The Well of the Reversed Heavens (2)
Charina Vizalina Yoskov.
The queen of the northern continent’s Tsar Kingdom, who perished after a fierce battle with the avatar of the evil god, Sume.
“Please, call me Vizalina. Titles and honors don’t mean much here.”
Her lips curved into a gentle smile, and even her pale skin seemed to hold a touch of warmth.
Soft footsteps echoed as her bare feet glided over the stone floor, leading her deeper into the garden. At its center lay a wide well, about five meters in diameter.
Charina sank to the ground, leaning her back against the well. She spoke.
“Sit down.”
”…Alright.”
Dalen approached slowly and sat beside her. As he took in the garden, he noticed the warrior who had guided him here was nowhere to be seen.
As always, they appear and vanish at will. Dalen shook his head slightly.
Focusing on the enchanting woman beside him was a far wiser choice than pondering the disappearance of the muscle-bound guide. Resting his head against the well, he asked.
“What is this place?”
“Dalen, it’s rude to ask questions you already know the answers to. We don’t have much time.”
”…This is the Well of the Reversed Heavens.”
“Correct.”
Charina hummed a tune, seemingly pleased with his answer. It wasn’t hard to guess, given the many cryptic conversations he’d had with beings beyond human comprehension, where this place was often mentioned.
The decisive clue was the massive tree stump behind the well, occupying nearly a third of the garden. It was undoubtedly the remnant of the “Dark Star Tree of the Reversed Heavens.”
‘If I were to attach the unconscious one to that stump, what would happen?’
The stump stood about waist-high to an adult man. Perhaps the immortal demon Arvor was the upper part of the tree that had been cut down.
Could he stretch the demon’s pliable body over it, like grafting a branch onto a tree?
Even as he entertained such a fanciful thought, knowing it was impossible, Charina’s humming ceased, and she spoke.
“Shall we talk about hierarchies?”
”…Hmm?”
“Beyond the first and second hierarchies, where endless knowledge is pursued, the third hierarchy blooms its own world by confronting the past amidst the chaos.”
A small petal unfurled on her open palm. Dalen lifted his head slightly from the well to gaze at it.
“The fourth hierarchy explores possibilities within that world, and the fifth seizes fragments of omniscience to replace the present moment with their own world.”
Something stirred within the petal. A small ice butterfly emerged, shaking off its crumpled wings.
“What lies ahead for those who confront the past and change the present? For those who glimpse a fragment of the future, there is no room for hope born of ignorance.”
The butterfly, its wings fully spread, took flight, scattering white frost with each flutter.
Watching the exquisitely crafted creature, Dalen furrowed his brow.
“Is the future something that can truly be grasped by mere humans?”
Damn cryptic sorcerer talk.
“At the very least, one can try.”
It was a response after a long silence.
Though he wasn’t fond of engaging in such cryptic exchanges, this time he decided to play along.
Charina had mentioned their time was limited, and there was likely only one reason she brought up hierarchies.
Just as Felber had guided him in the High Orc village, Charina intended to guide Dalen’s next steps.
Like Felber, she must have seen some potential in him. What kind of potential, he couldn’t say unless she told him directly.
“Correct. It’s about striving to grasp something, leaving behind endless contemplation and seemingly reasonable escapes.”
Charina gently brushed off the frost from her fingertips. The ice butterfly, as if caught by the wind, floated away.
“Those who bear the title of transcendent have already grasped fragments of omniscience. It’s a matter of choice—what future to envision.”
”…Choice.”
“The future I chose was to be the shield that protects the Tsar Kingdom.”
Her voice was slightly elevated. Dalen turned his gaze.
A faint blush colored Charina’s pale cheeks as she continued.
“Though I sat on the throne, the foundation of this nation is its people. I realized this when I reached the fifth hierarchy and glimpsed the future.”
“Did witnessing the impending end change your perspective?”
