“Is that true? To think that Mother has been found….”
Tetis shot to her feet, overturning the wine jar before her and spilling diluted wine. It was a rare display of excitement from one usually so composed.
The physician watched her reaction as he explained.
“Such rumors are circulating within the royal palace. Moreover, one of the heroes is said to have brought something believed to belong to the Queen.”
“What does His Majesty the King say? Has he sent a search party?”
“Well….”
The king had ignored it, pretending not to know. When someone requesting an audience brought earrings said to be the Queen’s as evidence, he threw them on the floor and screamed at them to remove them.
Publicly, she was known as missing, but in truth, the Queen was branded a criminal who had left the palace of her own accord. The king seemed greatly displeased that she was alive.
“Do not search for the Queen. Do not bring me any further news. The Queen is missing. Anyone who spreads baseless rumors shall have their tongue split in two and punished severely.”
Princess Tetis’s face hardened the moment she heard her father’s reaction. The other princesses, who had been watching her expression, could not hide their pity. It was the first they had heard that the Queen of Poseidonia was missing, and they never imagined such complicated circumstances existed.
Tetis broke the silence with a voice full of resolve.
“Lady Asteril.”
“Yes?”
“Amphitrite and I must return to our homeland.”
Her expression, fists clenched tight, was filled with rage. Amphitrite looked up at her older sister with worry. The girl’s sorrow-filled eyes rippled with anxiety.
“Please, help us.”
Though she addressed the plea to Asteril, it was in truth an appeal to Kalian.
But he made no response whatsoever.
He was not the king of a nation, but a Keton. Bitter as it was, human lives were not worth the time and deliberation for a Keton.
Hades was a kingdom of illusions. To him, this place was nothing more than a space to punish sinners and guard Asphodelos.
“Please help the princesses leave Lethe safely.”
Kalian leaned back against the couch, gazing at Asteril. In his half-lidded, downward-slanted gaze lingered the unspoken question, *Why should I?*
“You helped when Princess Leuke left before. Is it so difficult to lend your strength one more time?”
At her words, Tetis and Amphitrite waited nervously for an answer. Kalian, after a moment of thought, spoke.
“Then leave the physician behind.”
“What? W-why me….”
The physician looked as if struck by lightning. He quickly sent Asteril a pleading look.
“Send him along too. Truthfully, he is still an apprentice and does not appear to be of much use. It would be fortunate if his mistaken knowledge and incorrect treatments do not worsen the situation rather than help it. Is that not so, Physician?”
“What? Me? Ah…. Ah, yes. I have made so many mistakes with medicinal herbs that I nearly killed several people. My colleagues often suggest I quit being a healer and become a medicine merchant instead. I suppose I should. It truly does not suit me, haha….”
Kalian stared intently at the physician, then looked at Asteril. His eyes narrowed. Asteril quickly added,
“And if Lord Aris truly sets his mind to attacking me, neither a physician nor a healer could save me even if I fell ill. I was lucky this time.”
It was true. She was mortal. She could not withstand a Keton’s attack. She had been lucky—this time.
An unpleasant, suffocating feeling gripped his chest tightly.
Again, this unfamiliar sensation…. Was this what came with reaching maturity?
Meanwhile, who knew what Aris was doing, still wandering about the palace, wasting time. Surely he wasn’t really searching for the Cup of Lethe?
“But Lady Tetis, is it truly alright for you to return so suddenly?”
“Yes?”
“It may be presumptuous of me to interfere, but I wonder if the princesses are in a situation where you may return to your homeland….”
She worried that their homeland might not welcome them back. None of the princesses in the detached palace could have truly wished to come to Hades.
Nine times out of ten, they had likely fled, been driven out, or been abandoned.
“The reason we were sent to Hades is that we are princesses who could die without anyone caring.”
Leuke had been an abandoned princess. She had been cast out as if driven away.
Coincidentally, Tetis had also been thinking of Leuke at Asteril’s question. Perhaps because Leuke was the only princess who had left the detached palace of her own accord.
“Lady Asteril, do you remember what Lady Leuke said on the day we first met?”
“Let me see…. What words were those?”
“That all the princesses who came here did so of their own will….”
The atmosphere grew somber. Leuke, who had bitterly called herself a back-room princess, had said that the other princesses’ circumstances were not so different.
However, as far as Asteril knew, Tetis was the legitimate eldest daughter of the Poseidonian royal family. Unlike Leuke, she was not born to a concubine, and her erudition was the pride and honor of the royal house.
“Did you also come here of your own will, Lady Tetis?”
“I did. I had no other choice.”
“What circumstances could compel a princess of legitimate birth?”
Tetis smiled vaguely at Metea’s question.
“The state of Poseidonia’s affairs was chaotic. It was as if all the gods had turned their backs on us. And it felt as though it was all my fault….”
Tetis’s expression, unable to continue, darkened like clouds gathering.
The King, her father.
He was a presence for whom the word *ambivalence* was insufficient. Tetis stroked the back of Amphitrite’s hand, which she held tightly. Though she had countless half-siblings, the only flesh and blood she needed to protect was Amphitrite, whom she had brought here.
To the king, all his children were more or less the same. The only one he cared about was Prince Perius, the heir who would succeed the great lineage.
“Demeter is a matriarchal nation, is it not? Poseidonia is a country with strong patriarchal authority. They say it is due to the influence of the seafaring people who serve Pontos, ruler of the seas…. In any case, even as royalty, a princess is a being with little power, except when marrying into another nation.”
Poseidonia was a kingdom formed of a peninsula. Its capital was located at the southern tip, and legend had it that the plains were created when Pontos struck down with his spear. The soil was vast and fertile, and with ample sunlight and suitable water temperature, maritime resources were abundant as well—truly a blessing of the sea god.
Such ominous rumors began spreading in Poseidonia starting roughly forty years ago. The source of the rumors was a region called Nisa, reachable by riding northward from the capital for about a day.
Nisa was home to the highest mountain peak in Poseidonia. The rugged, rocky mountain formed cliffs of granite layered like crashing waves. Especially the valley visible from the summit was surrounded on all sides by precipices, carved so deep that its bottom could not be gauged.
An ancient altar, whose construction date was unknown, had stood atop the summit for as long as memory served. Blunt stone statues and a circular hearth built of stacked stones followed ancient forms whose origins were likewise untraceable.
The villagers at the foot of the mountain possessed a legend passed down from ancestors beyond counting. On days when fog hung thick over the black mountain valley, gods descended and held a forbidden festival. Some said they were beings exiled from the divine realm, others that they were a faction at odds with the other gods. In any case, they were not benevolent deities.
Thus, when crossing the mountain, the villagers avoided the valley path as much as possible. Even if it meant taking a longer route, they traveled along the ridgeline and circled around. It was to avoid incurring the wrath of the gods shrouded in darkness. Yet occasionally, ignorant outsiders would head toward the shadowed valley as if to boast of their courage.
“Tsk, tsk, they’ll be dragged to the underworld alive at this rate.”
Though such words were spoken often, deaths were rare, so the legend gradually came to be treated as idle gossip and, to the youth, a joke.
But at some point, people traveling through the valley path began disappearing one by one. Hunters who periodically entered the mountain also began giving strange testimony. They said sounds never heard before were coming from the valley.
They said it sounded like the cry of a beast, yet also like the scream of a human.
In any case, testimony poured forth that it was a blood-curdling sound, that it sent shivers down one’s spine.
As people continued to vanish in a region not far from the capital, the king belatedly issued a proclamation. He declared that whoever slew the monster of Nisa’s valley would be given the king’s daughter as a reward. Indeed, the prize was none other than Princess Tetis, the pride and glory of Poseidonia.
