Monday 11 June 2018

Herald 6 : Malevolent

Zirco dragged his shoes along the grass with a tired look on his face. He was dressed in a bulky maroon gambeson dirtied by some white powdery residue near his shoulder blades, and his boots smelled like they were thrown in a barrel full of marinating entrails.

Z: (So much work today... Juval couldn't even wipe the sweat from his face with how busy he is.)

He reached his right hand across his waist and brushed against the small pouch of gold on his side. It gave him peace of mind to know that the work he endured was worth the effort.

Z: (At least it pays well. Maybe I should stop by the inn and see if there's anyone who-...)

The inn would be his favorite haunt to unwind after a long day... But this was not Bellpot. There were no real strangers around, none to flirt with. Mielfeud was a rather small town for what it was, and the community was rather compact; enough for harsh gossips to spread like wildfire. An anecdote like stepping on sheep manure would easily become everyone's dinnertime topic even if it were to happen a mere couple of hours ago.

Z: (I miss the Pedud Inn already. Brianna has a really nice figure, and I could swear she feels the same way I do.)

It was a development that wasn't going to happen in Mielfeud anytime soon. There were only five girls around his age – Fainn, Oloise and the three daughters of the quiet potter. Oloise was a bookworm and a recluse who stuck herself to quiet corners, and Fainn the Fibber was about the worst choice of a woman imaginable.

Lying through her teeth, splashing others' cookware with cakes of mud, blackmailing and manipulating anyone who crossed her; her infamy was unbridled and unabashed. Admittedly, it would simply be seen as a childish attempt to mimic and bond with the mischievous boys if not for the extent her pranks develop into, but he knew better than to cross her. Zirco once caught sight of her secretly speaking to Katachi, and only the gods know what she 'ordained' of him.

Dating any of the potter's daughters was a different matter. Phigail, Gertrielle and Kiaya were always seen together and never apart, but perhaps one of them would be overwhelmed by curiosity and take to romance in a few years' time. But he would have to act fast, since there were more boys than girls in town and competition was bound to be fierce. Until then, it was a pipe dream.

"Lensod, you drunk, get up! We're closing!"

L: "Not till I'm done wi' this 'ere bottle, Giddie girlie! Let me drink!"

As Zirco walked past the inn, Lady Gidwenn was trying to chase away the fletcher Lensod sprawled on the desk with a bottle in hand. It was a rather difficult scene to take in, a pregnant woman trying to chase a burly man away.

G: "Lensod! If you don't plan on leaving then I'm going to cane you! Do you hear me? You drunken oaf!"

The helpless innkeeper shuffled back into the inn slowly to get her tool of effective corporal punishment. But having an expecting mother descend and ascend a flight of stone stairs for a cane in the cellar was a tough sight.

Z: (I can't bear to watch this.) "Hey, Vonerre!!"

Zirco called out to the watchman by the gate who was leaning against the wall. He turned around and had a tired look on his face as he fixed his slumped helmet.

V: "Zirco?! What's the matter?!"

Z: "Give Lady Gidwenn a hand! Lensod's buggering her!"

V: "Again?! That's the third time this week!"

Vonerre marched quickly to the inn and kicked the leg of the table before barking at the miserable man.

V: "For shame, Lensod! Enough with your drunken babble and up with you!"

L: "Leave me alone, y' filthy boatsarder! It's not like m' wife's comin' for me! I'd beg only fo' peace 'n quiet un- *retch*... until you came along 'n stinked up 'e whole joint!"

He spoke in half-mutters and slurs, and he couldn't even turn his head around from the encumbering stupor.

V: "You incorrigible cocksmear! I'll fix you a new one today if my-... No. I have a better idea. Tell you what, I'm going to bring Reeve Slenn here. You can wait here for your punishment, chase me and waste your time or you can leave quietly like you should. Whatever your choice is, mine's already been made."

L: "You... You wouldn't dare! Y' floafy pisswine of a man!"

V: "Why not? I got his son Zirco with me to stand witness. Now get out of here before I turn around."

