.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

It took several moments for Mikieru to find the strength to open his right eye. He saw Rubalkabara standing at his side, looking down on his pitiful, defeated form.

“What… was… done to me?” the Cleric asked, very weakly indeed.

Mikieru could not open his Elf-eye. Its eyelid was shut tight, a trail of blood slowly oozing out of its corner.

Rubalkabara did not answer right away. Instead, he turned his eyes skyward, into the blanket of stars that hung in the night sky above them. He quietly thought of the words to say.

“Let me tell you, Mikieru,” Rubalkabara replied, “about the first person who ever landed a blow on me.”

Mikieru coughed in pain once, but strained to listen to the old man’s words.

“He was a Cleric, geared to become an even greater Exorcist than I. He had, at the young age of eighteen, matched the skill I held at forty. Do you know who he is, Mikieru?”

Rubalkabara lowered his eyes to Mikieru.

“He was my first Apprentice,” Rubalkabara said. “Yosuke himself. He was the one who taught me this ultimate Holy Art… the secular version of which you had a taste of just now.”

Mikieru thought about this for a moment, closing his eyes. Such power…

“Worry not,” Rubalkabara soothed his stricken Apprentice. “You have shown me that you are worthy of learning this Holy Art… and others, as well.”

“Others?” Mikieru repeated.

“Yes. You may think you have created a new Holy Art by learning how to control Teleportation’s physical relocation aspect, but no. You merely learned, in the crudest way possible, Teleportation Level Two—Locus Teleport. It was a Holy Art I could have taught you if you had not left to join the Army immediately after your ordination.”

Mikieru tried to laugh, but only managed to smile slightly. Even mere breathing hurt his lungs.

“And more,” Rubalkabara continued. “I am sure you are strong enough to learn Teleportation… Level Three.”

Mikieru’s smile faded. “There’s a Level Three?”

“Indeed,” Rubalkabara said, laughing slightly at Mikieru’s perplexity. “And I am certain that once you have mastered these Arts, you will be able to control your use of your Elf-eye even better, I imagine.”

Mikieru nodded. His Master saw right through everything.

“Everything will have to wait another day, however,” Rubalkabara concluded. “Yosuke subjected me to the same Holy Art you suffered, and it took me a full day-and-a-half before I could get back to my feet. Rest. I shall watch over you.”

“My thanks,” Mikieru whispered, allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.

• • •

“It’s over,” the gifted Acolyte muttered in amazement. “The Lionheart won… but that final Holy Art… it was…”

“The Kitsune was defeated,” her peer whispered in response. “I never thought it was possible…”

“You doubted in me?”

The Acolytes froze at the deep voice, suddenly realizing that Rubalkabara had disappeared from the canyon floor below them—and that a large, hulking shadow stood over them now.

Slowly, the wide-eyed Battle Acolytes looked over their shoulders—into the huge form of Algus Rubalkabara, silhouetted by the moonlight.

“Locus Teleport,” the gifted Acolyte gushed. “Unreal…”

Rubalkabara’s eyes narrowed in amusement at her. “Why thank you, Melody,” he deadpanned. “Back to your Common Rooms… now.”

“Yes, Father!” the Acolytes answered in nervous chorus, immediately getting to their feet and scampering past the High Exorcist, back towards Juno and St. Capitolina Square.

Only Melody had the courage to look back at Fr. Rubalkabara. She was smiling. Witnessing the battle between the Fox and the Lionheart left a lasting impression on her—one that would inspire her to, one day, become even a better Cleric than either of the two.

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

Mikieru opened his good eye.

He was still on the canyon floor. The pain in his body had mellowed down to a numbing muscle fatigue, but it was still difficult for him to move. He seemed drained of all strength and stamina, but his senses were still active—his sense of smell most of all, since it was a sweet wind-carried scent that roused the Cleric from his slumber.

The sky was already showing hints of blue. The sun would rise in moments. Mikieru turned his head to the side. It took a moment for his eye to see where the scent came from.

Two flowers, with green stems, white petals and yellow stamens, grew from a tiny bush to his side. Slowly, painfully, he dragged his arm across the dirt and reached for the flowers.

Rubalkabara was sitting on one of the nearby large rocks that had fallen from the crevice mouth when he heard Mikieru’s movements. He glanced at his former Apprentice with mild surprise.

Already? Rubalkabara pondered. Able to move after only eight hours of rest?