Heroes from across the nation flocked in. The sons of noble houses hastily hired famous mercenaries. They competed to raise the bounty, urging the mercenaries to bring the monster’s head. If they could but marry the princess, they would sell their estates to arrange the fee.
Was the formless monster not merely a rumor anyway? No one even knew if it truly existed. If there was no monster, one could simply catch a bear or wolf and be done with it. The heightened atmosphere was akin to a festival.
Unaware that Artemis, protectress of the hunt and maidens, looked on with a pitiful expression, the foolish ones blew horns and stirred up excitement.
An unprecedented crowd gathered at Nisa. The village below the mountain was packed to overflowing, so much so that people had to sleep on the roads atop blankets.
Famous heroes and mercenaries boasted of their exploits and rubbed oil all over their muscular bodies. The sidelong glances checking who used the better oil already revealed the heat of competition.
Gamblers wagered money, arguing over who would slay the monster and become the king’s son-in-law.
Before long, the point of debate blurred, shifting to whom Princess Tetis would choose as her husband. Conspiracy theories also circulated that the valley monster was a story invented by the king of Poseidonia to find a groom for the princess.
Only when the wine sent from the capital ran out and even the sacks of drink brought from nearby temples ran dry did the laughter of the eve’s festival subside.
Around dawn, those still half-drunk rose one by one with bleary eyes. As the heroes dressed, the villagers purified their sleeping places with salt water and hyssop. The women who had shared their beds also cleansed themselves.
Then the atmosphere abruptly turned solemn. Salt water and hyssop were methods normally used to purify a house of mourning.
The monster-slaying procession followed the form of an ekphora funeral procession. It was to commemorate the missing victims.
The heroes first offered a libation to Pontos, the sea god. They dyed the tips of sharp spears red with the blood of a pre-captured ox.
People loaded an empty coffin onto a cart drawn by a mule and cast white hydrangeas upon it.
The heroes, carrying blood-stained spears, began walking before the coffin. This signified that they would hold a funeral for the slain and seek revenge. Behind them followed a priest carrying a libation vessel. The remaining heroes followed the priest in a line, and finally aulos players came after.
The young ones clapped, thinking it fun, but the gazes of the old men born and raised here were not kind. They scoffed and said,
“We’ll have to prepare the threnos2).”
“We should keep the remaining salt water and hyssop as well. We’ll have use for them again soon enough.”
Had their words sown the seeds? Or was it the discernment of the long-lived?
A month passed. None of the heroes who had gone to catch the monster returned alive. Of the procession exceeding one hundred, the only one to return safely was the priest who had carried the libation vessel.
He confessed that he had turned back at the valley entrance. He said the god had whispered, *‘Bearer of the sacred vessel, close your eyes and turn around. And never return.’*
Meanwhile, the heroes who had arrived late and sat idly twiddling their thumbs snickered at the priest’s tale. They called him a coward making excuses and insulted the god he served. Intuiting that the vanguard had been annihilated, they banded together in groups of three and five.
The priest appealed, aggrieved.
“I heard the monster’s cry at the valley entrance. I do not know its true form, but it is undoubtedly a monstrosity crawled from the underworld. That howl that tore at the ears…. It was truly terrible. If you go, you will surely lose your lives. That land is cursed.”
Nevertheless, the second band sang as they headed into the mountains. They had no libation vessel to offer the god, no cart bearing a coffin, no aulos players as the splendidly departed vanguard had, but they would show them. They were confident they would be the ones to cut down the monster.
“We worship neither god nor the valley monster. Only the wealthy and beautiful Princess Tetis.”
A mercenary with a thick, bushy beard guffawed and shouted. In his hand was a spear the size of a wild boar. He boasted that he would invite everyone to the gamos3) he and Princess Tetis would hold. The gamblers frowned with bored expressions.
The priest cursed their retreating figures with contemptuous eyes. He threw maggots collected from graves onto the path they walked and sprinkled rotten blood from animal carcasses.
“You have blasphemed the gods, so even your souls shall suffer!”
Another month passed.
With no word from the second band either, the people’s hearts grew uneasy. The monster, witnessed by no one, grew ever more vividly described.
Its fangs became as large as houses, its claws larger than boulders; they said it lived in rivers, then in caves; its form changed more than twelve times a day.
One day, a young man shouted that they should go to the village temple. Everyone opened the doors adorned with moonflowers, took their children by the hand, and headed before the temple.
“The gods are angry and have cursed us.”
“We must hold a rite.”
The old men, who had been watching the situation with displeased eyes, finally spoke. They clicked their tongues, saying they had known this would happen.
“Why did you not tell us sooner?”
“We tried to. If only you hadn’t treated us like senile ghosts. Then all those souls might be singing the blessings of the Mother Goddess above ground instead of in the dark underworld about now. But you didn’t, did you? You said there was no need to listen to the opinions of old folk grown cowardly with age.”
The young men clamped their mouths shut. Their dissatisfied gazes crossed their arms as if to say they would at least listen. The fear gripping the village had swept away, like a clawing gale, the gentle customs and deference that had existed between generations.
Soon, the eldest-looking old man stepped forward. He rubbed his eyelids, drooped so low one could not tell if his eyes were open or closed. The voice from his aged vocal cords was perfectly suited to telling an ancient legend.
“This is likely a story even you born and raised here have never heard. That ominous valley was originally called Serpent Valley or Snake Valley. And the ancient altar on the mountaintop had a name as well. A name older than our village….”
Nisa was the oldest region in Poseidonia. It worshipped the oldest gods, and the oldest altar existed there. The ancients, seeing the black peak visible everywhere in Nisa perpetually wrapped in mist, believed that the god of darkness, death, and night slept in the deep mountain valley.
“In Nisa, the highest god was called Dios4). Later, Dios and Nisa combined to create the word Dionysa, and then Dionysos, which means the abode of the gods or the darkness of the gods.”
The land was sacred yet dangerous, worshipped as divine territory, and no one dared set foot in it. Even beasts avoided that land.
“But there is a reason that name was forgotten. Have any of you actually seen the altar on the summit? Almost none. The flame of the altar where the ancestors performed rites was extinguished long ago. The line of sacrificial rites was severed at some point. Offerings were naturally discontinued as well. The gods of Nisa are not benevolent. They are capricious and ominous. That is why the ancestors made offerings.”
“Then can’t we simply resume the rites?”
“And offer bountiful sacrifices as well.”
“Bounty is unnecessary. That is not what is important….”
The old man replied weakly. The priest, who had been listening quietly in the back, raised his hand and cried out,
“How about offering the goat raised at our temple? It is a male, very healthy and vigorous. The gods will surely be pleased.”
The old man shook his head again. Murmuring something incomprehensible.
“No, that is not it….”
Offering beasts as sacrifices was common. The gods enjoyed only the aroma of the meat, so when the rite ended, the slaughtered animal was shared and eaten by all.
Offering living beasts was also not uncommon. It was customary to offer pigs to the Mother Goddess and goats to the sea god, and usually the high priest or the king of a nation would cut the beast’s throat atop the altar. The blood flowing from the beast as it died was collected in a wine cup, a fragrant flame lit, and offered to the god.
“The offerings the ancestors made at the altar were not such things. They did not place the offering upon the altar, but over there….”
The old man narrowed his brow and pointed toward the summit with his finger. People’s gazes shifted to the dark cliff face.
“They pushed them off that precipice to kill them.”
Gasps of shock rang out. The sheer cliff was dizzying, enough to make one’s heart tremble just looking at it.
“Surely the offering…. Was it human?”
Someone broke the silence and asked. The old man nodded silently. Offering a living human as a sacrifice was a very ominous thing.
“The gods wanted only humans. Only living, breathing youths and maidens who screamed and wailed….”