L: "Dardicel's rump! I'll scram, 'ight?! Asshole!"

The drunkard Lensod got up with much force, and staggered towards the fence while grunting along the way. They could only stare as poor Lensod collided against a fence and fell to the ground before vomiting face-first on the sand and mud. It was a terribly messy affair, but deep down Zirco smiled.

He felt good, having the backing of his father's name and reputation to resolve the townsfolk's issues. It filled him with a slight sense of importance and it doubled as a marker, a standard he strove to achieve one day.

Z: "Thanks, Vonerre. I couldn't bear to see Lady Gidwenn exert herself."

V: "Don't mention it, you look tired enough. Let's have a drink some other time."

That was a pretty good conclusion for a productive workday. Zirco continued along the road and eventually reached his home, a hall house with worn walls. He took off his shoes and stopped to see a rather peculiar article sprawled across the neat floor of his house.

S: "Zirco Ovdermes. It's about time you come clean with me."

Nothing was quite as terrifying as his father's voice booming across the hallway. Zirco briefly winced and turned his head towards the dining room, where his father clenched his fists strongly with the ugliest frown he had seen yet. Why was he using that frightful tone of voice? Was there a connection to the article on the floor?

Z: "... Father?"

He could feel his composure slipping from the immense presence his father exuded. He took a quick peek at the paper and understood his blunder immediately. On the floor was a monthly newsletter detailing information from both the Aldrinone Magus Academy and the Sage Raufid Magus Academy.

S: "You came back home a week after the Young Magus Tournament, which just so happens to feature the Watcher as the champion. I don't believe for one figment that this is a coincidence. Talk."

Slenn gave him a stern look, anticipating the worst outcome from the get-go. From the way he approached Zirco, he looked like a debt collector so desperate that strangling Zirco was not out of the question.

Z: (Nowhere to hide now, father's very thorough. I better be honest before he pulls out something like Principal Bertund's statement.) "... Yes, father. I fought against that scum in the tournament, and I was expelled for unruly behavior. But it's not like I wa- Ooahhgh!?"

Slenn smacked him with the backhand against his jaw. The impact was strong, but the strike was aimed with the knuckle above his cheekbone and at his temple so it was mitigated. Zirco fell backwards and felt like the left side of his face turned numb.

S: "You stuck-up brat! How many times have I told you to stay away from him?! Are you tired of living?!"

Why was Slenn defending Katachi? That was a behavior Zirco had never seen before. His priorities had always been to keep the peace in Mielfeud, but what incentive had he to defend a child who was neither in town nor liked by its people?

Z: "Why are you so against it? What's wrong with roughing him up a little bit? It's not like anybody cares anyway!"

S: "His guardian does! Mother Rinnesfeld hasn't wronged us yet, and I intend to keep it that way. I taught you better than this, Zirco!"

Z: "That nun, again? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were having an affair with her."

The punch was coming. Zirco could feel it rippling in the back of his mind that even he had gone overboard with that claim, but he stuck to that belief stubbornly. He shut his eyes when the figure of his father raised his arm, wholly expecting the curmudgeonly blow, yet it did not come. Instead, a painful clap on his shoulder could be felt, and his muscular fingers dug into the flesh with a firmness that exceeded the threshold of pain he could endure.

S: "You do not even make sense of your words, boy! In the first place, she's the one who brought your mother and I together. You wouldn't even exist if not for her, so shut your mouth!"

Z: (She did?!) "She... She what? You- you never told me!"

That turn of events was surprising, to say the least. He remembered stories about his mother knitting with the baker often at the church when attending a shawl weaving class, but he did not expect his father to be pious. More accurately, Slenn did not give the impression of someone who frequented the church, preferring to immerse himself in work.

S: "You never asked. You could have asked us anytime, but you're too busy playing around with that dogged whoreson Dante to care about these things! Why don't you go read books quietly like the minstrel's daughter Oloise instead?"