Mikieru grasped the stems of the flowers and plucked them, with great effort, from the bush. Then pulled his arm back and lifted his forearm, holding the flowers over his face.

“I had no idea Sograt Lilies grew here, as well,” Mikieru croaked quietly.

• • •

Eight Years Ago

• • •

Dawn was breaking over the Sograt Desert, and the Midgard Alliance desert camps were rising. Troops from Prontera and Payon were getting ready to march. War had been declared against Morroc only days before, and this was the day that the Midgard Alliance would begin their push to the Frontier Capital—and to the White Nomad City of Antioc.

Algus Rubalkabara was there, but he was not to join in either the Morroc or Antioc push. He was here, with special permission from the Church to leave Juno, to see his fellow Clerics off. He was to offer spiritual and temporal sustenance to them before they left without any certainty of return.

He emerged from his War Tent just in time to see the Morroc front set off. Knights and Clerics from Prontera; Warriors and Hunters from Payon… all began to march south towards the forbidding bowels of the Sograt Desert. Their mission: to prevent the anarchy that spread from Morroc from reaching the borders of the Northern Realm.

Then, on the other side of the great formation, he spied the forms of a very familiar Cleric, speaking with a female Knight.

• • •

“I was looking for you in camp for days, Mikieru,” the Lady said. “I’m so glad I finally found you. I wanted to see you so badly before we left.”

Mikieru nodded. “I am glad to see you again, as well, Solstice.”

Solstice returned the nod, her eyes moving down to Mikieru’s chest. She bit her lip before speaking.

“So you really got your silver cross, huh,” she said, looking at the Cleric’s cross. “You’re really a Cleric now.”

“Three years going, to be correct,” Mikieru said. “But more importantly, you have ascended to Knighthood as well. It is very late for me to say this, but my congratulations… you’ve earned it. Sir Petersen must have been proud of you.”

Solstice smiled. “You’ve changed the way you talk, too. You really sound like a Priest now.”

She sighed, looking down sadly.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mikieru,” she said. “Every time I see that cross around your neck… it sorta drives a splinter into my heart. I know we agreed, that night in the Mjolnir Coal Ridge, that you joining the Priesthood was the right thing to do, but… I never thought doing the right thing could hurt me so badly.”

She raised her hand in front of his chest. Clasped within her fingers were two flowers—with green stems, white petals, and yellow stamens.

“We can’t be sure both of us will come back from this war alive,” she continued. “So I’ll say everything I need to say now.”

She looked into his blue-and-green eyes.

“In all my twenty-one years, you’re really the only boy I’ve ever loved,” she said, sniffing once. “It just… sucks… when the only boy you’ve ever loved goes off to join the Priesthood. I just thought that if I would just be honest with you, it’d make me feel better, even though I know my love for you would never be given back to me, and—”

Solstice stopped. Mikieru had clasped his gloved hand over hers. Slowly, and wordlessly, he took the flowers from her hand—then wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Mikieru moved his lips next to her ear and whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Solstice’s chin rested on Mikieru’s shoulder. Her eyes were wide open in shock; her arms dangled at her sides in disbelief at what she just heard.

Her eyes welled with tears. To her, this was the most perfect moment.

Mikieru softened his clinch, and he stared into her eyes with a smile.

“Come back,” he entreated.

Solstice smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. Then he slowly leaned in and kissed her on the cheek—and she threw her arms over his shoulders and pulled him closer.

He held her around her waist. She wept happily, her fingers digging into his coat in the bitterness of goodbye. That morning when they held each other in their arms, with the rest of the Morroc Front marching behind them, it seemed almost as though they would never let go.

But they did.

They had to.

They had no choice.

• • •

“Solstice,” Rubalkabara said, his eyes on the Sograt Lilies in Mikieru’s gloved hand. “That was her name, was it not?”

Mikieru lay on the ground motionless, the white flowers held weakly between the fingers of his hand.

“How is she, Mikieru?” the old man ventured. “Is she well?”

Mikieru swallowed, the taste in his mouth bitter to the core.

“She never came back,” he uttered in reply.

A strong gust of wind began to blow in the canyon from the east, and plucked the Sograt Lilies from Mikieru’s fingers. His eyes followed the white flowers as the updraft carried them up into the lightening dawn sky, over the crevice mouth, until they disappeared from the Cleric’s sight.

