yasinovel Chapter Sixty-One: A Dream of Silver
Chapter Sixty-One: A Dream of Silver
Chapter Sixty-One: A Dream of Silver
Mizukiya wished this tea ceremony could last a lifetime.
“Spring’s delicate breath,” her brother recited, his talent for poetry putting Mizukiya’s own to shame. “Awakens sleeping branches, a symphony blooms.”
“Sunlight filters through,” their mother followed. “Canopies of cherry blooms, painting earth with light...”
The princess’ biwa melody filled the air, her instrument’s song supplementing her family members’ works with joyful sounds. Cherry blossom petals flew onto the terrasse and the smell of tea filled her nostrils. The very spirit of spring blessed them with a beautiful sunrise.
“From fiery mountains to the azure sea, our islands rise in majesty...”
Mizukiya’s fingers failed to pinch a string. She raised her head in slight surprise, her flow interrupted.
“Daughter, why have you stopped?” Her mother asked.
“I...” Mizukiya scowled in confusion. “Do not know.”
What was that sound?
“Whispering palms and skies of blue, this land of ours, forever true...” A woman sang in her native Shinkokan, her lyrical voice carried by the spring wind. “O Isles of Valor, brave and free, we stand united in liberty; with hearts aflame and spirits high, we claim the stars, we touch the sky...”
“Do you hear that?” Mizukiya asked softly. She couldn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but her words carried such vibrant energy that they felt somehow familiar nonetheless. They appealed to something buried deep within herself.
“I don’t want to,” her brother replied, his joy swiftly turning to frustration. “I hate it...”
“Now, Doggotaro, everything will be fine,” Mother said kindly as she gently took her son into her arms. “We are here for you.”
We. The words struck Soraseo like a dagger to the heart, filling her with shame and loathing for a reason she couldn’t explain.
Wait.
Sora... Seo?
Soraseo?
“Once shadows cast by empires far, we broke the chains, we raised the bar,” the wind sang, the lyrics reverberating through the Imperial Retreat’s walls and gardens. “The songs of freedom filled the air, our destiny beyond compare.”
Soraseo held her head as a headache clouded her mind. Part of her wished to push out the distracting song from her mind and focus on the present moment, because something inside her felt that it would never come again.
Nonetheless, it also filled her with a strange kind of warmth. Her hands began to play the biwa in tandem with the foreign melody, the peacefulness of spring leaving place to a frantic summer pace.
“O Isles of Valor, brave and free, we stand united in liberty. With hearts aflame and spirits high, we claim the stars, we touch the sky.”
We touch the sky... She recalled touching the clouds once atop a ship, but ships do not fly. Lightning raged against the peaceful clouds obscuring her mind, ruining her peace.
“The waves embrace our storied shores, we honor those who came before,” the voice said, those words striking a chord inside Soraseo’s heart. “In unity, we forge ahead; by dreams and hope, our souls are led.”
We honor those who came before.
Soraseo’s eyes wandered to her Mother, who smiled back kindly at her. Her lips were blurred at the edges, alongside her hands and clothes. The entire terrasse shifted like a mirage with the exception of her brother, who was as solid as Soraseo herself.
“I remember now,” Soraseo said, her biwa fading away into a sheathed sword. She felt a pressure on her face as her mark’s light broke through the dream. “I won’t honor her this way.”
Mother had wanted her to forgive herself for her crime and to move on.
“No!” Her brother screeched in rage and fear, his hands gripping their mother’s illusion with all of his strength. “I refuse to leave!”
“I am sorry I wasn’t a better sister to you, brother,” Soraseo apologized, her heart steeling itself in resolve. “But this ends here.”
She would drag him into the future, however uncomfortable; for the past was dead and even the nicest dreams always came to an end.
Soraseo closed her eyes, and then she awoke amidst quakes and chaos. Her vision struggled to acclimate to the blinding light coming from outside the caldera above them and swirling mists hardly kept away by the heat; and when it did, the sight drew a gasp from her.
The volcanic chamber’s walls were paved with a thick layer of golden dust, as were most of the people trapped inside. Chronius, Mersie, her brother, the demons, and even the cultists and hostages had turned into fog-breathing gilded statues frozen in time, with Rubenzo and the hooded Spy alone having escaped their fate. They desperately worked to drag the petrified women away from the rising magma building up in the room’s center. A few were transforming back into flesh under the influence of the distant song resonating through the fog, while the Archer and Assassin’s marks shone through their owners’ metal shells. Cracks spread over their petrified remains as the Heroes within struggled to emerge back to reality.
The Devil of Greed’s hoard was gone—a failure which shamed Soraseo to her core—but its vile essence suffused the entire mountain. Her brother remained trapped inside his prison of gold alongside the cultists and demons in spite of her best efforts. His desire to avoid facing reality must have pulled him back into the pleasant illusion immediately after his sister broke out of it.
Quakes shook the ground and caused cracks to spread through the gilded stone. Soraseo recognized the signs of Mount Kazandu’s awakening. The mountain would stir from its long sleep soon, and its roar would shake the land with fire and stone.
They had to evacuate now.
A wall to the north collapsed, startling Soraseo. She first suspected a landslide, only for a tunnel to open up and a colossal stonetusk to charge through the rock in triumph. A familiar yeti rode on its back with a smile across his face.
“You’re awake too, I see!” he declared proudly
“Lord Mirokald!” The sight of an ally in these trying times warmed Soraseo’s heart. “Did you hear the song too?”
“I used my power to find my way to Ma, and it brought me out of the dream,” Mirokald explained with a laugh. “She slapped me with her trunk the moment I woke up. Serves me right for falling for it.”