“Exactly. According to what I learned, the Tsar is the symbol and essence of the nation. But if the end consumes everything and I’m left alone, what meaning would there be in proclaiming a nation in Charina’s name?”
”…”
“So I decided to become the shield that protects the people. Such a shield must be vast, as high and wide as the sky itself…”
A slight tremor in her voice made the air quiver. The butterfly, which had been fluttering, suddenly stopped and fell.
The ice butterfly vanished into the well without a splash.
Charina exhaled a shallow sigh.
”…And so, my sky was completed. The frozen sky that would protect the future of the Tsar Kingdom, the frozen northern continent.”
With that sigh, the well began to glow.
Rumble…
The well’s walls trembled, and bubbles surged upward.
Thousands of droplets, large and small, rose into the sky, painting a grand scene.
A fortress in the middle of a snowy field, with a frost-covered throne inside. The chilling breath of an ice dragon freezing the world.
And the frozen sky that enveloped it all.
“The Guardian of the Frosted Sky.”
The thought pierced his mind as he beheld the scene. Charina smiled brightly.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
”…Truly impressive. Sincerely.”
“A compliment from the protagonist of a prophecy, how delightful.”
She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes curved in a way that reminded him of someone from the labyrinth city.
A black-haired informant with a charming smile. Dalen didn’t bother to erase the face that came to mind.
Instead, he slowly rose to his feet and spoke.
“In a world where most see their people as resources, how many among the royal bloodlines truly take on the duty of being the people’s shield?”
“You speak as if you’re from another world.”
Her eyes curved a bit more dangerously. Dalen shrugged.
Charina’s words about their limited time weren’t a lie. He’d begun to feel an odd stiffness in his movements.
A subtle dissonance in the perception of time and space. The flow of magic becoming indistinct. Dalen’s senses, far beyond those of a human, felt his physical body awakening from the dream.
The time to wake was near. It was also time to conclude their cryptic exchange.
Knowing Charina, she hadn’t summoned him here just to listen to the ramblings of the dead.
“Why did you want to see me?”
“To me, you were a hero.”
Charina stood. She was quite tall.
She lifted her head, meeting his dark, deep eyes with her icy blue ones.
“But now I see. You’re just a human like me. A human who has been broken once.”
”…That’s true.”
“But because you’re broken, you can be grafted. You can bloom countless flowers that couldn’t have bloomed otherwise.”
Click.
Amidst the fading sensations, Charina’s hand touched the sword at her waist.
It was the holy sword that had been broken in half during the battle with Deltarion.
“Thank you for protecting my people. As a token of gratitude, I’ll give you a gift. Or perhaps it’s a bribe, asking you to continue looking after the people of the Tsar Kingdom.”
A sharp chill seeped into the sword’s hilt. The grand scene that had unfolded above was absorbed into the sword.
A sharp pain pierced his temple. Whether it was due to the sudden cold or the dissonance in his senses, he couldn’t tell.
“Heh, I’ve received many bribes, but this is the first time I’m giving one.”
Charina chuckled softly. He had no strength to respond. His limbs were stiff, and his lips wouldn’t move.
He couldn’t hold on any longer. As he let go, the dreamscape faded, and his consciousness swiftly rose to the surface.
”…”
Dalen opened his eyes.
Above him was the familiar ceiling of the inn he’d grown tired of over the past three days.
Out of habit, he reached for his sword, feeling the cold energy emanating from the hilt, enough to make his dragon-blooded hand tingle.
Srrng—
Dalen sprang to his feet, drawing his sword. A faint layer of frost clung to the broken edge of the blade.
“May you find your potential at the tip of this sword. May you fill this blade with your world…”
Charina’s voice echoed softly in his mind. As he watched the frost spread across the blade, Dalen let out a small chuckle.
“Guess it wasn’t just a dream.”
Dalen and his companions were staying at the largest inn in the city.