Past… Present…and Pain.

Rubalkabara watched as Mikieru’s hand dropped to his ground as though it was lifeless.

So that is where you draw your strength, Mikieru, the High Exorcist realized. Such is the life of the Brave. Only through knowing wrong can one do the right thing. Only through atonement can one learn to forgive…

The sun rose higher over the horizon, and Mikieru, incredibly, began getting up on his own.

Rubalkabara smiled in poignant satisfaction at his former Apprentice.

…and, indeed, only by suffering wounds can one learn to heal.

• • •

End of Chapter Eight

[Mikey]

Chapter Nine
The “Real” World

As soon as the final bell tolled in the Prontera Training Grounds that Wednesday afternoon, Joanne bounded out of her classroom and ran through the halls. She leapt into the nearby quadrangle and rushed to the wing three halls down from her own, her bag of school things slung over one shoulder and a small note clutched within the fingers of one hand. The contents of the note were the cause of her hurry this day.

Just before the final period, Joanne received the pleasant shock of seeing Shin-ju pass by her classroom. The boy had greeted her quietly, as though trying to avoid any attention from the other Novices around them, and discreetly slipped a folded note into her hand. After asking her to read it after the final bell, he left without another word.

Naturally, Joanne could not resist herself. Barely ten minutes into the final period, she sneaked a look into Shin-ju’s note—and spent the next half-hour holding back the impulse to just pick her stuff up and run out of the classroom before the final bell.

On the note, Shin-ju had written:

Joie,

Please meet me at the Winslow Hall roof deck after today’s final bell. I need to talk to you about something. Thanks.

Shin-ju

• • •

Shin-ju stared into the grassy fields below the Winslow Hall roof deck, leaning on the parapet with his elbows and forearms. The wind blew through his hair, his new Nomad clothes—and a piece of paper in his hand. It was Mikieru’s letter, and he had been bothered by the Cleric’s revelation that he would be away for another three months. The boy was detachedly thinking about what to do next that he almost forgot he asked Joanne to meet him here on this roof deck earlier that afternoon.

The sound of footsteps and hurried breathing soon came from behind him. He looked over his shoulder in time to see Joanne running onto the empty roof deck.

“Shin-ju!” Joanne called breathlessly, her fatigue failing to erase the smile on her face.

“Joie, hi,” Shin-ju said, leaving the parapet edge and approaching the girl. “Hey, catch your breath… geez, I didn’t want you to knock yourself out…”

“It’s… to… totally fine, Shin-ju, I…” Joanne stammered between deep breaths, her hands on her knees. “I… was… just… I…”

Shin-ju frowned at her bent-over form, quietly admonishing the girl’s brash choice of actions. He took the girl’s arm and looped it over his shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s move over to the parapet,” he said, placing his hand on the girl’s waist in support. He did not see the flushed expression that came over Joanne’s face when she felt his touch over the thin baby tee she wore.

Shin-ju helped her to the parapet edge. She leaned on the low concrete wall and caught her breath, her arms taking some of the weight off her legs. Shin-ju stood beside her, similarly leaning on the parapet and glancing at her with a grin.

“Sorry,” Joanne said, straightening. “I, er… I just thought it was really important, so I came running. So, uh… no club meeting with Ayame today?”

“Not today,” Shin-ju answered simply. “She’s out doing interviews.”

“Oh, okay,” Joanne nervously brushed some of her short blonde hair off her eyes, looking around for a moment and seeing no one else was on the hall floor. “So, uh… what did you want to talk about, Shin-ju?”

At this, a smile crept onto Shin-ju’s handsome tan face.

“Just this,” he said, grinning as he reached into his backpack. “I wanted to give you something to mark the occasion.”

Joanne’s eyes widened as Shin-ju handed a bundle to her. It was a new brown sweater, with an oversized opening for the head and two yellow zigzags that ran across the torso and sleeves area. It was a piece of Nomad clothing, and she had never seen anything like it before. She slowly looked up, stunned, into the smiling boy’s gray eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Joie,” he greeted.

She could have jumped up and hugged him right then and there. No one was around to see or mind. Instead she bit back the urge and just reached up and took the sweater in her hands.

“My… birthday?” she asked flatly.

Shin-ju laughed quietly. “Well, remember when we met last week?” he answered. “When I copied your schedule onto my notes, I also copied your birthday. It’s June 2 today, if you didn’t notice.”

