cetsyr

Amiya is pondering on how to answer the magician when she sees sparkles on the other's face... like starlight falling across the magician's visage.

She suddenly recalls herself rushing the magician for help, focusing on her own troubles and worries, asking the magician to dry the letter with magic. But clearly...

They are important to the magician as well.

Before she arrived, was the magician... crying too?

Immediately, an overwhelming sense of guilt rushes into her heart, enveloping her like a giant bubble.

Amiya kneels within it, fists pounding on the transparent membrane. It seems so fragile and thin with its swirling liquid, yet she fails to pop it no matter what she does.

Amiya sees the magician's lips move, as if saying something to her of urgency—

But the bubble quickly wobbles away.

With the letter still in Amiya's hand.

The shadow arrives somewhat late, coming just as the bubble floats away.

If, the shadow thinks, she was a little earlier, could she have gotten to talk to the magician?

She looks at the figure by the stars. The magician is already standing, seemingly wanting to grab the bubble, but it merely slips through the magician's fingertips.

The shadow subconsciously smiles.

The magician looks up and sees her.

It's time to catch up with the floating bubble. The shadow shakes her head at the magician.

The magician blinks, and nods to the shadow.

How unfortunate her slight lateness leaves them no time to exchange even a few words.

But fortunately, there is still just enough time for them to trade glances.

Beyond the clouds and stars, the magician watches the shadow disappear into the distance.

The bubble with Amiya inside drifts toward the desert.

Perhaps the dry air finally evaporates all moisture from the bubble, for it bursts with a 'pop'.

Hot air endlessly rises from the desert surface, bumping Amiya down to the ground.

Amiya tries to stand. She grabs the sand, but the heat makes her pull back. She then uses her sleeve as padding, which helps a little.

She reads the letter again—

'Amiya, I wish you a smooth journey.'

'If these words ever reach you... Amiya, you've shouldered all of this for the Sarkaz, and I feel ashamed whenever I think of it. I can't take you away from the battlefield, and it may sound irresponsible, but Amiya, I hope you will treasure yourself. Don't forget, no matter how cruel your battlefield can be.'

'Amiya, you told me before I don't misjudge people, so please take my advice: Save some of your own gentleness for yourself, forget your burdens on occasion, and indulge a sweet treat every now and then. You have a long journey ahead of you.'

'I will protect all of you until the end.'

The letter does not mention where they went, or perhaps there is no need to say.

The letter only contains many requests, and farewells.

Amiya holds them in her hands, looking to the horizon—does the end of the desert lie on the other side?

I have to go.

Even if I can't find them... I have to find my own way out. There's so much to do... there are so many people that need me.

Amiya walks.

The sun cooks her back, casting a shadow before her. Time passes, but the sunlight does not fade as the blazing sun hangs high, never setting.

The bright light casts a shadow with knife-sharp, jagged edges. Amiya's every step forward treads on the boundary between black shadow and white sand.

Amiya walks.

The sun scorches her neck as sweat rolls down her brows and into her eyes, as sweat on her forehead evaporates into dry salt crystals.

She cannot tell if her distorted vision is caused by the heat waves or the stinging in her eyes.

Amiya walks.

Sudden gusts of wind throw sand and gravel into her face, while breathing dry air feels like inhaling blades slicing into her windpipe.

She tries to cover her mouth to retain any shred of moisture from her breaths, and her lips touch the paper in her hand.

Amiya walks.

She seems unable to stand upright any longer, but even so she trudges onward, knees bent.

Pulling her legs from quicksand is like drawing a rusty sword from its scabbard. Was the sensation under her feet actually coming from her own body? Thoughts like these drift through her hazy mind like wisps of cotton.

The shadow remains far behind Amiya.

She can see further than Amiya can. She sees what lies far away in front of Amiya, the desert edge receding with the young Cautus's steps, always a step away from the horizon.

The shadow notices Amiya's eyes are almost shut, but she trudges on. Despite this, she remains in the middle of the desert.

Until Amiya allows herself to exit, the desert will go on forever.

The black crown's master is prone to dreams. Many dreams do not come from themselves, but the shadow can tell them apart, and knows Amiya is the master of this dreamland.

The shadow pauses. She makes up her mind.

She has not done this in a long time, but neither has she seen Amiya like this in a long time.

Amiya looks up, and a color she hasn't seen for a long time flashes in the corner of her eye.

A verdant shade. Even the wind blowing past her face holds the tiniest bit of moisture.

...An oasis.

But there shouldn't be an oasis here...

...No, I can't, walk to the mirage.

Amiya turns around, avoiding the oasis.

And a strange thing happens...

The oasis lifts itself up. From the bottom—what bottom, exactly?—four legs stretch out, like the feet of a wooden wardrobe.

A wardrobe's feet will never be as flexible as these ones, and the legs move left and right as it rotates its, uh, 'ankles' to warm up...

Then it starts running, and lands with a 'thump' right before Amiya.

Her eyes widen.

She tries to move a few steps to the right, and the oasis lifts itself up to follow suit.

Amiya moves slightly to the left, and the oasis once again stretches its legs...

Amiya cautiously takes a step back—

The oasis picks itself up, and charges straight at Amiya!

It then steadily lands itself before her.

The teal lake ripples in gentle waves, swaying Amiya's reflection in the water.

Finally, in this dream, she turns around for the first time to look behind her, but finds no one, only the wind and sand from the path behind her.

...Is that you?

There is no answer.

But as Amiya turns around, the shadow is already in front of her, as if she was always there, with the same smile in Amiya's memories.

Amiya.

The serene expression overlaps with a smile Amiya remembers.

She is momentarily speechless.

The shadow also sees Amiya's memories, and so, holds Amiya in a gentle embrace, just as the memories play out.

...Theresa...

The shadow gently pats the girl's back as if in response.

I...

I couldn't... I didn't stop it... it's happened so many times...

Dr. Kal'tsit... made so many preparations...

But I couldn't bring them back... there are so many... important people...

...What should I do...? I know I'm not the only one in pain... but I have to rely on...

Everyone needs... a shoulder to lean on now. But I carry everyone's trust on my shoulders... so how can I wallow in sorrow...?

I just have... too little... time...

...Had I the time myself, I wanted to tell you...

Not everything can be brought back. To 'bear' a burden... also means accepting the irreversible.

But I know you're just really hurt.

You just wish you could've done something... I know how it feels.

But I also... feel awful.

Amiya's tears fall as they always have, but this time, they no longer soak fabric; instead, they slide into the gap between shadow and dream.

Water droplets fall through the shadow, and dissipate like mist before touching Amiya's fingertips.

Amiya looks up at the shadow's face, tears welling up in her eyes. A sadness that stirs up a different sort of sorrow.

Amiya is no longer a child.

She was too big to lie in the shadow's lap a long time ago.

People always say Amiya is a precocious child, taking on responsibilities far beyond her age. But Amiya knows, she herself has indulged in the privileges of being a child.

For example, once within a nightmare, she held onto the shadow's fingers while feigning ignorance, telling her the trivialities she already knew.

Or like now, as she presses her forehead against something warm, confiding in the familiar.

Even though she is long dead and gone.