As the old man muttered, everyone paled in terror. Even the frowning young men rubbed the backs of their necks and looked at one another. Cold sweat had already beaded on their chilled necks.
Since ancient times, Poseidonia had a custom of publicly executing criminals who committed grave crimes before the masses. The most common method was stoning. The criminal was stripped naked and bound at the city entrance, and the people threw prepared stones until the criminal lost consciousness.
The second method was to tie the criminal to a stake or tree and have them torn apart by beasts. When carried out at an execution ground, starving dogs were usually unleashed, but sometimes they were bound in forests or fields where wild beasts appeared.
The final method was reserved for special cases: dragging the criminal to a high mountain or cliff and throwing them off. This originated from the seafaring custom of offering sacrifices to quell the waves. They prayed the gods would calm their wrath.
At that very same time, the king of Poseidonia listened to a messenger’s report with a grave expression. The messenger he had sent was returning from meeting the oracle at Delphi.
The messenger read aloud the king’s question before the oracle. The oracle inhaled the smoke wafting from the temple floor and fell into a trance.
Receiving the divine prophecy, the oracle seated herself on a tall tripod chair and answered.
“Nisa is parched with thirst. Offer foul souls every month. The night of the valley shall grow darker and more shadowed. Only the sun shall protect you.”
The priests gathered at the royal palace put their heads together to interpret the prophecy. The priest of Nisa was summoned to the palace and spoke of the legends passed down in the village.
The priests reached a conclusion with dark expressions. The king, receiving the report, fell into deep thought.
What the gods wanted was a sacrifice—and one of sinful humans at that. Moreover, the statement that the valley’s night would grow darker meant that the land was the dwelling of a god of darkness.
Two days later, the king of Poseidonia named Nisa’s valley the Gorge of Death. He also announced that criminals would be sent there every month.
He added that this was not human sacrifice, but merely the punishment of criminals who had committed grave crimes. He proclaimed that if the god of Nisa showed mercy and spared the criminal’s life, the criminal would be released without further punishment.
The tales of Nisa’s gods and the sacrifices concerning them captivated the people of Poseidonia instantly. The very subject of sacrificial victims was exciting, and to be able to witness the final moments of criminals falling from a cliff was truly a stimulating diversion from tedious daily life.
Whenever an execution was carried out, Nisa’s mountaintop was so packed with crowds one could not find a foothold. The criminal, both hands tightly bound with wet leather straps, stood at the cliff’s edge, sobbing and pleading.
“Sob…. P-please save me! I have not committed a crime worthy of death. I merely could not repay my debts. Surely that is not a grave crime demanding my life as payment?”
“Silence.”
The high priest spoke with displeasure. But the man did not stop his appeal.
“Y-Your Holiness! I did not refuse to pay my debts on purpose. This year the barley crop failed…. Do you not know? The earth goddess has left her post and all the wells have run dry. What could I do? Is it not custom to defer all debts until the next rainy season during a drought? I will atone through labor. Make me a servant of the temple instead. Your Holiness…. Please, spare me.”
The man sank to his knees and burst into tears. Then he looked at the crowd with a face consumed by despair. Those whose hearts were troubled could not hide their pity.
Though none could speak, terror suddenly assailed them. Might not I, or my family, or my neighbor stand in that place next?
The king and the high priest made the final decision on who would be offered as sacrifice. At first, criminals who had committed heavy crimes such as murder or rape were chosen. But the pace of monthly executions was too swift. The number of criminals worthy of sacrifice dwindled in an instant, and since someone had to be sacrificed periodically regardless, those who had committed relatively lighter crimes such as theft or fraud gradually began to be sent to the altar.
Cases of unjust circumstances like the man’s began to pour forth as well. The families of criminals slated for sacrifice appealed to the king. Naturally, they were not heard. They rushed to the Great Temple atop the capital’s hill where the high priest resided. They pounded on the heavy doors all night, but all they received in return were coarse curses and beatings.
Driven to despair, they gathered weapons and tools and headed for Nisa’s black mountain. They pooled what little money they had and recruited local ruffians. They intended to raid the altar and rescue the criminals. But there was no way they could defeat armed soldiers.
Those who did not return left behind empty houses and orphans everywhere.
Those who lost family and neighbors were consumed by rage. They could not comprehend how this was the path to appeasing the gods’ anger.
“This is all because of Princess Tetis.”
Unable to blame the gods or the king, their resentment fixed on an absurd target. The king’s proclamation to give his daughter to the one who slew the monster was distorted as the princess’s own will to take the monster-slayer as her husband, and even that was not enough—she came to be seen as the root cause of all this misfortune.
Princess Tetis, once the pride of the royal family and the kingdom, was rumored to know nothing of the outside world and to possess a hideous appearance, using the monster as an excuse to delay marriage. To make matters worse, even the Queen, who had vanished after suffering from a chronic illness long ago, came under fire.
The Queen, who until now had been an object of misfortune and pity, became the subject of absurd rumors: that she had actually committed an impious act and fled the palace, and that as a result she had been cursed by the sea god and turned into a sow, or transformed into a cow.
Impure rumors and slander filled with malice finally crashed into the royal palace itself. The tongues were so loose that even she, who stayed only within the palace, sensed something strange. Perhaps she had not.
Were they dissatisfied with the princess who spent all day studying and discussing relics and ruins with the record-keepers? The nation was in an uproar, yet the very person at the center of it remained peaceful and unaware—how tedious a development was that?
They had servants spew all manner of vile rumors before the princess.
The circumstances of the unjust criminals, the people enraged by them, the criticism of the irresponsible princess, the rumors about the missing Queen, and amidst it all, the daily life of His Majesty the King, who threw aside state affairs to frolic with concubines in the detached palace.
Having overheard all of this, Tetis wordlessly headed for her chambers. She maintained a calm demeanor, but her steps gradually quickened.
She was not an irresponsible princess. Her mother the Queen had done nothing immoral either.
The thoughtless king had ignored his first wife since youth to toy with young concubines, while the Queen held her broken heart and blamed herself all her life.
“It is because I have grown old and my beauty has faded. That is why His Majesty’s heart drifted away. He was not like this at first. You do not know how tender he was in those days when he promised me a lifetime.”
The Queen spoke only of bygone days. She refused to hear anything of the present, plugging her ears. Reality was too cruel; the Queen, already broken somewhere deep in her heart, could not bear it.
Watching her, Tethys embraced her mother’s shoulders and wept in her stead.
Did you truly believe those words of His Majesty? That promise more fleeting and fickle than a flower that blooms and withers in a single season….
She begged her mother to leave the palace and live with her. But it was no use. To the Queen, the King was irreplaceable. Her mother loved him so deeply that not even her daughter could sway her. To young Tethys, that was an immense sorrow.
“It is because I have grown old and ugly. If I could become young and beautiful again, as I once was, then everything would return to me. If only I could be beautiful again….”
To win back the King’s heart, the Queen began seeking forbidden rituals, sorceries, and medicinal ingredients. She muttered that she had heard somewhere of people who had restored their youth and beauty.
She secretly gathered and tried legends and folk remedies from across the kingdom. But misguided knowledge stripped away even her remaining beauty, causing all manner of side effects.
At times, the Queen would scream and claw at her own face, then collapse to the floor, sobbing. Each time Tethys witnessed this, she felt her heart harden like stone.
Love was infinitely wretched. It was a truth she had learned at far too young an age.
Then one day, the Queen—who had been living shut away in the deepest reaches of the palace, receiving no one—vanished without a trace.
Before leaving, the Queen secretly visited Tethys’s chamber. She seized her daughter’s shoulders, still dazed with sleep, and fired off words like a volley of arrows.