Joanne grinned and closed her eyes stupidly, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the back of her head. He was right—it was the second of June today. She had only turned fifteen and she had already forgotten her birthday for the first time in her life.

“Sorry it’s just a sweater, though,” Shin-ju apologized. “I guess I’ll just get you something nicer on your sweet sixteenth.”

“No, no—it’s perfect,” she stammered, trying to keep composed. “Th-thank you, Shin-ju… it’s pretty. I’ll, uh…”

Then an idea occurred to her.

“I’ll go change into it right now,” she said with a prankish grin.

Shin-ju’s smile disappeared. “Are you serious?”

She giggled, ambling towards a nearby column. “Just turn away for a bit,” she teased.

He waited until she disappeared behind the column before turning to look at the football fields below him again. Joanne always came off to him as this inapt, naïve, socially-subdued young girl—being on the receiving end of a teasing jab was such an unfamiliar sensation to him. But at the same time, he was glad to see the two of them becoming chummier as the days passed—and he hoped she felt the same way.

Hidden from Shin-ju’s view, Joanne leaned her back on the column, turned her face upwards, and smiled the biggest smile she had ever flashed in her life. Then, cradling the sweater in her forearms, she raised it and pressed it against her face, sniffing the strange earthly scent from the fabric—and the calming scent of Shin-ju’s hands with it.

Then, without wasting any more time, she changed into the sweater.

• • •

When Joanne peeked from behind the column, she saw that Shin-ju wasn’t looking at her direction. His attention seemed focused on the fields below him—or something in his hands. She allowed herself to stare at his back for a few more moments.

It was he, the one she loved, and he was here. It was he, the one she had been waiting to find for two whole years, and he was right in front of her.

As deep as her feelings were for him, she strangely could not find the strength to tell him how she felt—and even at this moment, she didn’t know why.

• • •

“Um,” she chirped after a while. “I’m done.”

Shin-ju turned around and looked at her. She was in the sweater, the oversized opening wrapping around her upper arms and exposing her thin shoulders. The straps of a black tank top looped over her collarbones. Shin-ju thought that seeing her bare shoulders and slender neck together made her look even more frail than she already did—but at the same time, prettier.

“How does it look on me?” she asked, a shy grin on her face.

“Nice,” Shin-ju said, absently returning the smile. “Really nice. You’re… probably the cutest Nomad girl I’ve seen in a while.”

“Really?” Joanne asked, clasping her hands behind her back and strutting towards him with flirty, straight-legged steps. “Are Nomad girls prettier than Northfolk girls, Shin-ju?”

Shin-ju pouted. What a question, he thought to himself, turning instead to look at the letter in his hand again.

After failing to elicit the reaction she expected from him, Joanne nervously walked back to his side, eyeing the piece of paper in his hand.

“What’s that, Shin-ju?” she asked.

He sighed. “A letter from my former Master,” he answered. “He’s going to be in Juno for the next three months, so he can’t give me any allowance for the time being.”

Joanne’s smile disappeared. “No way!” she spat.

“Believe it… I won’t have any money for the next three months, unless…”

Shin-ju looked up, as though an idea had occurred to him.

“Unless… what?” Joanne wanted to know.

He looked at her with a smile. “Unless I find some part-time work in the city,” he said. “That’s it!”

Joanne didn’t seem to share his excitement at the idea. “You’re kidding!” she said.

“No, I’m not,” he answered brightly. “Did I ever tell you I used to work as a janitor at the Constabulary HQ? There’s gotta be someplace in the city that needs one of those. It’ll be easy!”

She still wasn’t convinced. “But Shin-ju, you gotta go to school during the day, and you got your Visor duties on top of that. If you work a part-time job, you’ll be all battered and beat-up by the time you get home!”

“Well, it’s still better than going to bed hungry, right?” he replied. “Y’know what, I’ll go into the city and look for a job right now. I’ve a feeling something good’s gonna happen today.”

Shin-ju picked up his backpack and got ready to leave. “So, I’ll, uh… I’ll take you to your Dorm first?”

His question caught her off-guard, and it took her a moment before she could give a straight answer. “Er—no, no, that’s fine, Shin-ju,” she said. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got other things to do, myself so… r-really, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

He frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she answered too quickly. “You go on ahead. I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he said, getting ready to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah,” she bade him goodbye. “Good luck. And thanks for the sweater!”