The severity of his folly hit him like the punch he received earlier... But this was much deeper. He felt a strange gratitude towards her and a foreign guilt over the wrong he had, both building up within himself. Not even in his wildest dreams did he imagine that youthful-looking nun to hold such significance in his life, that he would consider her an actual mother in her own sense. While Zirco stood there dazed at the revelation, Slenn gave a disconcerting glare at him and heaved a sigh.

S: "You're the son of a reeve. You should act like one and avoid company like that buffoon."

Z: "I don't want to. Dante is my friend, and I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I know what I'm doing."

Slenn's fingers loosened from his shoulder and drummed against his bone briefly.

S: "You clearly do not. You pick fights with other people, you hang out with the wrong company and you don't take your standing in pride. I would be more lenient if you befriended the seamstress' child Bellius and his clique. But worst of all, your crime towards the Watcher is going to haunt you for the rest of your life. You're too young to afford a penalty like that."

Z: "I don't want to 'befriend' him. I'm tired of listening to advice! I don't like Bellius at all, he's pushy, and bratty, and makes stupid rules like 'everyone has to fold only the right cuff of their pants tomorrow to look like a gang' or something retarded like that! I'd rather climb a cliff with Juval, or spend an hour peeling potatoes as a punishment with that scum than hang around with them."

S: "I get that he has some quirks of his own, but... Zirco. I've been your age once. I know what it's like to be raised as an only child, to have no siblings to compete and validate with. I know what it's like to physically grow up but to be starved of the responsibilities that should have followed. Maybe you see something in that scoundrel Dante that I don't. But you must prepare for the road ahead, and I think it's time you learned."

Z: (The road ahead?) "... What do you mean?"

Slenn placed his giant, rugged and worn hand on his shoulder again, after raising it.

S: "... There is another reason I'm against your transgression against the Watcher. I was planning on holding this off until your fifteenth birthday, but this has to end tonight. Go wash up briefly, then get the sealed scroll from my cabinet. There's something you should know."

Zirco gently removed the burly hand and massaged his shoulder slightly.

Z: (That scroll? This must be serious. I've never seen him look at it, let alone take it out. Is he going to show me some kind of magic contract?) "Fine."

It filled him with a sense of foreboding and wary at the same time.

Z: (... Or, it could just as easily show the Ovdermes family tree, and suddenly Father's going to tell me he's a half-brother or something? Gods, it would be awful if I were actually related to him somehow.)

He didn't want to think much about that unnerving prospect. Zirco hurried over to the baths with his feet dragging across the clean floor.

*** ***

E: "That birthday, one week from now. Let it privy no longer, tell me your story."

Etria quietly spoke in a soothing voice, and pinched the grey bubble before her gently. The scene upon the bubble began distorting before showing a rather hurried scene.

K: "There's no end to them..."

It was a confusing scene. The child was unusually close to the floor with a piece of ragged cloth in hand, trying to brush and chase ants away from the various bits of sugar scattered across the floor. There was a brown syrup-like substance drizzled over the sugar heaps sporadically, most likely caramel or rot wine.

E: (Mounds of sugar? Something happened here. Is this his home?)
Ri: "Katachi! Be careful when scooping the ants! Don't hurt them!"

K: "Yes, mother! You too!"
E: (!! That has to be deliberate... But who?)

As the child turned his head briefly to respond, the peripherals offered a brief glimpse of the horror in the cathedral. There was sugar all over the floor, and ants were swarming them like the view of the forest over a mountain. From the brief glance alone, it was clear that someone did the heinous act under the cover of night.

K: "Please, move away from the sugar. I don't want to kill any of you."

Patience could only run so thin, thin enough for the child to start talking to unresponsive ants. If it were her, Etria would simply sweep everything without concern. However, it was not an applicable example to someone of such severe Segus faith. The rest was hazy and obscured, a clear sign of oppression from the child's conscious. One could only imagine how traumatic it was to relive a memory as horrid as that.

E: (This, happened on his birthday... That's a new low. Are all of his birthdays like this? Is that why his happiest moment is a week before?)