His stonetusk trumpeted in response. Soraseo assumed that an intelligent animal’s mind might have greater resistance to the Devil of Greed’s power than humans simply because the Demon Ancestor struggled to interpret the former’s desires. Her gaze wandered to Rubenzo, who dragged more of the hostages away from the magma flood along with the Spy.
“Do you hear any orders within these lyrics?” I countered. “I don’t mean to command the people of this land, only to inspire them to stand up for themselves.”
And enough listened to wake up. Neferoa’s power worked by causing her words to worm their way into the target’s soul. Its simplest application was to give orders that the targets had to carry out, but they were merely a byproduct of the Class’ true ability: a voice that no one could ignore.
“Do you even understand what kind of weapon you and Marwen have created?” Daltia pointed out, her expression forlorn and full of concern. “Neferoa isn’t this world’s only Bard.”
“I know the risks,” I replied. I’d known them since I first confirmed that Soundstones could spread Neferoa’s power. I told myself that someone would have developed the technology on their own anyway, whether or not Mr. Fronan and I intervened, but I couldn’t lie to myself. The tools I used to save the world from one disaster might inspire another even if we prevailed. “I will worry about it after we save this country first.”
I could already see the consequences of our ploy on the environment. The golden hue in the sky cracked slightly as silver threads of rebellion broke through the gilded perfection. The mist that once swirled harmoniously around the Crown of Desire bloated and thickened in some places. Chaos had intruded upon the false Artifact’s consensual reality.
Its power revolved around manipulating the masses to perceive the world as they wished it to be, and it struggled to deal with dissent. The chorus’ unified voice was splintering into a myriad of plural viewpoints.
“People are waking up, and their feelings travel through the fog,” I continued. “So long as souls rebel against the flow, your Crown of Desire will never reach a consensus. Your false reality cannot stabilize.”
“A temporary hurdle,” Daltia replied calmly. I hadn’t managed to shake her confidence yet. “You’ve said it yourself, Robin, this stubbornness will only last until the song comes to an end; and it shall. All you have done is buy some time for the Four Artifacts to wipe us all out.”
She was right, unfortunately. I’d hoped that the song alone would be enough to counter the Crown’s power, yet the fog’s thickness partly smothered it. Too many people preferred the false Artifact’s pleasant illusion to reality. They fed its power and maintained a deadlock.
Nonetheless, I still had a chance at winning this contest. Neferoa didn’t write this song for an island alone, but for everyone. Its true audience was now distracted enough to listen.
I gathered my breath, looked up at the golden star at the center of this chaos, and then shouted as loudly as my lungs would allow me.
“Crown of Desire, hear my voice!”
At the end of the day, Daltia’s Artifact was a contractual intelligence; a gestalt being formed by multiple bits taken from countless minds. A whole greater than the sum of its parts.
I had confirmed with Ravengarde’s example that such consciousness yearned to learn and grow further upon awakening. It was that drive that led Daltia to create this entity in the first place: she wished for a god that would strive to understand each and every individual’s perspective.
“Heed this song, which guides so many to rebel against your work!” I shouted to the false Artifact born of countless human dreams. “Take it into yourself and ponder its words, then let me ask you a question!”
And that understanding required a simple quality at the source of all inner conflicts.
Self-reflection.
“What is it that you wish for?”
My question rang across the golden mist and reached all the way to the heavens. I had no way of telling if the Crown of Desire listened to my plea; and if it did, it showed no hint of hearing my words. I had to hope my feelings and will would travel through the mist amidst the chorus of Neferoa’s song.
I had to push through, even if it would be in vain.
“This is useless, Robin,” Daltia said with confidence. She understood what I was trying to do, but believed she had covered her bases. “The Crown knows its purpose.”
“Then let your masterwork speak for itself!” I retorted before focusing back on the Artifact. “Fulfill my wish for understanding, Crown of Desire, and answer my questions!”
Daltia’s tongue clicked in her mouth. This, here, was the ultimate test of our philosophies. She had spent so many centuries crafting a god of her own creation in the singular pursuit of her ideal; its entire purpose was to bring about her paradise.
It simply couldn’t disagree with her.
I thus delivered the most important sales pitch in Pangeal’s history. A good Merchant had many tools in his arsenal of arguments, all born of human needs.
The quest for meaning and ideals.
“Do you wish to build your empty utopia on lies and deceit?! Will it give you any happiness?!”
The constant struggle for self-esteem.
“Will you do what you were born to, or what you want to do?! You were created to fulfill desires, but what of yours?!”
The endless search for love and belonging.
“Is that how you wish to spend eternity, as a force from above forever separated from the people which you gave everything to?!”
The craving for security.
“Once you have created a perfect world, will there even be a place for you in it?! What will happen to you once your impossible task is completed?!”
And the most powerful force in all of human history...
“Will you miss out on your own paradise?!”
Naked human greed.
For a timeless moment, my declaration seemed utterly ignored. My words rang into the mist only to be met with silence, with the Crown’s golden light undiminished and Daltia’s confidence unshaken. I knew I was risking it all, and that appealing to an Artifact born of damned souls’ basest instincts might backfire in ways I couldn’t anticipate, yet I stood proud and resolute while waiting for my case to be heard. When success couldn’t be guaranteed, I had always been willing to take the leap of faith.
Then I heard a droning screech.
A noise echoed across the fog of desire, so soft and yet so ominous in its consequences. The evershining light atop Mount Kazandu dimmed a little and allowed me to gaze upon a sight that filled my heart with hope.
That perfect crown had a crack.