Joanne watched as Shin-ju left the roof deck in a brisk excitement, disappearing as he rounded a corner towards the stairs.

And he’s gone again, Joanne thought to herself, sighing. Why did I say no? I could’ve told him how I felt if I let him walk me to my Dorm, but…

She felt the fabric of her new Nomad sweater on her skin.

That’d be kinda pushing it, though… I guess it’s more than enough that he gave me a gift… but still…

• • •

To be continued

[Mikey]

“Sorry, we’re not hiring Nomads right now.”

“Nope, we don’t take Nomads.”

“A Nomad? Sorry, but we have enough rats in here as it is.”

• • •

“Rats,” Shin-ju griped as he left the doorstep of a store, turned away yet again. He had been going in and out of stores in the northern districts of Prontera, looking for work, for the past two hours—and was not getting any luck. He realized that people were just as leery of his Nomad heritage out in the city as in the Training Grounds.

He walked through the busy streets, his eyes scanning the storefronts for any “help wanted” signs. He was so fixated on trying to find a job before dark that he didn’t notice someone following him from behind, watching from a distance.

Joanne peeked from behind a lamppost, disheartened by the difficulty Shin-ju was having in looking for a job. He had been following him since he left the Training Grounds two hours ago, and while her feet were beginning to hurt from all the walking, she resolved to wait until she saw him find some work.

I gotta help him, she thought.

She tailed him as he made his way up a hilly, sparsely-developed district. Several lots in this district were open and undeveloped—they were not very attractive to landowners since the slope poised several problems against building. Nevertheless, Shin-ju pushed through a rickety picket fence into a vegetated lot dotted with wild trees. A sign on the fence had read: “Assistant needed.”

• • •

“Hmm, now this is unexpected,” the middle-aged man drawled, looking down at Shin-ju through thick glasses. “A blue-haired Nomad is at my doorstep looking for work. What kind of work are you looking for in particular, boy?”

Shin-ju fidgeted uncomfortably. He thought that the house in the middle of the lot, a broken-down hovel with several holes in the roof and a kitchen out in the open, looked strange. Now he felt that even the house looked normal compared to the person residing in it.

“I used to work as a janitor, good sir,” Shin-ju answered the man, trying not to stare at the man’s strange, foreign-looking clothes. “But right now I just need a job. Any job would do.”

From behind one of the old oak trees in the vicinity, Joanne peeped and tried to listen in to the conversation. Neither Shin-ju nor the man had noticed her presence.

“Any job, eh?” the man repeated. “Hmm… well, I suppose I cannot be choosy on the matter. It has been almost a month since I put that ‘Assistant needed’ sign on my gate, and so far you are the only one to have walked past it. Are you sure this is not some prank you teenagers have come to play on an old, retired Alchemist?”

“Er…” Shin-ju began, his eyes perking up at the mention of the man’s profession.

“Nay, nay. Forget I asked,” the Alchemist said. “As I said myself, I cannot be choosy. What is your name, boy?”

“Shin-ju, sir.”

The Alchemist cleared his throat.

“Very well, Shin-ju. I am Kivstalis the Alchemist… former Adviser to the Steward of Al de Baran. Retired. I currently live alone, studying and writing a book on Modern Alchemy. I am in need of a house help, who will assist me in my experiments and works, and who will cook, clean, and wash. Do you think you are up to this?”

By this time, Shin-ju was ready to take any job. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Kivstalis said. “Though there is one more thing you need to know. I am very meticulous, and my patience is very short. I want a perfect job done every single time, no matter what job it is. Should you try to do anything foolish, you will find yourself in a world of fiery, fiery pain. Do I make myself clear?”

Shin-ju swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

The scientist opened the door. “Come in, then. Your first task is to sweep the place clean. You’ll find a broom hanging on the wall… oh, wait, I believe it is in the closet under the stairs… no, no, wait. I think I accidentally burned that broom last year in one of my experiments… It appears you will have to use your hands to the task…”

Joanne felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of her face as she watched Shin-ju follow the eccentric scientist into the decrepit hovel.

Will Shin-ju be okay? she couldn’t help but wonder.