Whatever year it might be, as long as the culprit and his or her accomplices remembered his birthday, they would not give him rest. She remembered the desolation at her previous fiance who never bothered to remember their anniversaries, but for that knowledge to be used in such a callous manner was downright cruel and unimaginable.

Birthdays were meant to be a milestone, an achievement, a time of celebration for living through sixteen months a year. Most would enjoy a party, rite of passage or a feast, and for the ones sent on expeditions they were at least granted some lenience for the day or be regarded in pride. Some would choose a quieter means to pass their time, for relief and desirable solitude.

But, this... The child was witness and victim to a fear, a pain more than she could stomach. Birthdays were an entitlement for the living, to be spent with optimism and joy, not endured with grievances. Where others would reminisce those days with candid longing in their later years, he would never forget the spite of these atrocities even if he wished to. It was little wonder his behavior was anything but child-like.

E: (... He's misshapen on so many levels. Where in the world did my lord even find someone like this?)

Etria thought that the birthday to follow after his happiest moment would be the worst memory of his life, but it seemed unexpectedly mild. It did not conform to the various classic tragedies where everything he cherished was undone by a series of extreme cruelty... Or was it more accurate to say that cursed fate was in progress? The end of it was still far away, yet it was enslaving him at every moment of his life.

His pain was something deeper, entrenched in his heart and imprinted in his mind to feel alienated and insignificant to everyone, and the only escape was death. However, the memory was still lacking in some ways, so she must dive deeper. She might very well have to knock him unconscious in order to pry his deepest memories without retaliation.

*** ***

Roberia was currently in a rather unusual position. She was resting at the top of a rope, pivoted to the ceiling of her room. Her legs were entwined around the rope purposefully and took the majority of the weight from her arms. Her feet were tangled in a comfortable-looking foothold position, protected from friction by the guards she wore. An ugly scowl surfaced as she glanced into the distance towards the balcony overlooking Bilkenstury's bazaar.

Ro: (It was so awkward today.)

Even in brief periods of rest, static training was standard protocol for those who sought full control over their bodies. It was more comfortable for her to ponder over the more delicate problems with the exercise as a distraction, but somehow tonight was a little different. Roberia couldn't help but find herself distracted from her trapezius-rhomboid training regime.

Ro: (I didn't even think that much about the armor I wore today... And I forgot to make Gaza relinquish the candidacy. That basically shuts out any possibility of controlling the candidacy to filter the outcome... But I can't believe I wore the armor he gifted as a mistake. I didn't even remember that it was his gift for my graduation into knighthood.)

One could argue that she was not to blame. Anyone flustered by a mistake they made was bound to slip up at the unprecedented outcome. But, now that she declared a Duel of Obligation, she was not allowed to participate in any others for three months so a rematch was not happening soon. While it was true that she won the previous skirmish, Roberia would be frowned upon if she made Gaza accept additional conditions for her victory.

Ro: (... I wonder what Jullan would think. I haven't seen him in five months already.)

The loneliness settled in, prompted by the quiet of the night. She could not help but recall her memories of the two friends she loved dearly as she looked upon a couple strolling idly under the moonlit night.

Ro: "Jullan, Cosette... Are you thinking of me too?"

She remembered her time spent with Jullan and smiled briefly at their first pair mission. She remembered her training in Linselle, serving as an esquire to the quiet Sir Tact for four years. She remembered shuffling around the castle for the daily combat drills, securing choke-points and routing the instructors so they would surrender.

Count Anders was her final hurdle to surpass before being dubbed a knight officially, and the feeling of outmaneuvering his axe blows gave her a sense of catharsis and release she was eager to feel again. That would surely repeat should she best the child called Kotsuba Katachi. But his words rang in her head like the gentle waves upon a shore.

Ro: (That child... 'Why don't you just give up on being a warrior', he said. Pretending as if he knows me so well. Saying whatever he wants just to isolate himself from me, without care for my convictions.)