“Do not look for me. Unless I come for you, live as though I never existed. Tethys, you are wise, as your name suggests. The fortune-teller said a glory dazzling as the Spear of Pontos lies in your future. A mother like me would only bring you harm. I beg you, keep all of this secret from Ampia.”
The next day, Tethys wept bitterly, biting down until her teeth ached. The Queen had disappeared, and no one—not even the King—searched for her. Rather, the concubines cackled, embracing one another and saying that the burdensome old first wife had disappeared of her own accord.
Foolish mother, making things easier for His Majesty to the very last. Should I have held you back? Should I have clung to you and begged you not to go?
But she could not.
She hated her mother for casting aside her duties as Queen and mother, chasing only her own desire. She resented her for failing to endure, for losing her mind.
Yet she pitied her, too. Perhaps it was better to leave the palace than to go mad like that.
Compassion and anger turned inward. If her father and mother both lived that way, why should she alone be bound by duty?
In that moment, her younger sister grabbed hold of her hem. Round eyes looked up at her, anxious. Unlike her, Ampia—barely fourteen—could not survive outside the palace.
It was around that time that the allied forces decided to send the princesses of each kingdom to Hades.
For the first time in her life, Tethys prostrated herself before the King and pleaded.
“I humbly beg you, please send me and Amphitrite to Hades.”
Ψ
After sending all the princesses back to their chambers, Calian brought Asteril back to the main palace. As they returned upon the wind, the Himeroi raised their voices in song, overjoyed.
Calian glared at them, telling them they were noisy, but they paid him no heed. The Himeroi, said to have aged alongside the Palace of Lethe, were as sly as old men who had seen all the world had to offer.
They were mischievous beings, but Asteril did not entirely dislike them. Perhaps because her philosophy was that anything overly beautiful carried poison.
Calian removed Asteril’s clothes and laid her down on the bed. A pure white blanket coiled around her body like a vine. Feeling the cotton’s uniquely soft texture, Asteril smiled at the corners of her lips.
“You will send Princess Tethys and Princess Amphitrite, won’t you?”
“If you wish it.”
Calian answered as he undressed. Not *if they wish it*, but *if you wish it*.
Such answers made her heart race.
“Were you very worried about me?”
“….”
“The princesses were quite surprised as well.”
A question lingered in his fleeting gaze.
“Not because of me, but because of you. Surely no one could have imagined that the King of Hades would go all the way to Poseidonia to kidnap a physician.”
Calian climbed onto the bed and lowered himself over Asteril.
“What of you? Did you also never imagine I would do such a thing?”
Asteril’s eyes grew round, then her lips slowly parted into a broad smile.
“I wonder.”
At the sound of her laughter, Calian leaned back from the playful posture he had assumed over her.
He reached out and embraced Asteril’s waist beneath the blanket. The warmth pressing against his shoulder and chest erased the unpleasant sensation lingering in his veins. Remarkably so.
“Are you anxious?”
Anxious… me?
“Don’t worry. Even if I am hurt, I heal quickly.”
Calian was momentarily at a loss for words at Asteril’s confident declaration. By the standards of a Keton, healing quickly meant that even if an arm were severed, it would reattach perfectly within a day at most.
As if piercing through his thoughts, she added softly.
“For a human, I mean.”
“You are….”
Calian ran his fingers through Asteril’s hair as if combing it, then gathered it in his hand.
“Too frail.”
“I am a mortal being, after all.”
Silence flowed for a moment. Their breath grew heavy like a river passing between them. Calian was the first to speak.
“What must I do for you?”
“Just….”
Wordlessly, she rested her head against his chest.
“Just stay like this.”
“….”
“Do you know? Even if something like this happens again—even if my bones break and my flesh chars black—I will never leave your side.”
She had realized it the moment she was attacked by Aris. That her love for him surpassed even her fear of death.
“The sages said so. That no life can be as cruel as death.”
Perhaps they all knew it too, yet went about saying so. For death was the only thing with which to threaten those living lives worse than beasts.
“But my life… my life has been quite cruel. I couldn’t tell anyone, afraid it would sound like the complaints of the privileged. Paradoxically, the God of Fate has always been kind to me. He would cast me into despair, then bestow upon me a precious reward without fail. Even if it was transient, even if it was in truth another harsh burden, I believed it a blessing. Because everyone around me envied me and said this.”
“You are a child who has received more than any of us the blessing and love of the Nameless God.”
It was not the Nameless God’s love that I wanted. Not a love existing only in ideals, not cheers and applause that vanish like a mirage….
“Surely the God of Fate would not claim even you? You are a god, aren’t you? This cannot be a reward. I have never accomplished anything great enough to deserve you as a gift. Therefore, this must be fate. My life has been cruel until now because no reward has ever filled my heart so completely, and so….”
It had to be fate.
At times she laughed like that, self-mockingly, and it looked terribly sorrowful. She spoke like a fatalist, yet her eyes were empty, as if she believed in nothing. Like an old man exhausted to the bone by fortune and fate.
“Why do humans regard death as cruel?”
He suddenly found her thoughts curious.
“It is the end of all things, so it is cruel. People often choose death when they are at the very bottom of the swamp of despair, unable to become any more wretched.”
“Why is despair wretched?”
“Is it not because one can no longer harbor hope? Life gains meaning in its continuity only when there is hope.”
“Without hope, is there no meaning?”
“Without hope, that life would be hollow. Who would wish to continue such empty hours? What meaning can be given to fleeting time?”
“Then the life of a Keton is meaningless.”
Lying obliquely on the bed, caressing her bare shoulder, Calian pondered for a moment and then continued.
“Ketons are born from darkness and live within darkness. Darkness is void itself. It devours all but can expel nothing, a silence of nothing but annihilation. Thus the life of a Keton is void itself. Time cannot hold meaning for us, and so we despair; and so we are wretched; and so we are cruel.”
It was the first time she had seen him speak at such length. To say immortality is cruel… she could not refute it. She had never lived an immortal life, after all.
Asteril clasped and fidgeted with her hands.
In truth, from the moment priests dedicate their lives to the temple, they are educated with unwavering consistency.
That life is a blessing in and of itself.
Their mission was to deliver hope to the people floundering in the abyss of despair.
Whether it was true or false mattered little.
Is that not the nature of a god? Like a paradise beyond the mist, its very existence holds meaning.
Priests were beings who validated the validity of such gods, and as their agents performed miracles, serving as signposts that cast thin rays of light upon their harsh lives.
Reality is absurd, contradictory, and filled with heavy burdens and suffering; therefore, priests had to know how to look after the people at the boundary between life and death.
That is the role of a god. But since gods do not easily manifest, it fell to them to step forward.
Asteril burrowed into Calian’s embrace. Painful memories surged to the surface as if thrashing.
The groans of those stricken by disease, corpses swarming with flies, a city filled with wailing and grief. Hands gathering at her feet, begging to be saved.
Humans were weak beings who, after clinging and weeping, would turn to resentment as if to kill. *I asked you to save me—why couldn’t you save me? I asked you to heal me—why am I not healed?* It was as easy as turning over one’s hand for an object of worship to become an object of curse.
Princess Tethys had been such a case as well. Only, she had heard of it from deep within the palace, while Asteril had experienced it with her whole body.
The faithful worshipped her, yet to her, they were like awls picking at festering wounds. Like shadows she wished to shake off, clinging persistently to her feet….
Calian gazed at the round forehead pressing against his lips. Asteril was biting her lip hard, her jaw tense.
“As time passes and my hair turns white with age, will I be able to forget? They say oblivion is the greatest blessing granted by the gods…. Yet my shabby, patchwork memories seem beyond even the gods’ reach. The more time flows, the clearer my suffering becomes, like murky water clearing.”
She, too, had wanted to cling to someone. To someone she could hold like a sponge soaked through with water, having let everything go.