The royal family of Charina had offered them rooms in the palace, but they had politely declined, settling instead for the royal treasury covering their lodging expenses.
It was well-known that after a ruler’s death, silent power struggles among the nobility were inevitable.
Given that Charina had been a king of absolute power and unmatched strength, the ensuing conflict would be even more intense.
Dalen had no desire to get entangled in such political games. Charina had even offered bribes, but that was merely a plea to protect the powerless citizens.
The inn they chose was bustling with mercenaries and soldiers.
As was typical after a victorious battle, the inn’s first floor had been a chaotic drinking fest for four days straight.
“That monstrous demon poked its head over the wall, looking like a mix between a bat and a lion. It was terrifying, but who am I? The Golden Badge Mercenary…”
“The same mercenary who panicked, stabbed it once, and then hid in the latrine! Where’s that golden badge you always brag about? Did you drop it in the toilet?”
“You little…!”
“You’re a coward! But don’t worry! Eat like a high orc, and you’ll get smarter!”
The high orc patted the mercenary’s back with genuine encouragement, while the mercenary, caught between anger and laughter, slumped over the table.
Beyond the raucous laughter, a wandering bard was crafting a new tale of heroism. Dalen quietly slipped through the crowd, heading for a secluded table in the corner.
As he approached, a barrier spell surrounding the table parted to let him in, closing again once he was inside.
On the small table sat a few mugs and a small keg of beer. Though only one person remained, it seemed others had been there earlier.
“You’re late. The strong stuff you like is all gone.”
“No matter. I’ve got some stashed away.”
With a pop, Dalen uncorked a bottle from his spatial pocket, releasing a sharp herbal aroma.
Felber, who had been sipping his beer, twitched his mustache in surprise. “Is that herbal liquor? You didn’t bring that all the way from Revivach, did you?”
“Why not? It’s a specialty of Revivach.”
“Ha! I knew you carried all sorts of things in that space of yours, but this is a surprise. The innkeeper said transporting herbal liquor is as hard as catching a star.”
“Turns out the starwood is more useful than a wine cellar.”
Felber shook his head in disbelief as Dalen chuckled and took a swig from the bottle.
The warmth spread down his throat, heating his stomach.
It used to be fiery enough to make him wince, but now the thrill was somewhat lacking.
“Being superhuman isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
After downing half the bottle, Dalen smacked his lips. Felber asked, “How’s your body holding up?”
“More or less.”
With a brief reply, Dalen took another swig. Through the half-empty bottle, he watched a rare scene unfold in the lively inn.
A tipsy barmaid, her cheeks flushed, stumbled while carrying drinks, spilling beer like a waterfall over an unsuspecting table.
“Ha! Now that’s a real party!”
“Whoo! Pour it on!”
“Forget the mugs, bring the kegs! Who wants to bet how many we can carry?”
No one scolded her. With the royal treasury footing the bill, everything was free, and everyone was a victor of the war, from mercenaries to high orcs, mages, soldiers, and even the humble barmaid.
Despite the broken furniture and endless flow of food and drink, the cheers and lively music never ceased.
If it seemed like they were trying to drown their sorrows in the revelry, perhaps it wasn’t just an illusion.
Watching the scene with a detached gaze, Dalen scratched his chin and stood up. Felber spoke up.
“Leaving already?”
“The dwarf isn’t here.”
“He’s at the palace.”
The mage, wiping his mouth and nose with his robe, stood up as well. With a few snaps of his fingers, golden magic swirled around him, banishing the alcohol from his system.
Not just the smell on his clothes, but the very alcohol in his bloodstream was reversed as if time had turned back.
“Is it really okay to use magic like that?” Dalen wondered, watching with a puzzled expression as Felber gathered his staff and backpack and headed for the inn’s door.
“We can’t leave our dwarven friend alone. Let’s go.”
“To the palace?”
Felber nodded. “Four days is enough to mourn. It’s time to swallow our grief.”