December Thirtieth:
The tenth year of the war.
The First King's Palace consisted of ten great fortresses surrounding the main palace. Around them lay the capital now known as Nivaris. The capital overlooked a vast green forest called the King's Garden. Its lands stretched toward the King's palace. In the middle of the forest lay a small lake. At the far edge of the woods the Great White Whale Lake cut through the land of the Forest of Dreams. Behind that lake lay the western lands that had been under the king's rule until the war began.
Near the King's Garden was a small village, set away from the capital, serving as a trade hub between the western lands and the city. On the outskirts of that village small bands of mercenaries were trying to capture a cloaked boy wearing a hat that hid his face. People of all shapes and types gathered around him — humans, fae, phoenixes — from many organizations. Their number neared two hundred. All of them shared the same objective: to seize that unknown youth standing in their midst.
The chase did not take long to begin. As the cloaked boy darted across the rooftops, his pursuers attacked in every imaginable form. He felled them one by one — with his hands alone.
The pursuit lasted for hours until they reached the heart of the King's Garden. Among thick trees the boy had already ceased trying to flee. He stopped and faced them alone.
After knocking several down on the way, evading others and scattering some among the buildings, the number left trailing him was about fifty at worst. A quarter of that remained close enough now — still far too many for a single person to handle.
The cloaked boy paused. Some wasted no time and lunged while the rest hung back cautiously.
A human rushed him recklessly, brandishing a large broadsword that sliced the air. The sword's size, length, and weight made it unsuitable for single-handed use, yet the man's formidable build allowed him to wield it with ease — powerful enough to cleave a bear with a single blow.
The boy stood still as the blade nearly brushed him. He tilted his body just enough to avoid the strike, the distance perfectly enough to seize the man's wrist.
He hauled it with force until the sword clattered to the ground. With a heavy knee, he snapped the man's arm. Before the man could collapse from pain, the boy finished him with a punch to the face — breaking his nose and leaving him unconscious.
While the man regained his posture, a fae conjured a sword of ice that floated in the air and launched it at the boy with lethal speed.
The boy seized the first man's fallen blade and kicked it up into the air. He leapt, sending it again to meet the icy blade. The instant the two met, the ice sword shattered midflight while the iron blade plunged into the fae's head. The fae fell dead where he stood.
Seeing his comrades fall, the phoenix realized his chance had come — but before he could act, the boy vanished from his sight.
A voice from behind called to him, "He's behind you, fool — don't just stand there."
Before the phoenix could turn, the boy had his hand at the phoenix's throat, the other at the back of his head. With a swift motion he rotated the head three hundred and sixty degrees.
The body collapsed while the head spun slowly in the air before the crowd's eyes.
The cloaked youth stood watching the reactions of those around him. A soft, almost amused chuckle came from inside his mask. He snapped his index finger and turned to advance on the ring of pursuers surrounding him.
Before he could take another step, everyone who had stood there vanished in the blink of an eye.
The boy sighed, removed the mask, and spoke to himself. "They never learn. Though I suppose I went a bit too far this time to scare them. I only hope they stop chasing me after seeing this."
Beneath the mask was a young man in his early twenties. His long black hair was tied at the base of his neck, appearing mostly short save for a thin lock that hung from the nape. Streaks of white framed his forehead in an odd but distinctive pattern, falling over sleepy eyes whose deep blue made them seem colder and more lethargic.
"I can't believe that bastard asked me to keep something this dangerous. As if I needed an extra reason to be hunted," he muttered, annoyed and languid in his tone. He yawned while holding a book wrapped in thin paper, waving it idly as he strolled among the branches and complained aloud as if speaking to a companion walking beside him.
By the riverbank, morning sunlight threaded through the leaves and scattered glitter across the fresh water. A gentle breeze seemed to brush every worry from the youth's chest and a faint smile formed on his cold face. He reached behind his lower back and unfastened a small square satchel hidden beneath his long cloak. He placed the book inside and locked it away.
The satchel was fit for valuables — money and important items — but not large enough for a long traveler's belongings. He carried a second, slightly larger bag slung from neck to shoulder, hanging at his right hip. It contained cooking utensils: a medium knife wrapped in leather, a wooden spoon, a small dish, and a clear little jar holding an assortment of spices he had gathered himself.