To presumptuously declare something like that was nothing short of insensitive. A knight was a great figure of duty and discipline, adhering to a strict moral code and purposefully serving the people around them. To repudiate that responsibility was no different from cursing her country and people, and it was inapt for a noble to detest the very land they were expected to govern.

Ro: (But... What if he does? What if he's really saying it for my sake?)

Was there a deeper wisdom to his words? Women were discouraged from being knights because a normal woman could not excel at both. Those who were unwilling to push forward with their training during their menstruation would find themselves lacking in extended exercises during their later years, but those who did would face consequences far more harrowing than just having an awful cramp.

That was why to date, every female knight was assigned a partner they could bond with and, should their feelings be mutual, marry later on. Was the child trying to warn her, like Duke Harlot did? Perhaps, it truly was a mistake to think that her life would be devoid of regrets?

Ro: (Even if he did mean it out of goodwill, he's too late. My accolade was more a year ago anyway, so there's no point backing out from something that's already happened. But that sentence of his pisses me off.)

It was akin to naming a cat 'dog'. Refuting the very existence of the pain she endured to glory was a grave insult few would have the gall to commit. Depending on the tone and meaning behind his words, Katachi's murder was not out of the question. Thankfully for him, the recipient did not interpret it as malice.

Ro: (He doesn't strike me as someone who would insult out of spite, though. Given how dirty his clothes are compared to the new bag he was carrying, he seems almost too concerning. I can only imagine him as some kid from a small family who does whatever his parents tell him to do... That's not quite right, somehow. His clothes wouldn't be that worn down, and the bag should at least be in a similar condition. Maybe he stole the bag?)

Roberia gently rocked back and forth on the rope, treating it like a swing set.

Ro: (Maybe it's like the other time I stole a hammer from the blacksmith to drive new nails into some of the old furniture from Vrom's before returning it quietly. A temporary loan without consent, just like I did... Jullan and I were scolded quite badly for that, though.)

That would never have transpired were it not for her road to knighthood. A brief smile surfaced and she thought back to the days she spent with him, a happier time of fellowship and young love before she was squired to Sir Tact for three years.

Ro: (... Back then, I didn't really think of knighthood as a big life event or anything. Although, it was fun being alone with Jullan and chatting about our experiences as opposed to having Cosette glue herself to him. Talking with Jullan is nice, and he might have a couple of problems with self-esteem but that's just Sir Aedan being mean to him.)

There was much to ponder about, but for the time being her abdominal muscles were starting to feel sore. Roberia slowly flipped upside down, grabbed the rope with her arms and repeatedly flipped herself backward to scale down the rope.

*** ***

With her physical hand, Etria pulled a small needle she hid beneath a brooch on the table. She lightly tapped her own palm with it, and dabbed her finger in the blood from the pinprick. With incredible haste, she sketched an Etims rune on Katachi's chin and pushed up against his jaw.

K: "Hhmpfh!?- ..."

She had to daze him under a mental suggestion, at least until she could find the answers she needed. But to do so, she must unravel the puzzle before her. At the very least Katachi was immobilized enough for her to consider and review everything she learned thus far with care.

The enigmatic child lived in a church, had a nun as his guardian, was bullied and possibly disliked by his town, held a primarily conservative belief towards the teachings of Segus and harbored mundane expectations. If his happiest memory were that of a promise to bake confectionery with the guardian, then perhaps it was not the promise that mattered but the person in question? It was entirely possible that his guardian was not one to make promises lightly. His impression of her would provide a big clue.

E: "That nun, from your home. What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of her?"

The grey bubble muddled for a brief moment, but sure enough, a response was given. Once again, it looked like a mundane scene in the church, but somehow the memory felt... Different. The vision was almost a little bit shaky, which was peculiar. It was not characteristic of cold weather, since the distortion was erratic unlike the customary vibrate from left to right that a chill would normally induce.

E: (It's like his head is shaking very slightly... What happened? Is it an injury or something?)

A scene of a plain, weathered table with two plates and a loaf of bread in a rather homely but dark dining room. The loaf of bread was roughly cut and more than half of it remained, served to him by the nun who had a faltered smile.

