IDIBC Chapter 137

Beginning of the Desert Rainy Season

The moment I stepped inside, the thought of not getting lost flew right out of my head. Books with titles fascinating enough to make me forget my embarrassment — even if rumors spread that the queen had no sense of direction — seized my attention all at once.

“The Illustrious Son of Eruls Who Ascended to the Heavens”

“Ekis and Narkits”

“The Hereftos Strait That Swallowed Leandro”

From the titles alone, most of them appeared to be books containing myths related to the Empire and Resotia.

Wondering what to read first, I repeatedly pulled out books and skimmed through them, until my gaze was stolen by a very unusual book visible between the empty shelves.

‘What is this?’

It was a thick book with a cover made of pitch-black velvet, and strangely enough, it had no title whatsoever.

I approached the book as if drawn to it. But upon getting closer, there was nothing particularly unusual about it beyond the absence of a title.

Even so, for some strange reason, I could not bring myself to simply take the book out.

An inexplicable sense of blankness washed over me and I hesitated for a moment, but as always, I did not back down.

Planting my feet firmly on the floor, I gripped the book and barely managed to pull it out — its weight was far heavier than I had expected, and a small grunt escaped me before I could stop it.

It was far too heavy to read while standing, so I sank down right there and settled into the most comfortable position for reading.

After carefully turning three or four pages, I found some words written by hand in the margin of a page. The letters had faded to the point of being nearly illegible, so I tilted my head this way and that to make them out.

‘This is ancient script!’

I quickly realized the text was in an old tongue, but it was beyond my limited knowledge to decipher.

‘Surely not all of the content is in ancient script?’

Turning a few more pages, I found an illustration of beautiful women reaching their arms up toward the sky, and fortunately, there were characters I recognized as well.

With a glad heart, I read the text that appeared comparatively clear.

And before I had even finished a single page, I had a vague sense of the historical backdrop of the book and the era in which it had been written.

The author’s identity was not noted anywhere, but with a trembling heart, as though I had encountered a rare treasure, I read on through the passages that flowed like a melody.

Having at last transcended the domain of mortals……

There were places where the book had worn away and the words had vanished, but not to the point of making the content impossible to understand.

After enduring a time of hardship and pain……

He holds the beloved Peroponne close, she who stands there entranced.

At last the gods too willingly shared in their suffering,

and recognized her as his eternal wife.

Peroponne? The name felt vaguely familiar, and my head tilted of its own accord.

I soon realized that this was a story about the gods — an epic of the divine, recording their magnificent lives and deaths, the creation of the heavenly world and the earth, and a long history of sorrowful love.

Turning one more page, there was an illustration that filled an entire side.

It was a scene of a man and a woman caressing each other’s cheeks in a forest lush with flowers and grass.

Was it because I was in love myself? I could tell at a glance just how deeply the two of them loved each other at that moment.

Even though this was poetry driven primarily by metaphor and allegory with no straightforward narrative, their aching hearts came through with piercing clarity.

It seemed unbelievable yet heartbreaking that even the gods loved and parted, sometimes despaired and held onto hope, just as humans did.

But the love of those two — whose names I could not yet know — did not last long.

On the very next page was an illustration of a man who had incurred the wrath of the god of fire, suspended atop a mountaintop, howling toward the heavens.

What could he be crying for so mournfully? What had he lost to grieve like this?

Looking at his face, contorted in agony, my eyes grew unbearably hot of their own accord.

A terrible beauty, in the end, breaks its own wings,

and as I, having reached truth, walk upon golden sands,

people write beautiful verses and build castles of sand,

and love the two children born of a pure and sacred body.

Just whose story of divine love could this be? I curled my fingertips, which kept trembling in small shivers, into my fists and held my breath.

Though no temple has been given unto you,

a brilliant child by the name of Sword and Shield shall be born as twins,

and as the god El Liade has sworn —

bearer of the wandering soul, blessed with dreams to roam the world, they shall become a devotee of the goddess Peroponne.

Was the brilliant child named Sword and Shield a child of Peroponne’s?

In the temple of the Palosanto tree within those dream-filled visions, and in the cave where moonlight is kept hidden,

nowhere is his form to be found — yet, Ayphnetis.

My eyes lit up at the familiar name.

‘So this is the myth of Ayphnetis.’

Ayphnetis was well known as a mortal so beautiful as to make even the gods envious. A male deity of devastating beauty, enough to serve as the inspiration for every artist in Resotia.

I recalled the fresco of Ayphnetis I had once seen at Count Enehaz’s estate.

Even then, Ayphnetis had been beautiful — but the figure in this book glowed as though alive. Even rendered on paper that was thoroughly worn and faded.

Ayphnetis, who had loved the goddess Peroponne, was sentenced by the jealous god of fire to burn for all eternity.

Punished for the crime of his beauty, he was, laughably enough, beloved by all the gods because of that very same beauty, and ultimately became the god who governs time.

In that way, his life may have been redeemed — but his love did not reach a beautiful ending.