At his left hip hung a crystalline blue sword. Sunlight struck its gemstone sheen and the blade's strange runes glimmered along its length in a language foreign to those unacquainted.
Without warning he stopped before an orchard of red apples and thought, "It seems I've arrived."
He inspected the trees, one after another, seeking the best fruit. He paused at a fairly large tree in the orchard's center. There was a wide hollow in its trunk — as if it were the mouth of a cave.
Before taking a step, a sharp voice said, "Hold it right there, thief."
The youth fell silent to see who spoke from that hollow.
A little girl emerged from the gap. She held a long staff and wore tattered, shabby clothes. A green apple hung around her neck, tied by a string. What unsettled him was the strip of white cloth wrapped across her eyes, rendering her blind. He wondered inwardly, "How could she sense me from so far away?"
He reached to speak, but she spoke first. "Leave this place immediately, thief. This is private property and you are trespassing."
She stumbled forward as she shouted, tripping over a thin branch and falling in a comic heap before him. The scene left him unable to respond.
"Are you all right? Can you even see behind that blindfold?" he asked, helping her to her feet.
"It's nothing. Not important," she answered, putting her hand to her nose while her body trembled from the fall. He imagined she might be crying behind the cloth.
"Anyway, you've misunderstood. I'm not a thief. I'm just a passerby who thought to take a few apples to make an apple pie — perhaps to keep some for my journey," he explained.
She snapped at him with a faint sharpness. "That's what we call a thief. Are you stupid? In any case, I won't let you take any. I'm the guardian of this place."
She demonstrated some flashy martial moves with her staff, and her voice carried a trace of enjoyment.
A voice behind her said, "Who are you talking to? I'm right here."
Realizing she had been speaking to a tree, she froze in embarrassment.
The youth laughed softly. "Don't talk about guarding the place. You can barely protect yourself. Why cover your eyes? Are you injured or afraid to show them?"
She said calmly, "Because it's useless. These eyes cannot see."
The youth suddenly sensed that something was wrong. How could a child of no more than ten years be here alone? Her worn appearance suggested she had spent many days in this place.
"What are you doing here? Are you lost?" he asked.
Her tone shifted into a quiet certainty. "I guard this orchard. But guard is perhaps the wrong word. I only watch and harvest the apples. As far as I remember, you're the first visitor here during my stay."
"You sound as if you've been guarding for hundreds of years," he teased, a smirk of disbelief in his voice.
"Because I have," she answered.
He was stunned and didn't know how to respond. "You're joking, right?"
She smiled awkwardly. "Yes — that was a lie."
The smile was innocent, and he felt foolish for having believed her at first, pulling a face of disgust at his own gullibility.
"It's not entirely a lie. It's been three years since the orchard's owner asked me to guard it for him," she confessed.
"I don't follow. So someone left you here to guard until he returns, and you've been waiting three years?" he asked, but the girl's frail legs gave way and she collapsed onto her knees, clutching her stomach.
"Are you alright? Does your stomach hurt?" he asked, his cold expression softening with concern.
"It's not important. I just haven't been eating enough lately, so I get dizzy and can't stand long," she said. He looked at her with pity but without much desire to pry into her affairs.
He reached into his back bag and produced a fresh fish wrapped in aluminum foil. "You must have a reason for all this. I asked out of pity, not because I care."
The girl laughed while clutching her belly. "You're blunt and honest in a harsh sort of way. You're fortunate."
Her words halted him as if they had reminded him of something. He smiled faintly. "That's the truth, I suppose. I don't like speaking of feelings without basis or pretending I care. But I think this is something I can help with. Do you like fish?"
She raised a hand. "Thank you for your kindness, but I don't think you should waste food on someone like me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"If there is anything you can offer people, there are many poor, helpless folk nearby. If you help someone with that food, it would be wonderful."
"I don't think anyone needs it more than you right now. It's fine — I don't like fish anyway. It's a gift I happened to have," he insisted.
She refused more firmly. "I'm sorry but I cannot accept charity. There are hundreds of poor people in the next village; they need the harvest. I'm not poor or hungry. I simply cannot accept favors when others need them more."
Her response stunned him. Her words — closer to obsession than ordinary thought — were pure and piercing beyond any ordinary intuition. They were as clear as light. He thought of the saying that food is the truest question; one who is truly needy will think only of filling their hunger. Yet here was someone hungry who deferred to others.