“So don’t say such things. That your life is nothing but void.”
Calian looked down at her with narrowed eyes.
Asteril, burying her nose in his collarbone, mumbled and continued.
“You have me.”
“….”
“Gods radiate brilliance by their very nature, but priests must strain and strive to become beings that shine. Like candles that burn their own bodies to illuminate the darkness…. That is why there is one thing we do well. Absorbing another’s darkness in their stead.”
“….”
“Each time our flesh presses together like this, I….”
She paused, then raised her head as if seeking confirmation and asked.
“Surely it is not just me?”
“….”
“Each time I am held in your arms, I feel as though the most beautiful sandcastle in the world is crumbling above my head. To the point that my chest surges so wildly….”
Countless people had told her. Priest Asteril, you are light and salt, the sole star that illuminates the darkness. Only now could she understand their words a little.
Calian. Only after meeting him did she understand what radiance in darkness was—she too, she too finally….
“In the night sky flows the Milky Way, the udder of the Nameless God. Even the darkness-drenched earth has night insects crying out to find their mates. Just because something is unseen does not mean it does not exist, does it? Have you ever heard the sound of waves in the night sea? They say it is the sound of mermaids soothing their babies. *Hush, hush.* Night is the time that grants living things rest.”
Calian tipped Asteril’s body backward. His amethyst pupils dropped their gaze onto her pale nakedness.
“Are you an orator?”
“Closer to a sophist, I should think. I am a priest, after all. The words of a god ought to be inherently beyond interpretation.”
She smiled cleverly.
Calian slowly lowered his eyelids halfway.
Asteril wrapped herself around his waist.
When her body heat and his cold temperature mingled to become a suitable warmth, a deep sleep would come upon her like a lie.
“When you are with me, you do not look empty at all. Because that is how I look at you.”
Even he, who was called a god, found her words difficult to understand. He listened and thought for a long while, yet struggled to find a part he could agree with.
Yet the way she gazed at him pierced his heart strangely, as if driven deep into it.
Perhaps that was what she intended. Not to listen to mere sophistry, but to look at the truth within her pupils.
Calian’s lips descended like a feather and covered hers.
He leaned down, eyes closed, and whispered low.
“You are arrogant.”
To think you would dare become light to a Keton, born from the primordial darkness of Erebus.
“My words must sound full of contradictions?”
“You know yourself well.”
“Do you know why they sound that way?”
“Because you are a sophist?”
Asteril poked the back of Calian’s hand.
Her expression turned sulky, as if that were not the answer she wanted.
“From the start, they say a priest’s power is less than a god’s statue erected upon a humble altar. However ornate the scabbard, it cannot be grander than the sword. Yet the power wielded by a single priest at times transcends imagination. The deeper the faithful’s belief, the more a priest comes to possess the power of a hierophant.”
Calian, who had been listening quietly, narrowed his brow. He had the feeling he was about to hear another paradoxical conclusion.
“Cal, I am pointing out that your faith and devotion are lacking.”
His eyes widened as if loosening. The man, who rarely changed expression, looked bewildered.
He was a Keton.
A child of Uranus, chief of the clan, and Ananke, who governs fate; he had been a special existence from birth.
Before reaching adulthood, he had exceptionally taken on the weighty duty of guardian of Asphodelos, and none within the clan were ignorant of his abilities.
Put in human terms, he was a god among gods.
Such a one as I….
“What in the world am I to have faith and devotion in?”
“Me.”
Asteril sat up with a start and smiled, dimples forming.
Her long hair spilled over her shoulders like a black curtain.
When she smiled like that, she looked infinitely lovely. So much so that for an instant, his hand lost its reason and swam toward her round breasts.
Perhaps she knew this fact as well and wielded it like a weapon.
“Because doubt remains in your heart toward me, my words keep sounding negative. It is the same logic as lazy farmers blaming the gods when their crops wither and die.”
Calian made a blank expression, then leaned back as if telling her to continue.
He had roughly listened, but the crux was that she found it vexing that he harbored doubts about his feelings for her. Vexing, of all things.
“So, you are….”
His lover before him seemed to harbor ambitions, or rather, brazen thoughts.
“Are you saying you will make me your believer?”
“Something like that.”
Asteril nodded, as if to say yes. The mere thought seemed to improve her mood, for she smiled with flushed cheeks.
“To be honest… I wish you would worship me even more than my faithful do.”
Calian looked at her as if at a loss for words. This time, he looked not at her lips but at her pupils.
He had sensed it from their first meeting, but it was a remarkably transparent desire. She was truly an honest woman.
Within her pupils, he saw a wick burning more fiercely than the flames of Hestia. It was much like the day she had vowed to save Asphodelos.
“I am endlessly curious about you.”
She was an indecipherable subject. Her value and meaning could no longer be explained by any words.
“Yet you will hardly be able to endure even my small curiosity.”
She did not know. How anxious he was each time he joined his body with hers. Would she know the feeling of being unable to relax, every nerve taut, for fear he might accidentally hurt her?
If he were to put too much strength into her wrist, her bones would break; if he lost his reason to pleasure and thrust his hips, her insides would rupture and she would die instantly.
Her flesh was more easily torn than a butterfly’s thin wings. A momentary lapse of reason would bring irreversible consequences.
Even as he leaned back in ecstasy, he would press his hand against the floor with crushing force.
Even afterward, he clenched his teeth to keep from collapsing on top of her.
He could hardly explain how he managed it each time. Every moment was precarious. Even so, he continued to want her.
Her soft body blooming lusciously beneath each of his touches, her fragrant lips, her sweet breasts.
He wanted to bury his desire all day long in that tender skin, which would quickly become tattered with the slightest suckling, but he knew her body would not survive it.
Could she know how much he wanted her? He himself did not know….
She did not yet know darkness. True darkness is unaffected by the presence or absence of light.
All desire of a Keton is darkness, and darkness is chaos itself. We release our urges by destroying what we hold in our hands.
Could you truly endure it?
He was at his limit now. How long could he maintain this precarious line? Could he truly endure without breaking her?
Ψ
Aris glared intently at the top of the city gate. He had been doing so for an hour already. Two black panthers faced each other, tails intertwined, as if mocking him.
Rising tall in their midst, the marble column was elegant enough to be called divine. Much like the one who had stolen his heart.
From beyond the head of the brooding man, the sound of whispered conversation reached him.
“Those panther statues.”
– Panther statues? Ah, those?
“They resemble our Rhea.”
The voice came from the other side of the gate. Aris immediately recognized its owner and made a fierce expression.
Why did that human woman always appear and cause a disturbance whenever he was seriously pondering something?
– Who’s Rhea?
The North Wind, perched on Asteril’s shoulder, asked in an innocent tone.
“My comrade in Cocytus.”
– Ah, the West Wind, was it? Is that friend’s name Rhea?
“The West Wind is a spirit of the wind. A spirit without a physical form, like you.”
– Yes, that’s right.
He sometimes lost focus and uttered such nonsense. It was a real mystery whether he did it on purpose.
“Rhea is the name of a black panther raised at the Cocytus temple. It resembles those statues.”
– Ah.
The North Wind pretended to know, looking sheepish.
“Panthers are sacred animals. It is said they transcend space and time through the power of the sun.”
– I’ve never heard that.
“You didn’t even know about the West Wind. Who are you to claim you know so much?”
– What? Then does the West Wind not know me?
“The West Wind knows nothing of all things under heaven.”
– So does he know me?
“Just because he knows all things under heaven does not mean he must know you.”
– Why? Am I not included among all things under heaven?
“You might not be. Lethe is a place like a mirage. And you are the wind spirit who guards this place.”
The North Wind suddenly became displeased. It was a logic that somehow made sense at first, yet felt offensive once heard in full. But what vexed him most was that he could find no point to refute.