Ri: "Katachi dear, I got quite a bit of bread from Mrs. Almer today. Eat up, my child."

K: "That's great! Ah, you should have some too, mother."

Ri: "I will, dear, I'll eat after arranging the stock of candles. Don't hold back and help yourself."

With that, she turned around and went outside. The child walked towards the kitchen area and washed his hands properly before wiping them on a dirtied rag next to the basin. As he turned around, he stopped for a short moment and headed toward the pantry table before lifting a food cover.

E: (! That shape, the cutting against the grain... That's probably the other half of the loaf.)

The cut loaf on the plate was barely half the size of the one before. It was clear that the nun was used to not telling the truth, and in some instances it was worse than simply lying outright.

E: (He's... Strangely quiet about this- !)

The vision began to blur at the lower half, and the child walked back to the table before eating the bread. As he did, the tears rolled down his face and dripped onto the ragged shirt he had and occasionally the bread itself.

E: (The nun was suffering in silence, and eating less food in order to give him more. She was pretending that she got more bread so she could give him more bread to eat. Their relationship is significant to him. So that's his weakness?)

It would certainly explain how the child did not contemplate suicide, considering the atrocities she unraveled earlier. But it did not add up.

E: (If that is so, why didn't he stay at the church where he could defend her? He's versed enough in magic to identify Vitnen's mind-probing spell, so staying at the Segus church should be the best course of action. That, or he somehow managed to control or influence other mind-readers in that town so they do not attack her... That's the most likely reason to his reaction when I started probing around his head.)

The child raised his left hand to caress the side of his head, which confirmed her theory regarding the aberrant vision.

E: (In any case, it's a step forward, but not in the ideal direction. The nun is one of his weaknesses, but not his biggest. I should go deeper.)

She reached her fingers toward the bubble to pinch it again-

K: "Nnnooooooooooo mooooooooorrrrrreee..."

-and was greeted by the booming voice that came from everywhere at once.

E: (He's conscious?! But, but how?! The Etims rune should still be in effect!)

She could feel a hand of sorts knocking her own away from his face, and in the next instant Etria saw the child disappear. His bag was also gone, as though it were spirited away.

E: "How did he- When did he- !" (Wait a minute. Something's wrong, the room looks dark.)

She snapped her head around at nearly-breakneck speed and looked out of the window.

E: (It's... Night already? It hasn't been five minutes!... Or, has it?)

*** ***

The scroll in the cabinet was very unusual in appearance.

Z: (It has magic seals on both roll-up ends... Looks really confidential. Whatever's inside must be important.)

It was rolled up, and unlike the standard scroll fastened with a string it was sealed with two magic circles by the sides. He recognized the seal – It was made by a sorceror named Jebatim so that none could peep through it like a telescope, and any attempt to tear it in half would simply duplicate the ripped ends with the same seal.

Z: (It smells a little old, the ink used for it is probably the fragrant and expensive kind made from vanilla and Kormundiel. It makes me feel hungry, I wonder what's for dinner tonight.)

Zirco walked out of the study to find his parents by the counter with their hands held.

S: "-might take a while, so it's okay to eat before us."

"This is earlier than he recommended, isn't it? What if it hampers him?"

They spoke in soft volumes so Zirco could barely hear them. But the lady's face was cemented with worry.

S: "When that time comes, it's up to our son whether he succeeds or succumbs. I believe in him."

"All right. Take care at night, and try out the new maelstrom lantern I bought. Remember to bring a torch with you, just in case it's not bright enough."

S: "I will. See you later, love."

Zirco took a glance at the lantern with the words 'Slenn and Parni' painted on the back of its reflective shielding.

Z: (It's like a really small lighthouse... That's cute.)
S: "Zirco, the oil pitcher."

Z: "Got it. Bye, mom!"

P: "Don't stay out too late!"

When they finished assembling the things they needed, they walked out to greet the sun meeting the horizon.

S: "You got the scroll?"