For a moment the youth felt childlike before this innocent girl. He lifted his head and looked at her face. "Tell me, do you believe in fate? If I told you this fish was meant for you, that it has always belonged to you, would you eat it?"
"I don't understand what you mean," she said.
He set down his bags and began preparing to cook the fish. "Let's continue our talk at the table."
She tried to refuse but he ignored her. He lit a small cooking fire with dry sticks, boiled some water, cleaned and sliced the fish, and added a small handful of rice from a pouch to simmer. As he moved with practiced, devoted motions, the girl listened to sounds she had not heard often: the steam from the rice, the savory scent rising into the air — it made her mouth water before she realized it.
He placed the steaming dish before her. "Your meal is ready. Enjoy."
She could think of nothing but satisfying her hunger. Though blindfolded, she restrained herself and asked, "You told me this food was meant only for me. Why?"
He sat and, spoon in hand, took her plate to feed her properly. "Whatever the reason, I cooked it. If you don't eat now it will spoil and be food for insects."
She objected at once. "That's not what you said a moment ago. Why lie?"
"It's a little complicated. I got this fish in a… let's say, unusual way. This morning on the road a strange boy met me. He had horns like an aukan's and, oddly, one wing of white flame. He smiled at me like a friend and thanked me for something I didn't understand. I felt I'd met him before, though I have trouble remembering names and faces. When I didn't recognize him, he looked ready to cry. I didn't know how to help him. He told me he had obtained this fish from an old blind woman who lived alone and she asked him to give it to someone whose eyes did not see evil. He claimed I was the one worthy of it."
The girl listened, puzzled. "The old woman told him to give it to someone who didn't see evil? That's impossible — the notion of evil varies from person to person. One who cannot see it would be either a foolish child or someone blind. Do you think that convinced you?"
She whispered. "I don't think you made that up just to persuade me. I will accept your kindness."
He took a piece and fed it to her with some rice. Her delight as she chewed showed in the soft sway of her body and the broad smile that spread across her face. For all that he observed, she looked only like a little girl enjoying a warm meal, free of responsibility — and that worried him.
"I haven't told you my name yet. Call me Itsuki — just a boy living on the streets," he said.
She laughed. "That seems reasonable. I can't imagine anyone coming here unless they were a vagabond."
"They call me Lena's orchard owner," she replied vaguely, as if that were her name.
"Why do you say that vaguely? How did you end up here — are you indebted to the man, or were you forced to stay?" he asked.
She finished the meal and smiled, wiping her face with a handkerchief he handed her. "Yes, I owe him. I met him when I was lost. He offered me food and at first I refused for the same reason I told you. He offered a single apple if I guarded the orchard until he returned. So I stayed."
She spoke of the matter as if it were ordinary. She seemed unaware of the value of one apple; for her, it was simply a promise she must keep.
He understood and felt uneasy about prying further. "You do realize he might be dead by now. At best he forgot, at worst he no longer cares. You said no one visited during the past three years — so your guardianship is meaningless."
She shook her head. "But you came and tried to take some. Fortunately, you were kind, so it's fine this time. Even if you're right, I cannot betray his trust. Is that strange or bad?"
Seeing her bow her head, he realized he had been trying to undermine her pure instincts to avoid an uncomfortable truth. He regretted spoiling that purity. "There's nothing strange or bad about it. I'm sorry — I tried to help by breaking your principles. I pitied you because I convinced myself you were in trouble."
She pondered his words, then spoke, half-annoyed, half-grateful. "That's true. I can't believe you lectured me after making me eat. How rude you are."
She turned her face to look angry, though she was pleased to know she could reply properly.
As Itsuki gathered his things to leave, he felt a twinge of guilt at being unable to do more for her. "Lina, is there anything you want?" he asked.
"Something I want?" she replied, puzzled.
"I mean something you'd like to have. It doesn't have to be a want. Do you want to go somewhere?"
Her face grew serious as if remembering something important. She pressed her hands together and, with a shy excitement, said, "I want another apple."
"An apple? You already guard an orchard. You must be tired of them."
She fell silent, and Itsuki realized why. "You're joking — you can't even feed yourself from it. How have you been surviving?"