• • •

Hiding behind trees, bushes, and rocks, Joanne watched over the next hour as Shin-ju worked. At first the boy caught the attention of the old Alchemist by fashioning a makeshift broom out of a stick, twine, a few twigs, and several long leaves. Then the boy neatly rearranged the tomes in a small portion of Kivstalis’s bookshelf—his experiences with Ayame in the Visor clubroom gave him an idea of good file archiving, and the Alchemist could not help but approve of the boy’s hard work.

Later, Shin-ju and Kivstalis were at the outdoor kitchen, preparing the Alchemist’s dinner. The scientist had grown to like the boy somewhat, and his stern demeanor lightened as the day’s chores wore on. Shin-ju thought it was all right for him to ask a question.

“Sir, would you mind if I asked you something?” Shin-ju asked, his hands busy chopping onions and tomatoes.

An audible sniff came from Kivstalis, who was browsing one of his food closets on the other side of the kitchen. “All right,” came the man’s reply.

“You mentioned that you were once an Adviser to the Steward of Al de Baran,” Shin-ju ventured. “Was, uh… was that a long time ago?”

Another huff came from the Alchemist’s lips. “Yes, my boy. Almost a decade past.”

“You, uh… you said you were retired,” Shin-ju continued. “But you barely seem to be older than forty years old.”

Kivstalis laughed. “The retirement was self-imposed, if you truly need to know,” the scientist said, drawing a bottle of a dark-colored sauce from the closet. “I was made Adviser on the sole fact that I was the only Alchemist of substantial renown in the Machine City back then. But the greater fact remained: I did not like the Steward, and the Steward did not like me.”

Shin-ju nodded, pushing a handful of chopped tomatoes aside with the edge of his knife. “The Steward disagreed with you?”

“The Steward was a brat of a man,” Kivstalis replied with a hint of hostility in his voice. “All the Stewards were too keen on getting more coal from the Mjolnir Mountain Range, and never paid much attention to the welfare of the citizens and the surrounding villages. This Steward declined to allocate funds for me to step up the establishment of a Local Guard for the Coal City, and instead poured every remaining zenny into the mining industry. I simply got tired of being a figurehead in that blasted political arena… and so I left.”

“You left the Steward’s Cabinet against his wishes?”

“Disappeared would be a better word,” Kivstalis answered with a laugh. “I left that blasted city and took up residence here. Since then, the Steward never made any move to establish a Local Guard—and look what happened to Al de Baran two years ago. Have you heard of that uprising, boy?”

Shin-ju stopped moving at this.

Slowly, the boy turned his head to look over his shoulder at the Alchemist. Kivstalis caught a glimpse of Shin-ju’s gray eyes and, satisfied, looked away and resumed his story.

“The Steward should have listened to me. Al de Baran was defenseless. That Knight—Garrione the Fallen, I believe he is called now—he took over the city almost without effort. If not for Payon’s warriors, Al de Baran would probably be a stronghold of anarchy and chaos to this day.”

Shin-ju absently started chopping tomatoes again. Is that what people think really happened in Al de Baran that day?

“I see,” Shin-ju said. “I can understand why you did not like the Steward, but why did the Steward dislike you?”

“Now that,” Kivstalis snapped, “is a topic I do not want to get into.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kivstalis walked towards the house again. “Now hurry up with my dinner,” he ordered. “Perhaps I failed to mention that my meals are what I am most meticulous about. I want my dinner neatly and promptly prepared on the table at precisely half-past-six. That is about half an hour from now. Best to get the fire going under the oven as early as now.”

“All right, Mr. Kivstalis.”

“Of course,” the Alchemist’s voice came from inside the house. “See to it that the fire will not burn out of control. You will find the ham in the food closet. No, wait—it is on the table. Or was it in the pantry…?”

Shin-ju groaned in mild exasperation. He set down the knife in his hand and moved to start a fire under the old oven—and to look for the ham that Kivstalis was referring to.

• • •

Fifteen minutes later, the fire in the oven was ready—but Shin-ju still couldn’t find the ham, and he had looked all over the kitchen. Then the boy remembered that Kivstalis had mentioned that it might have been in the pantry inside the house, so he walked inside to look for it.

As Shin-ju moved into the house, Joanne emerged from behind a rock. She was getting worried—if Shin-ju wasn’t able to prepare the Alchemist’s dinner soon enough, he might lose his job. So, after making sure no one else was in the outdoor kitchen, she rushed in and tried to find any ham in the cabinets and cupboards.

When she looked into one particular cupboard, she found a small, cube-shaped cardboard box. Peeking in, she saw a ball of red meat sealed in a plastic sheet.