Z: "Yes. What did mother mean by 'earlier than he recommended', whose advice is that?"

S: "You'll find out soon enough. I doubt it's something to anticipate, though."

Z: (What does he mean? I won't like what I learned?) "Sounds serious."

S: "Well, while we're walking there, let's see how much you've learnt in school."

Slenn gave him a brief glance before pointing with his hand a small curb on the ground. They raised their legs higher to avoid tripping over it.

S: "Read this poem aloud, and tell me what you think. You get two chances, as usual."

Zirco reached for the parchment Slenn offered with some reluctance.

Z: "Let's see...

An open hand has uneven finger length,
But a closed fist shows the knuckles level.
Is one bow all it takes for true equality,
Or is it the show of force that ensures it?"

*Cozy's Notes: Made a Chinese version of this poem.

掌上手指显坎坷,
抓紧拳头达衡则。
若太平是谦之德,
手上刀血迹是何?

The meaning is kinda lost. Sadness.*

Zirco always enjoyed poems that his father found and deciphered. They were often cryptic and expressed the poet's thoughts, and he would spend hours figuring them out. But this one was unusual.

Z: (An open hand has uneven finger length... Hmm.)

He opened and closed his right hand to visualize the poem before him better.

Z: (But, a closed fist shows the knuckles level. Hmm, mine's kind of a hill, my middle finger stands out from the others. A closed fist shows the knuckles level... Shows the knuckles level? So, if I adjusted my hand to make it level...)

Zirco twisted and shifted his wrist to an angle where the knuckles were tucked just behind his fingers.

Z: (A closed fist shows the knuckles level, so it's obscured when it's open? Hmm... The fingers don't start at the same point though, and even if they did their length is different. What does it mean by 'Is one bow all it takes for true equality'? A bow... When four fingers are clutching a bow? So, the message is something like 'No matter who you are or where you come from, if people are motivated towards a singular goal true equality can be reached'? Then the 'show of force' means even if they work together, if the arrow isn't released then it's pointless to work together?) "Is the message about teamwork?"

It sounded pretty logical to him, at least. Zirco gave his father a glance, but he was answered with a tired side glance.

Z: (I misread somewhere? Crap, I answered it too quickly. I'm guessing 'bow' is where I got it wrong, since it's the only word with a double meaning. So it's not a weapon, but a bowing gesture?)

He read the poem again, and furrowed his brows more.

Z: (Wait a minute... 'Level' is also a word that can be used differently. It can be a noun to show the position as much as it can be an adjective to show that everything's the same height. How tricky, was I not supposed to adjust the fingers so they are 'level'? It's not just bowing... ?)

Something clicked in that instant.

Z: (Bowing... Aside from dogs who are trained to do so, people are the only ones capable of bowing. The uneven heights of the fingers probably represent the various people with different backgrounds attaining different heights in life, at least that's thematic.)

S: "We're here. Rest the lantern and torch near the flame starvation barrel."

Slenn proceeded forward to the counter and chatted with the receptionist briefly. Zirco did as he was told while engrossed in thought.

Z: (To bow, is to show humility... ? When a person bows, they humble themselves and treat the other party as an equal, don't they? People of various backgrounds, should they show humility, can 'level' themselves with the others. While the shortest pinky cannot extend to 'level' with the middle finger, all four can decide to reduce themselves by prostrating before each other. That's probably what it means by true equality, by representing people who are capable of bowing as fingers on the hand.)

It was beginning to click together... But the message was nothing to laugh at.

Z: (But, to close the fingers, for all four people to prostrate themselves upon the palm of the hand means they form a clenched fist. If, by the symbolism they represent, the palm of the hand is synonymous to the country they devote themselves to, then it means their 'humility' towards each other is just a customary obligation to create a raised fist of oppression.)

It was dark, satirical and mocking of the pride one ought to have towards their homeland.

Z: (The people gather together to achieve true equality... But whatever 'true equality' they show is just a farce when you look at the big picture. The entire nation becomes a united front, a 'show of force' ready to strike at their enemies to show their superiority, while the fingers that are their people are hurt and sacrificed to achieve the common goal.)

