To the Place Where Precious People Are Waiting (4)

The elf's unmistakable threat brought cold sweat to Dremes's brow. Instinctive fear seized her, as though a great predator were standing directly before her.

But she neither bowed her head nor retreated. Instead, her face slowly broke into a smile.

That oppressive magical presence, the peculiar manner of speaking, even the expression on the elf's face—everything reminded Dremes of the Black Flame Witch.

She had been searching for her for twenty years. How could she contain her excitement now that the person she sought might be standing before her?

Struggling against the pressure, Dremes forced the words out.

“The Black Flame… Are you the witch?”

The elf sighed. There seemed little point in denying it any longer. She let her mana subside and nodded.

“Yes.”

“I knew it! I knew you were alive! No matter what those idiots at the Society said, I never believed my sister was dead!”

Dremes's eyes shone with delight. Here was the living legend who had fought beside her against the Church, the companion with whom she had once stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Sister! Do you remember me? I'm Dremes! I kept wearing the same clothes I wore during the war, hoping you might recognize me if we ever crossed paths. I founded the guild to find you, and—”

“Dremes.”

The elf's voice was cold. Dremes faltered. She sounded as though the past were the last subject she wanted to discuss.

“I don't have time to reminisce. Theorad will finish his work soon. Tell me why you've spent all these years looking for me.”

“Sister…? But I'm Dremes. We spent three whole years together…”

“And? What do you want from me?”

Dremes had not expected a warm embrace or praise for her hardships. Still, she had hoped for some small sign that the reunion mattered.

She could not bring herself to ask for it. She knew something, however little, of the suffering the elf had endured since Walpurgis Night.

After a moment's hesitation, Dremes bit her lip and cleared her throat.

“Then I'll get to the point. Could you come back to the Association? It doesn't even have to be the Association. You can take over as head of my guild if you want. Please?”

“Go back? What for?”

“Because everyone is waiting for you! There are young witches at the academy who'd give anything to meet you. If you appeared again, the nobles and the Church wouldn't dare disregard us the way they do now…”

The Black Flame Witch's return would transform the standing of witches everywhere. A living legend could command respect from haughty mages, arrogant nobles, and the Church that had so long persecuted them. Even common thugs who insulted or harassed witches would hesitate.

Dremes had endured that contempt throughout her life. To her, the elf was almost a queen among witches. In the old days, enemies had fled at the mere knowledge that the Black Flame Witch was coming. Even those who despised witches had guarded their tongues in fear of her.

That was the future Dremes longed to restore.

But the elf's expression tightened. She had no interest in the offer.

“Dremes. You know what I did to your people. Are you asking me to return to the Association in spite of that?”

“B-but that's because those people were—”

“They were witches too.”

Dremes fell silent. She could scarcely imagine how profound the betrayal had seemed to the elf then.

“Besides, I'm not the witch you remember. I never understood why the Church persecuted witches. I only pretended to be one so that I could help you. Do you understand?”

“…Yes.”

“Then go. I don't want to discuss this anymore.”

The elf turned away and leaned against the wall.

Dremes nodded with a pained smile.

“I'm sorry, Sister…”

She walked down the corridor, her steps suddenly heavy.

The elf watched her departing figure and sighed. Dremes had been her companion for three years during the war. Seeing her so crestfallen stirred a reluctant sympathy.

“Dremes.”

At the corner, Dremes stopped.

“I disappeared after Walpurgis Night. You're the one who's led the witch community ever since.”

There was no need to chase the glory of a vanished legend. Dremes had accomplished much already. If she continued, perhaps the world would someday recognize witches without needing the Black Flame Witch to frighten it into respect.

The restrained encouragement was enough to break Dremes's composure.

“…”

She pressed the brim of her hat low over her face. Unable to look back, she gave the smallest nod and turned the corner.

The elf listened until the footsteps faded.

Perhaps she had been too harsh on someone who had done her no wrong. But if she had not been unmistakably firm, Dremes would only have returned with the same plea. A boundary had to be drawn.

Even so…

She did not feel at ease.

She tapped one foot against the floor, seeking something to distract her, when she heard movement inside Theorad's office.

He was getting up.

The elf hastily straightened her clothes and adjusted the ribbon beside her hairband.

Creak—

The door opened. Theorad emerged, one hand still on the knob, and smiled when he saw her.

“Have you really been waiting out here all this time?”

“Only a little while. Five minutes or so. If you'd taken any longer, I'd have gone upstairs to sleep.”

“Is that so? Well, thank you for waiting. Come along.”

Theorad walked ahead, and the elf followed, looking quietly up at his profile.

Apart from meals, he had spent the entire day in his office. His face looked pale with exhaustion. She wanted to comfort him, but the words were difficult to find.

“Um…”

He turned to her, waiting patiently.

She gathered her courage.

“The war… Theorad, are you worrying about it too much?”

It was an unexpected question, though he understood why she would ask. Word of the emperor's coming war against the Demon Realm had spread across the Empire. The elf knew he was allied with Benelia and could hardly be ignorant of the danger.

But Theorad did not want her involved. If the elf entered the fighting, the number of casualties might rise enormously, and the credit for victory might shift to her in ways that would disrupt Benelia's plans.

More than any political calculation, he refused to treat the elf as a weapon.

“Could I… help you somehow?” she asked.

She seemed genuinely eager. Once, he might have been surprised by her concern. Now he was becoming accustomed to it.

Theorad stroked his chin, pretending to weigh a difficult decision. Then he frowned with exaggerated gravity.

“I hate to ask, but I suppose I have no choice. Given the circumstances, I'll have to use you. Can you forgive me for that?”

“Ah… yes.”

Her voice was quiet, but her face brightened. She did not truly believe Theorad would exploit her. Even so, guilt and affection made her willing to help however she could.

“Very well. In that case…”

They descended the stairs. At a landing decorated with an expensive painting, Theorad stopped. The elf halted behind him.

He reached inside his coat.

“This will take courage. Can you manage it?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Even if you must face something that terrifies countless people?”

“I don't care who it is.”

“Good. I admire your resolve.”

Theorad turned solemnly with a small wooden box in his hands. He offered it to her.

“Open it.”

The elf took the box and lifted its lid without hesitation.

Boing!

A clown on a spring sprang out, sticking out its tongue and wobbling absurdly from side to side.

“…What is this?”

Her flat response left Theorad mortified. Beynon had once used the same trick to startle him, and he had been certain it would work on the elf too. Apparently not.

He cleared his throat, retrieved the box, and shut the lid.

“Sorry. I thought it might be funny…”

“It's childish.”

The verdict stung. He was tucking the toy away when the elf tilted her head.

“…Did you say you were going to use me just to show me that?”

“Yes.”

“Theorad. I'm being serious.”

“So am I.”

He gave her a rueful smile.

“During the Quarantined Night treatment, I saw parts of your past. I saw how many people used you for their own ends and then betrayed you. How could I make you into a tool of war? Whatever anyone else might do, I never will.”

The elf said nothing. She did not know how to answer such warmth.

Theorad stepped toward her, took her hand, and raised it gently between his own. The touch was steady and warm.

“I won't let you suffer like that again. I swear it as your master.”

The elf's eyes widened.

For a moment, the Theorad standing before her seemed to overlap with the one she had known as a child.

Then and now…

He was trying to heal the hurt she carried, reaching out to someone whose long life had been filled with tragedy.

The gratitude was almost overwhelming. Yet beneath it, the guilt she still bore refused to disappear.

She did not want him to see her sorrow again.

Gathering herself, the elf tightened her hold on his hand and smiled.

“Yes…”

It was a clear, beautiful smile, like the sky after rain.