– Come to think of it, Princess of the Southern Kingdom… you seem to have a natural talent for taming things. Especially savage, willful things, for example….
“Beasts?”
– No, not beasts.
“Then what?”
– See, I’m like that, and the Lord of Lethe is also….
The North Wind, about to answer as if entranced, hastily came to his senses and shut his mouth.
That both he and the ruler of Lethe were somehow dragged about by her, unable to move, at a single word from her.
He had nearly answered so. If he had, the Himeroi secretly listening with their ears pressed to the air would nod in agreement and report to Lord Calian.
*‘Great Ruler of Lethe, listen. The breath of the northern heavens—why, it scoffs that the Lord has been tamed like the Princess’s dog.’*
They would have sung and cackled for days on end in that grating tone. Then I would get caught and spanked with my bottom bared, wailing again. Ugh, it made him shudder just thinking about it.
Fortunately, Asteril did not seem particularly interested in the North Wind’s muttering.
“But that stone cup… it’s carved from the Cup of Oblivion, isn’t it?”
She asked, squinting her eyes and gazing intently at the top of the column.
The North Wind started at the words “Cup of Oblivion” and asked in return,
– Princess, how do you know that? Did the Ruler of Lethe let it slip?
“No.”
Near Lethe, there were things with mouths as loose as their own flatulence. The Himeroi were one such example; the golden reeds at the crossroads leading to the River Styx were another.
Which loose tongue had been chattering again?
The North Wind showed displeasure, not knowing that his own backside was the lightest of them all.
– Remarkable, Princess. You could now be called the Princess of the Western Kingdom rather than the Southern Kingdom. It seems you know more of Lethe than Demeter.
“So… where is that Cup of Oblivion?”
– You need not know that far. It is not knowledge but taboo. Knowing taboos is not knowledge.
“Even a taboo becomes knowledge if put to good use. That is what people call wisdom.”
The North Wind rolled his eyes.
– If you learn that, you may become unable to leave Lethe.
“Why?”
– Because knowing a taboo is a shackle. Look at those bound to Lethe. Are they not all connected to something forbidden? Taboos are by their very nature threatening and destructive.
“What of you? What taboo are you connected to, that you remain here?”
When Asteril asked abruptly, the North Wind hesitated, flustered.
“What are you guarding here?”
– ….
“It is well known that wind spirits serve as gatekeepers. So don’t evade the question and speak freely.”
Telling me to speak freely while pressing me without pause. You are steadily accumulating the qualities of a Despoina, aren’t you?
– Not all wind spirits are gatekeepers. Only very exceptional spirits can be.
“Yes, I know. Then is the Cup of Oblivion what you, in your exceptionalism, are guarding?”
The North Wind was aghast.
Had Cypress, who did nothing but weep all day, suddenly learned to speak? How did this princess, here only a few months, know all of this?
He soon gave up with a sigh and muttered,
– Yes.
“How nice that you answer so obediently?”
– You are the Despoina of Lethe. Sooner or later, you would learn of it anyway. That is why I am telling you.
“I see. But why are you guarding the Cup of Oblivion?”
The North Wind answered in a gloomy tone.
– The Cup of Oblivion holds a mysterious power. Its maker hid it away tightly so that this power would not be abused.
“I see.”
– That is how it is.
“Then must you guard the Cup of Oblivion here forever?”
– Yes.
“What sin did you commit to receive such punishment?”
– Sin? Not at all. I volunteered to become the gatekeeper. I wished to be of help to the one I admire.
“The one you admire?”
– Princess of the Southern Kingdom, in fact, I have thought this since I first saw you. You remind me exactly of the one I admire. Your appearance is not particularly similar, so why do I think of her every time I see you?
“Could the one you admire be Gaia?”
At the voice that butted in out of nowhere, Asteril and the North Wind looked up in surprise.
Aris, who had been standing behind the black panther statue, leaped down in front of them.
“Gaia of the Earth made the Cup of Oblivion. Speak, Nodos. Did you become the gatekeeper of this place for Gaia?”
The North Wind flinched and cowered each time Aris called him “Nodos.”
– Y-yes, that is correct, but….
“Good. Now that I’ve found the gatekeeper, this will be easy. Now, hand over the Cup of Oblivion. It is needed at once.”
– I apologize, but that is impossible.
“Impossible? Who are you to speak of impossibility to me?”
I can only reveal the location of the Cup of Oblivion before the successor of the Cup acknowledged by Lady Gaia. I cannot stop those who already know the Cup’s location, but I cannot teach it to any other being.
Aris glared at the North Wind in silence.
“I heard the wind spirits are first-rate gatekeepers, but at the end of the day, you’re still just the Breath of the North Heaven?”
The heaviest breath among the wind spirits is this very me, Nodos.
Asteril nearly burst into laughter. Aris, too, wore an expression of dumbfounded speechlessness.
“I am the guardian of Hestia. It was also Lady Gaia who created Hestia. We both serve Gaia’s will. I am telling you that you need not be wary of me. Do you not know I haven’t come to steal or destroy the Cup of Oblivion? I will use it just once and return it properly to its place.”
I cannot. I am the Breath of the North Heaven, thoroughly obtuse and sealed tight at both ends. Rather, it would be faster to lie down in the snowy fields and wait for your back to warm up.
The corners of Aris’s eyes reddened as his patience reached its limit. Sparks like embers crackled and jumped from his hand.
“Then what about finding it myself?”
When Asteril abruptly asked, the North Wind glanced sideways and fell silent.
“Is it fine for me to find the Cup’s location on my own without asking you and use it?”
That is…
“You said so yourself earlier. That you cannot stop even those who already know the location.”
“That means there is another who knows the location besides me. It doesn’t seem to be Kalian… Who is it?”
I d-don’t know.
When the two pressed him together as if in a pincer attack, the North Wind showed signs of panic. He quickly turned around. His habit of fleeing first when things looked unfavorable had surfaced. The fellow shot away to the far side of the sky in an instant. It was a speed even Gale, the loyal servant of Uranus, would admire.
Aris clicked his tongue.
Where in the world had they brought such a cowardly fellow to be a gatekeeper? Anyway, Gaia was too soft-hearted here and there, which was the problem.
“Then let us go find the Cup of Oblivion.”
As Asteril took the lead with a matter-of-fact attitude, Aris’s eyes widened.
“I am the one finding the Cup of Oblivion. What business is it of yours to interfere?”
“I am trying to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like the reason you are searching for the Cup of Oblivion.”
“Like… What? You know what my reason is?”
“The Cup of Oblivion is a tool that lets you forget something, is it not? I reckon the reason you are searching for it is probably because of Kalian, is it not?”
Aris frowned silently. At least when cornered, the North Wind would flee; what did this girl trust in to answer back so bluntly?
“The reason you regard me as a thorn in your eye every time is because of my lover, yet you intend to forget this on your own accord—there could be nothing more pleasing than this. Thus, I shall do my utmost to help you.”
She was originally accustomed to dealing with those who threw tantrums. More than half of the worshippers who came to the temple were tantrum-throwers, filled with those who came looking for an outlet for their anger.
The most important thing when dealing with tantrum-throwers was not losing one’s reason. It was important to seize the upper hand with a consistent attitude.
Ah, she mustn’t forget the soft whip. She had to break their spirit with a killingly sharp remark as if lashing at the opponent’s vital spot, so that they lost their fighting spirit and became easier to handle.
Asteril smiled, forming dimples. Aris’s answer wasn’t important anyway, nor was there any need to hear it.
Look at that—unable to even think of answering, standing there blankly with his mouth agape, was he not?
At her appearance taking the lead as if telling him to follow, Aris hesitated and followed behind.
