Chapter 13 - The Black-Haired Girl Part Two

I hear someone's voice...

Within me, old memories—memories from long, long ago—begin to rise.

Long ago, so far back it feels like another lifetime, I was born from everyone’s “wish” into a village where those known as the People of Faecyl lived. I was the chieftain’s daughter.

So that everyone could be happy. So that the people of Faecyl could prosper.

Perhaps because of that, I was born with a powerful spiritual force, and was granted by the world a head of beautiful black hair that everyone envied.

Everyone celebrated my birth. I, too, prayed to the gods every day, wishing for everyone’s happiness as I grew up.

My prayers, empowered by my strong spiritual force, reached even the gods. One day, the Four Great Deities of the world—the Gods of Light, Darkness, Sun, and Wolves—appeared before me. They blessed me and said they would grant me one wish.

I... was foolish.

Instead of simply wishing for the happiness I already had, I sought knowledge, hoping that not only the Faecyl, but humans and all other races could find happiness.

"Great gods, please grant me the power to see and understand everything."

The gods granted that wish, and gave me the crimson Eyes of Truth.

And then—I saw. With those gifted Eyes of Truth, I learned the “secrets” of the great gods.

From that moment on... I was cursed by the gods.

The Four Great Deities, realizing that I had come to know their “truth,” saw it as a great sin, and placed upon me an eternal curse.

A curse of endless reincarnation, always into the same soul, always dying in agony before reaching adulthood.

The soul is eternal. Even if shattered, even if transformed into something else, not even the gods can easily erase a soul completely.

So the gods cursed me instead to die tragically, again and again, before I could reach adulthood—eroding my soul over millennia, until I would finally vanish.

When the Faecyl people learned of this, they cursed me, beat me, and in the end, doused me in poison and cast me out of the village.

“Repent for your sins,” they screamed through their tears. “Suffer and die as much as you possibly can.”

Burned and corroded by the poison, I dragged my body through the dark forest. I couldn’t die. I had to live.

Because someone had to pass on the truth of the gods—for the happiness of the Faecyl, humans, and all other races.

They... are not truly “gods.” If people keep depending on them without knowing that truth, humanity will eventually fall into ruin.

So I decided that someone had to know the gods’ true nature.

I began writing letters in my own blood on bark I peeled from trees—and six months later, I entrusted it to a passing traveler of another race. My blood turned to rot, and I died.

Since then, I have been reborn many times.

Sometimes, fragments of memory return. I’ve come to learn that the knowledge I left behind still exists.

But even in each new life, my time is short. I always die before I can become an adult.

I’ve never once known a peaceful death. I’ve been tortured, wounded, burned alive as a witch, left untreated to suffer from disease for years, and have died weeping again and again.

Sometimes I’ve been born into families—who then sold me into slavery, or even killed me.

There were a few... who loved me.

I’m sorry. Because you were involved with me, I brought misfortune upon you.

But even so, I never gave up. I kept fighting to live.

I just wanted to live a normal life, grow up, make someone happy, and die like everyone else. For that, I fought against the curse.

The gods... made only one mistake.

They couldn’t completely erase my memory.

I kept accumulating memories, engraving suffering and sorrow into my heart. Over thousands of years, I expanded the “capacity” of my soul.

Ah... If only I’d been a little faster, maybe I wouldn’t have made you cry.

I’m sorry. My beloved younger brothers and sisters. Meeting you all over these three thousand years has been my only treasure. So dear to me... and I regret so much.

I hear your voice, Camellia...

So tearful, so lonely, so precious—my little sister, whose life I shattered.

Yua-nee-sama. That’s what you all used to call me. Yes... my name is—

The old Faecyl word for “rapeseed blossom”—Tartaiyua.

＊＊＊

"Yua-nee-samaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!"

A young girl’s voice echoed throughout the hollow space as the only door to the surface was destroyed and she came bursting through.

At the sound, Nicholas and the exhausted Murasame, who had been watching from a distance, raised their heads. The silent former offerings who had been gathered around the altar began to move.

In order to prevent interference from the Mad Gods, the ancient Wolf God’s ritual had been enacted by theologian Nicholas.

Blood slowly trickled from Nanohana’s wounded wrists. Her face was pale as paper—beyond saving, it seemed, even if help arrived now.

By gradually offering up the very life of the girl to the gods, her death would awaken them—and in their awakening, hasten the curse placed upon her.

Murasame’s ritual was nearly complete.

But—

Nanohana’s fluttering eyelids trembled faintly at Tsubaki’s cry—and suddenly, it began.

Before anyone noticed, a single crimson butterfly had begun to silently dance above Nanohana’s body.

It looked as if it were simply red paper cut into the shape of a butterfly. It floated gracefully like a magic trick. Even Tsubaki, Murasame, and the supposedly mindless former offerings halted and stared at the butterfly.

The crimson butterfly then began to grow, until it was large enough to embrace someone. On the surface of its wings, tiny baby-like hands began to push against it—as if from behind glass—one, two... dozens. As the babies’ faces rose across its wings, all of them let out a scream in unison.

At that moment, all over the world, every newborn child raised their gaze to the sky—and tears quietly streamed from their wide-open eyes.

Quietly... slowly, Nanohana—who had seemed on the brink of death—stood.

But... was it truly still her? A gentle, mature smile graced her still-young face. With arms spread wide, she looked almost divine.

The former offerings moved toward Nanohana in unison, arms spread just like hers.

But—something was wrong.

With every step they took, the pallor of their skin gave way to color, and the dull haze in their eyes was replaced with light.

They began to cry as they looked upon Nanohana’s smiling face, reaching out as if seeking salvation.

The transformation was dramatic. Step by step, slowly but surely, they grew younger.

Old men became young. Students turned into children. Their ill-fitting shoes slipped off, their long hems tripped them as they stumbled—but they did not stop. Through their tears, they moved toward Nanohana.

And then—an old man, the last among them, crawled as a baby to her feet. With a face full of love, she gently picked him up. As she held him to her chest, he regressed into a fetus—until finally, he became an ovum and vanished from the world.

Murasame collapsed to his knees, stunned. The theologian Nicholas, dazed, whispered her name.

“…Time God Tartaiyua…”