Had he truly had children?

They are never to meet again.

When she finally learned that she could only meet him in the sky above,

Peroponne at last broke her own weary wings and became the bride of Esotis.

O most beautiful soul, newly born into the disgraced world of Dermeier —

He is more beautiful than a star adrift in the darkness.

Even should not a single Marintus flower bloom upon the altar erected to him without a temple,

if one who remembers him even across the span of time should appear —

Once in a thousand years, there shall be a chance to meet again upon the earth, cloaked in darkness.

By the time a single poem had finally come to an end, I found that I had been crying without realizing it, my cheeks thoroughly wet. Even without understanding why my heart was crumbling, the ache in my chest was unbearable.

At the end of the poem was a note:

The throne of Dermeier, which cannot be held unless it is first taken, rests solely upon the fate of Resotia.

I presumed this single sentence to be the origin of the thousand-year oracle — now existing only as legend, with no tangible form remaining.

Nothing could be known with any certainty. And yet, I found I was no longer curious.

I closed the book just as it was, and quietly slid it back into its original place.

The only new thing I had learned was that Ayphnetis, the god who governs time, had a child with the woman he had loved.

I let out a deep, heavy sigh and stared blankly at the book with no title.

Would it be too great a leap to think that the child of Ayphnetis spoken of in the book might be an ancestor of Rochester — one who carried pitch-black eyes holding many shades of sorrow within them?

Returning to my room, I even sent Rielle away and went alone to seek out Ricardo’s bedchamber.

His bedroom had an atmosphere quite different from my own. The walls were entirely achromatic, and the square-edged furniture that looked rather rigid and stern stood at sharp angles — it struck me that it suited him perfectly.

Glancing around the room, I discovered a new door on one side.

I was certain that inside was the gift Ricardo had spoken of.

As if spellbound, I drew near and, without hesitation, flung the door open — and what lay within was covered entirely in me. Among everything there, what caught my eye first was a painting I had never seen before.

The road through the Paquin estate, lined on both sides with rows of cypress trees.

Sunlight shone brilliantly through the trees, and beneath it stood me, with a hat pulled low over my face. This time, I was not alone. Ricardo, kneeling before me, looked exactly as he had on that day.

Seeing Ricardo in the painting made my heart pound fiercely, as though I were receiving a proposal all over again.

Ricardo had, with characteristic mischief, hung the most familiar painting right alongside that one.

[Is it not allowed for me to like you?]

The moment I saw the tree with its leaves swaying in the breeze, the emotions of that day — and even the smell of earth — came flooding back intact. I was still alone on the hill in the painting, but I no longer looked lonely.

[Please give me this painting.]

The bold words I had uttered with a bitter heart the day I first saw this painting drifted back to me faintly, and I let out a quiet laugh.

[It’s not as though you need it anyway. Please give it to me. After everything is over and done with, after you’ve achieved whatever it is you want —]

[……]

[I will take that painting and return to the place where I used to live.]

What expression had Ricardo worn at the time?

Now that I thought about it, from that very moment when I told him I would take this painting — my heart had already been in love.

The naive words I had spoken, having been hurt without realizing I had come to hold him deep within my heart, continued to echo in my ears.

The feelings I had harbored as I boldly asked and waited for an answer were not merely pain. Ever since meeting Ricardo, I had always felt my heart flutter, had trembled for quite some time, had been thoroughly disappointed and yet been unable to give up.

I wandered for a long while among the gifts he had sent, then finally made my way back outside.

Knowing he would not come for some time, I pressed myself against the windowsill nonetheless, waiting with the heart of a wife awaiting her husband’s return. Darkness had settled thickly over the unfamiliar landscape.

And yet, within my heart, an endlessly brilliant light remained.

Before long, the child abandoned by the oracle yet who had fled the oracle’s fate would come to meet me.

The man who had overcome everything and seized his happy ending — his jet-black hair streaming in the wind.

Just then, a bolt of lightning struck out of a clear sky with a brilliant flash, and from the distance came a rushing sound — the rain came racing in.

Just like the day I had returned from the threshold of death.

Tap, tap. As the sound of rain drumming against the window grew a little faster, once more — a flash of lightning struck.

“Ah……”

At that moment, a certain silhouette entered my vision, and I clapped a hand over my mouth, my eyes lighting up.

Ricardo — he who had said he would not be coming for some time — was riding toward me alone, without any escort. Atop a jet-black horse, his jet-black hair streaming behind him.

I went outside right then to meet him. The startled court attendants gave chase, but they could not keep up with my swift sprint.

Opening the door and stepping out, cold rainwater struck my face without mercy. Ricardo, seeing me breathe out a heated sigh, leaped from his horse and came running.

Like two people who had made a promise to meet, we wordlessly threw our arms around each other.

My warmth, my reason, and my home.

It was the beginning of the desert rainy season — when, for exactly one month each year, the rain falls as if to pierce the sky.

~End of Main Story~