“Good grief, honestly.”
To think that he, child of Pontus and guardian of Hestia, was meekly obeying the words of such an arrogant woman.
“And what is that?”
Asteril, who had headed to the detached palace, took out a bizarre object from her quarters.
“It is the three-faced statue of Kore. It is made of Asphodel.”
Kore meant maiden. Aris formed an expression with his eyes saying, *So?* Asteril took a deep breath to continue her explanation.
“Near the Grand Temple of Cocytus where I was, there is an ancient temple that enshrined an ancient god. You probably will not know even if you hear it, but it is the temple of a god called Chronos.”
“Chro… what?”
“Fortunately, the temple’s state of preservation was good, so the entrance and the central part of the altar remained perfectly intact. On both sides of the entrance were statues carved of granite—precisely two black panthers.”
Aris was so incredulous that he tried to say something but was at a loss for words. So… what kind of god was Chronos?
Asteril, who had been looking this way expressionlessly, smiled gently when her eyes met his.
“Chronos is the god of time. The ancient sages called black beasts existences that transcend the permanence of spacetime. Black panthers, black cats, crows, and so on.”
*Did I ask out loud? I didn’t… What, can that girl read minds? There’s no way a mere human would have such a talent.*
An indescribable sense of shame reared its head. It felt as if she were staring into his innermost thoughts while smiling.
That human woman somehow resembled Lady Ananke. No, it felt as if Lady Ananke and Lady Gaia had been mixed together.
Outside, Lady Gaia; inside, Lady Ananke.
The feeling of attacking the opponent’s vital spot while smiling gently? Good heavens, it was the worst possible combination.
“Do you see that among the maidens with three faces here, one has a panther upon her head?”
“Yes, I see it.”
Aris listened with eyes full of doubt.
A god of time? There was no Keton with such an ability. Not even the greatest Keton, Ojwa, possessed the ability to control time.
It must be a fictional god born from human imagination.
Even as he concluded so, he could not tear his gaze from the three-faced statue of Kore in Asteril’s hand. Was that really a wooden statue made of Asphodel?
The maiden with the panther on her head had two snakes coiled around both her hands.
“The two snakes mean death and resurrection, eternal life.”
Having a panther on one’s head meant inheriting the panther, and since the panther was Chronos’s totem, it could also be interpreted as following the god Chronos.
Asteril looked at the maiden of the three-faced statue given by Leuke and thought of it every night. In each region of Demeter, too, Kore had been worshipped as a folk belief since ancient times.
Some priests of Demeter claimed that Kore was a transformed aspect of the Mother Goddess. Since it was such a minority opinion, Asteril had not paid much attention to their view, but thinking quietly in Lethe where there was nothing to do, it was not such an outlandish claim.
Perhaps the maiden of the three-faced statue, regarded as the Mother Goddess in the East, was the same deity as Kore? One could not rule out the possibility that the same god was worshipped by different names in the East and the West.
If so, the Cup of Oblivion created by Gaia might be an offering to the god Chronos, or it might be related to his symbol.
“Other totems symbolizing Chronos’s permanence are the sun and water.”
“So what of it? My head hurts, so just tell me the conclusion.”
Asteril sighed. It seemed not all Ketons had sharp minds. Truly a human-like, human-like Keton.
“A giant stone bowl guarded by two panthers seems to be dedicated to the god Chronos, so I mean that using the sun and water, totems of Chronos, we might be able to find the Cup of Oblivion.”
The Cup of Oblivion placed atop a marble column was located so high that one could not see it properly even if one tilted one’s head back with all one’s might.
Asteril looked up at the high sky and made a request.
“Sir Aris, please fetch a large jar full of spring water. I believe the sun will soon pass directly overhead.”
Without a word of complaint, Aris returned with a clay jar about chest-height to Asteril filled to the brim with water. Then he lightly hoisted it onto his shoulder and leaped up onto the column.
“I just pour it in here?”
“Yes. Please fill it completely.”
He poured the water from the jar into the stone bowl. As the gushing water filled the bowl, suddenly the stone bowl began to tilt askew.
The stone made a grinding sound as it scraped the ground. As the bowl tilted at an angle, the water contained within began to trickle downward.
As the pivot formed an obtuse angle, the water on the bowl’s surface reflected the sunlight like a mirror. The reflected sunlight shot out at an angle toward the horizon.
Asteril’s and Aris’s gazes followed the beam of light as if chasing a shot arrow.
“Over there?”
With an impatient heart, Aris moved with Asteril on his shoulder. Unlike Kalian, who moved riding the wind, his specialty was moving by stepping on the ground and leaping across vast distances.
Until recently, he had been a man who tried to kill her. But strangely, she did not feel afraid. At the sight of Aris desperately trying to find the Cup of Oblivion, pity rather began to bloom inside her.
Asteril shook her head and forced herself to look straight ahead.
Compassion was something one had only for those they could do something for. Exclusive pity was merely hypocrisy.
The point that the light reflected by the stone bowl indicated exactly was a spring located in the middle of the Himeros flower field. Aris caressed the ash tree casting shade over the spring and muttered.
“So where is the Cup of Oblivion…?”
“Here.”
Asteril, who had been looking at a large boulder, called out to Aris. She seemed to have found something. Aris looked at her in surprise.
She was a woman with outstanding observational skills. She also seemed born with a talent for sensing things.
Whenever she looked into him with jet-black eyes like grapes, he felt strange. For a mere, insignificant human to dare try to pierce through his inner thoughts was quite vexing. He sometimes felt as if she were actually reading him.
“What is this?”
A single character was engraved where she pointed. It was in the shape of two funnel-like lines converging into one at the bottom.
“In the ancient language, it is the twentieth and final letter, read as Upsilon (Υ). It is a logogram meaning the end, death, termination, and so on. Some interpret it as a snake with two heads. It is also said to be a character symbolizing a woman’s secret parts. Since it also means death and resurrection, it also implies a new beginning or eternal life.”
Aris stared at Asteril and then made an expression of surprise.
“How do you know all these things?”
“….”
“No, I am asking because it is truly a bit amazing.”
“I am the High Priestess. Studying and interpreting these things is my job.”
Asteril was about to add that she was the most popular and outstanding figure among Demeter’s High Priestesses, but stopped. Showing off only worked on those it would work on.
“Anyway, well done. Now it is my turn.”
Aris began pushing the boulder with one hand. Asteril watched carefully beneath the boulder as it moved with a heavy noise.
It was a hole.
It was large enough for a robust man to enter and exit. She knelt on the ground and poked her head into the hole entrance.
As her vision adjusted to the darkness, stone steps densely laid from the entrance became visible. Seeing the moss thickly covering them, it seemed there had been no entry or exit for quite a long time.
“An underground cave.”
A sound of water wrapped around Aris’s voice. The damp air was soaked with moisture, and the cave’s characteristic smell of water also wafted.
Without hesitation, Aris slid down the stone steps. Having grasped the space in an instant, he leaped from midway and landed lightly on the floor.
She sometimes wondered. Could Ketons trip over their feet and fall? Like walking without seeing ahead and crashing into a wall…
Kalian was someone for whom such mistakes were utterly unimaginable, but with Aris, when she watched him, how should she put it…
She felt this wicked thought that she wanted to see him take a hard fall once. She should not do this as a priestess, but she was beginning to question the very authority of the gods.
As expected, Elder Sister Kiane’s words were not to be taken lightly. When the ruler is a fool, the people grow smarter—she realized anew how sharp that expression was. Whether god or king, one must serve while watching carefully.
Asteril carefully came down the moss-covered steps on all fours like a crawler and dusted off her hands. Aris sneered with a tone that said he pitied her.
“It would be faster to wait for a monkey to walk upright. Why did you not just climb down a rope?”