Zirco was so engrossed that he took off his shoes and put them at the side, despite not being at home.

Z: (How exactly in the name of Croxa is that supposed to be 'true equality'? When all your foes are dead, when there is no one else to contest? Then what if the fist represents a smaller community, like a bandit gang? They band together to show their strength as a group, and break apart others who do the same just to prove they're the best, how retarded. But... It's just the way things are. I can't refute it.)

That was the worst of it all – It was no lie. That was exactly how the established history was shaped over many different eras, a malevolent design that only Man would conform to.

S: "Zirco! Put your shoes back on!! Where do you think we are?!"
Z: (What a dark poem. It looks weird and abnormal at a first glance, but the message hidden is so macabre. The intent of the poem- ?) "Huh? Oh."

Zirco went back to the entrance of the building and wore his shoes. He took the chance to straighten his attire and refine his appearance, while taking a peek to his left at the mirror on the wall.

Z: (Huh? Isn't this the reeve's office?) "Uh... Father, why are we at your office?"

It was a familiar place where he spent time walking about and helping with errands and paperwork when he was younger, so he knew the office well enough to navigate it with his eyes closed. He subconsciously avoided the curbs, pots and obstacles while immersed in thought, a considerable feat for many.

S: "Get over here already. We're going down."

Z: (Down? How is the jail relevant to the paper he brought?) "To the jail cells?"

Zirco obediently followed his father down the winding stairs. As they proceeded downwards, Slenn began muttering some foreign words.

S: "Walphrin delecgavotte kin-fou."

With that, the scroll that Zirco was supposed to carry glowed briefly, and the magic seals glided across the paper and merged together at the center.

Z: (When did he take the scroll? I didn't even notice. But, those words he used, walphrin delec-something... That's Fiorsali, isn't it? As expected of father, a scholarly man to the core.)

Language death was inevitable, as were many things in the world. But if the scroll were to be protected by something that obscure, it ought to contain something incredible or terrible. At least, consequential enough to necessitate bringing the object all the way to a jail.

Z: (Maybe the scroll has secret instructions that reveals a hidden passage or some kind of armory in the jail? That would make sense, to keep it far from the hands of the prisoners. But there's already an armory, so that is redundant.)

The hints before should not be neglected, however.

Z: (Father is worried over my transgression of Katachi. Maybe it's related? Did they confine a fragment of him in the prison, then?)

Slenn opened a wooden door to a dark and rather windy row of cells. They went to the furthest back wall, where an old man in shambles lay with a gagged and blindfolded man in the opposite cell.

S: "Do you recognize this man, Zirco?"
Z: (What? It has something to do with old-bones Onzag?)

The poor soul within, without a shirt and only rags for pants, looked as terrible as he remembered. Of the many who were detained in the time Zirco was aware, only he remained. There were none who were jailed as long as he, and the nature of his crime was never made clear. Those who murdered were hanged, rapists and extortionists were transferred to labor camps and slanderers were amputated, but Onzag alone was likely burdened with lifelong imprisonment.

Z: "Old-bones Onzag? He's been here longer than the rest."

S: "Do you know why?"

Z: "I think- Uh, well... No."

S: "Open this scroll gently if you want to know why. But I must warn you of the risk."

Could he, really? The honor of that revelation? Zirco was convinced that it was likely some magic contract. A parchment like so was incredibly valuable, and almost never shared with people outside the Findel Magus Association.

S: "You may regret opening it, but that is a choice you must live with. Once you see its contents, you must commit it to memory. Understand?"

This was a test, a challenge by Slenn, perhaps. To see if he was mature and composed enough for the responsibility. But Zirco confirmed that answer a long time ago; of course he wanted to see the contents within a scroll that taunted him since the day he entered his father's study.

Z: "Here goes, then... What? What is this doing here?"

Zirco unfurled the scroll... to find an answer that deceived his wildest dreams.