She didn't answer immediately, instead searching for her staff. "You know, if no one collects them, the apples will rot and be food for insects. You're essentially throwing them away."
When she found her staff she replied, "I distribute harvests to the poor in the nearby town. His instruction was to give the full yield to the needy if he did not return."
"I can't imagine you harvesting all those trees by yourself without sight," Itsuki said.
She smiled. "I don't do it myself. The trees are kind enough to work on my behalf."
She tapped the ground with her staff. Branches stirred and the trees began to sway, shaking apples down and gathering them together as if by their own will.
Itsuki was speechless; even the trees seemed to love her, obeying her like servants.
"Not only the trees but the animals help me gather the apples," she added.
A herd of deer appeared from every direction, collecting the apples with their broad antlers and placing them into small boxes tied with rope so they could carry them on their backs.
"What is happening? How did you do that?" Itsuki asked in astonishment.
She answered simply, "I asked them. Is that strange?"
After a few minutes the trees had finished harvesting. The deer were loaded and waiting for the signal to move. One bowed under the girl, and she climbed onto its back, whispering to it.
The herd set off through the forest while Itsuki walked slowly beside them, carrying a box of apples. Questions circled in his mind. "No matter how I look at her, she's just a human girl. Without eyes she can't possibly be a wielder of the Logos. Yet she spoke to the trees. Why am I thinking of this? Nothing about knowing the reason will change anything."
At the edge of the King's Garden the small village looked onto a little lake. Its houses were dilapidated and the streets overrun with short weeds. Only the elderly remained, living as if in a home for the aged — the discarded and useless of society.
When the deer approached, weariness and despair vanished from the villagers' faces. They called to one another to welcome the little girl: "Little Lina has come again — she's brought apples!"
Lina dismounted and lined the villagers up to give each their portion. Itsuki watched quietly from a distance. What he saw was far from what he'd expected. The old people did not seem to lack food or be materially deprived. Yet they clustered around her like flies.
Their smiles and laughter revealed the truth to Itsuki. The elderly, slowly rotting away in that desolate place, had lost any desire to live. When the little girl had first visited two years before, offering apples with a gentle smile and warmth, it melted the frost around their hearts. Over time, she became like a beloved granddaughter to them. They treated her with playful affection, offering small gifts — shoes, hats, or a piece of clothing — but she always refused, saying she could not accept because others needed more.
After several hours, the deer left for the forest. Lina sat and chatted with the elders, who teased and pampered her as thanks.
When she finally prepared to leave, an old man escorted her to the gate. She told him she could return on her own. The old man left with some concern for the blind child.
Itsuki took her hand and they walked along the grassy path. She spoke in a worried tone, "When you disappeared suddenly, I was afraid something bad had happened. Where have you been all this time?"
"Despite my pleasant looks, I was never popular with most people, so I avoid mixing unless necessary," he replied.
"When you say you're handsome, that's rather disgusting," she said, struggling to free her hand from his.
"I wasn't trying to flatter myself, I was stating a fact."
"That makes you worse," she said. "But I didn't realize you were so shy. There are many kinds of thieves in the world, you know."
He squeezed her hand firmly and she writhed in mock pain. "I'll hit you!!" she cried, laughing through the tears.
"Sorry, sorry," he groaned and let her go. After a few steps he asked, "If I bought you an apple, you'd still refuse, right?"
"Huh? I don't understand."
He stopped and looked into her face. "I doubt you'd accept. How about working to earn apples?"
Her eyes lit up and she answered enthusiastically, "Will you teach me theft and the art of concealment at last?"
He replied with annoyance, "No. Why are you excited to learn such things?"
"Because I must be stronger to guard the orchard. The best way to stop thieves is to know their methods."
"You say that as if there's anything to steal here. Anyway, I have someone who can help you find work. Do you want to go?"
She didn't protest this time. Nervous but eager, she agreed. "But I can't leave now."
He smiled and said, "It's only a short break. There's nothing to steal right now, is there? Stop whining and come."
She hesitated but her hunger for another apple won out. She let Itsuki lift her onto his shoulders. "Once your work ends I'll bake you an apple pie for your wages. But hold on tight — I'll run a bit. The place is a little far."
She clung tightly as he dashed through the green fields toward his next destination.