“If it frustrates you so, why did you not carry me down yourself?”
“Hmph, I let you sit on my shoulder once and you seem to think I am your palanquin bearer….”
“That would never happen. Would I ride that palanquin only to go to the underworld? I can take care of myself, so do not worry.”
“The nerve of that backtalk….”
“Please step aside. I cannot see well.”
Asteril tapped his shoulder and passed by, and Aris inadvertently turned his body to the side.
The cave was open in a circular shape like a wide room. No separate connected tunnels or passages were visible. The inside quickly brightened from the light seeping in from the entrance where the two had entered.
It seemed the spring water was flowing down along the bedrock. The dripping sound of flowing water echoed throughout the cave.
“That wall over there.”
What Asteril pointed at was the rock wall opposite. Using the hollowed part of the rock, one could see terracotta objects about palm-sized lined up standing upon it.
“The temperature and humidity inside the cave seem similar to the underground storage where temple offerings are kept. It is good for maturing wine, but also an optimal place for storing terracotta.”
Nine cups were visible. Asteril walked up to them and examined them one by one in the order they were placed.
“There are nine Cups of Oblivion?”
Aris asked with confused eyes. Asteril had also been wondering. She raised her head to look toward the cave entrance.
The North Wind, who had somehow followed them and was peeking in while sightseeing, answered shaking his head.
The real Cup of Oblivion is exactly one among those.
“Which one is it?”
I do not know that either.
“You do not know? How does it make sense for the gatekeeper not to know?”
Is it not possible that I, the gatekeeper, could be threatened or deceived?
“Is that what a gatekeeper is? You are not some gatekeeper trainee.”
When Aris hit a sore spot, the sulking North Wind shot back.
Even if you find the Cup of Oblivion among these, it is useless if you do not know how to brew the Water of Oblivion.
“How do you make the Water of Oblivion?”
To Aris’s question, the North Wind once again gave a disappointing answer.
How would I know that when I do not even know which cup it is? Hestia probably knows better than me, so go ask her.
“Hestia cannot talk. How am I supposed to ask anything?”
You are saying the fire spirit cannot talk?
“It is not a spirit.”
Then is it just fire?
Aris momentarily lost his reason and glared wide-eyed, then barely took a deep breath.
To call it just…
This damned Lethe was full of hateful fellows everywhere. Sticking around with that black-haired princess, even this one had become a master of backtalk.
“Should I grab your tail and tie it to the shoulder of Cypress, who drags around crying all day, to make you stop your prattling?”
The wind spirits were so talkative themselves, yet they disliked their surroundings being noisy and would tremble with disgust.
That was exactly why the North Wind would constantly sneer and berate Cypress and the Golden Reed. To add one more, he also shuddered at Himeros’s singing.
No, it is because Sir Aris is saying such nonsensical things…
“And your nonsense about a ball of fire talking?”
Then did Sir Aris give such a ball of fire a name and even guard it?
“Did I name it? Did I start guarding it? And how is it just some ball of fire? It is not a spirit, but….”
Aris’s voice, which had been refuting, gradually grew smaller. The North Wind clicked his tongue.
You cannot even talk with Hestia, so how in the world did you become its guardian?
“Does Lian talk with Asphodel? Whether there is conversation or not is irrelevant.”
Asphodelos was dying. Hestia is quite lively over there, is she not? It seems Sir Aris does not know well, but Hestia talks as much as I do.
“Have you talked with Hestia? How would you know that?”
Sir Aris is a bit… If you have not confirmed something with your own eyes, you insist on it first.
“This is really….”
“Found it!”
Amid the bickering argument between the two, Asteril lifted her head and shouted. The North Wind and Aris looked at her simultaneously in surprise.
“What?”
“The Cup of Oblivion.”
She smiled and pointed to the fourth terracotta from the right end. Her eyes looked confident. Aris frowned, frustrated again.
“That is the Cup of Oblivion? How do you know?”
“Only that one has a different color.”
“Different color?”
Aris looked around at the cups with a face full of doubt. They were all terracotta made of dark red clay. None had been fired in any particularly special way. They were crafted from extremely ordinary materials in an extremely ordinary manner.
“They all look exactly the same to my eyes… For your information, I can confidently say my eyes are seventy-nine times brighter than yours. Unlike you, an ordinary mortal being, I can scrutinize not only the outer shape of the terracotta but even each particle of the clay it is composed of.”
“Of course you would. However, it seems I see the color better. Sir Aris, could it be that you cannot distinguish between red and green well? There were occasionally such people among the sick….”
“Are you calling me, a Keton, colorblind right now?”
“Pardon? No, not necessarily….”
Asteril stared at Aris for a moment. She moved her lips and then sighed, turning away.
“Hey, why do you stop talking?”
“North Wind, that is the Cup of Oblivion, right?”
“No, why are you not asking me why I stopped talking…?”
Princess, I do not know what the Cup of Oblivion looks like. W-wait! If you grab it so recklessly like that…
“It is this one.”
The North Wind stared, at a loss for words. Aris, who had been displeased, also wore an expression wondering what she was doing.
Asteril found a sharply protruding part among the rocks and rubbed her thumb against it. Her soft skin was cut and blood quickly flowed out.
“What are you doing? You desperately clung to life when told to die, so why are you suddenly harming yourself?”
When Aris shouted trying to stop her, Asteril smiled as if telling him not to worry. The North Wind also raised his voice in shock.
Princess, what are you doing? If Despoina gets hurt, the spirits will have their heads fly off, stop.
However, ignoring him, she brought her wounded thumb to the rim of the cup she held. A drop of blood flowing from her finger formed a round dew-like bead inside the cup.
“Look at this. The blood beads on the cup’s surface without seeping in. It means it is the Cup of Oblivion.”
How did you know that method?
Why is it interpreted that way?
The North Wind and Aris asked simultaneously. Asteril, looking at them wondering, tried to answer with a smile but hesitated.
How did I know?
How did I know?
“I just….”
I just felt like I knew. I naturally thought I should let a drop of blood flow inside the cup.
“If the blood seeps in, it is a failure….”
“Failure? What failure?”
When Aris asked, Asteril spaced out. Yes, what failure?
She looked around the cup with confused eyes. Her gaze, alternating between the rim and the bottom, halted and fixed upon one spot.
“Here, a formula for brewing the Water of Oblivion is written on the bottom of the cup.”
“Where?”
As Aris approached and stared intently, Asteril pointed to the center of the cup’s bottom with her index finger.
“Here. It is engraved in ancient letters, is it not? What is amazing is that it sparkles as if emitting its own light even in the darkness.”
“So where is it engraved?”
Asteril looked at Aris, narrowing her brows as if frustrated. At her scolding gaze, Aris frowned.
“How many times must I say it? My eyes are good, you know? If we speak only of eyesight, it is far more than yours….”
“Seventy-nine times better?”
“Yes! No… that is not the point. Anyway, my retina and optic nerves surpass even the hawk of Nemea Valley. I can see even a single grain of sand at the bottom of a river.”
“And yet you truly cannot see this? I could read this even if the cup were buried at the bottom of a river. Sir Aris, could it be….”
“Could it be? Could it be, what….”
Having stared at Aris for a moment, Asteril clicked her tongue and brushed it off as if annoyed.
“It is nothing.”
Asteril picked up the cup and walked away. Aris was dumbfounded by her action of turning away from him and leaving.
“What is it… Why do you keep stopping mid-sentence!”
Shouting as if frustrated, he lost his words when even the North Wind looked at him pathetically. The North Wind opened his mouth to say something, then let out a deep sigh and flew off after Asteril.
Even that impertinent Breath of the North Heaven….
Face flushed with shame, he stared at the North Wind’s retreating figure.