Found it! She thought happily. Now I just have to leave it where Shin-ju could see it when he walks out…

Joanne quickly ran to the table where Shin-ju chopped the onions and tomatoes. Then as soon as she set the box beside the knife, she quickly ran into the bushes and ducked behind the rock again.

Sure enough, Shin-ju came walking out of the house a moment after she had hidden herself. She stifled a giggle at the look of surprise that came over Shin-ju’s face when he saw the ham on the table.

“Now where the heck did this come from?” she heard Shin-ju mutter as he began to set the ham and vegetables on a tray to be baked.

• • •

“Is the ham ready?” Kivstalis asked, walking out onto the outdoor kitchen.

“Almost, sir,” Shin-ju said, cleaning the preparation table with his hands. “It’s already in the oven.”

“Is it, now?” the Alchemist said genially, walking over to the oven and peeking through the glass panel. “I was wondering if I actually had some ham left in my stocks…”

Shin-ju smiled, but said nothing.

“Say,” Kivstalis said while looking into the oven. “Is that my frozen Marine Sphere in there?”

Shin-ju looked over his shoulder. “Marine Sphere? What Marine Sph—”

Too late, Shin-ju saw that the “ham” in the oven was swelling to over four times its original size—and red steam was wafting out of the oven corners!

• • •

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

As soon as Joanne heard Shin-ju yell those words, the panicked girl ducked behind the rock and pressed her back onto the stone. She cringed as a massive explosion rocked through the lot, sending smoke and debris past the edges of the rock she was hiding behind.

• • •

Kivstalis opened his eyes. His face was in the dirt—he coughed and tried to see where he was.

He was a good distance from his now-ruined house. Shin-ju was kneeling in front of him, looking at the smoke that billowed from where the outdoor kitchen used to be. Somehow, the boy had managed to grab Kivstalis and jump away from the Marine Sphere’s blast radius before both of them got caught in the explosion. The Alchemist swore that a bluish-white aura wafted for a moment from Shin-ju’s hands before disappearing.

Shin-ju had cast Blessing to save Kivstalis’s life.

“Are you… all right… Mr. Kivstalis?” Shin-ju gasped, worn out by the exertion.

“Yes… yes, I am fine,” Kivstalis said, sitting up and beginning to laugh. “So that was where I had left that Marine Sphere. Foolish man that I am.”

“You know what just happened?” the boy asked.

“Yes, yes… I now remember everything,” the Alchemist answered, laughing sheepishly again. "I summoned that Marine Sphere last year for an experiment about explosives, but I had misplaced the infernal device somehow. In time I had forgotten about it… and now the past has come to haunt me.”

“The past…?” Shin-ju repeated.

“Yes, my boy… my past. You asked me precisely why the Steward hated me?” Kivstalis laughed before continuing. “For saving my life, I suppose I could embarrass myself for your sake. He disliked me because of the scatterbrain that I am.”

Shin-ju furrowed his brow.

“I have a confession to make, my boy. I actually turned vegetarian last year. I do not eat ham. I did not remember until now.”

The boy could not believe what he was hearing.

“It is true,” the eccentric scientist confessed. “I have short-term memory loss… or, at least, I think I do…”

Shin-ju shook his head in disbelief at the Alchemist. Then he turned to look at what remained of Kivstalis’s hovel.
“Mr. Kivstalis,” Shin-ju said quietly. “Your home…”

Kivstalis laughed again. “Nay, nay. Worry not, my boy. I suppose I have some friends in town who can house me until I can recoup my losses. Nay, the apology should be mine… I owe you much, least of all my life.”

Shin-ju helped Kivstalis on to his feet.

“I will leave this house for now. I am afraid I cannot pay you, my boy, but please… accept my humblest gratitude and sincerest apologies for this fiasco.”

Shin-ju bit his lip at this remark, but nodded nonetheless. “Sure, Mr. Kivstalis. Uh… sure.”

After that, Shin-ju helped Kivstalis gather up what belongings he had remaining and left the hovel. Later he would help Kivstalis walk to one of the Alchemist’s friends who lived in a district not very far from there.

Left behind, a dazed Joanne knelt on the ground behind the rock, her hands between her legs, her face in a very dejected frown. She felt like crying. She had wanted to help Shin-ju, but all she did was cause him to lose his job.

• • •

To be continued