Chapter 17: It’s called tragedy because there was no escape.

(Elira’s POV)

The flow of mana was like a river in the rainy season, relentless, ruthless, swollen beyond restraint. What appeared chaotic at first glance was, in truth, terrifyingly precise. Every current had intent. Every surge had purpose. Anything that dared to cross it would be seized instantly, shaken down to its very structure, overturned, and dragged along until resistance itself was ground away. By the time something reached the end of that path, it was no longer whole. It was had turned into inverted waterfall where sky was not the limit. 

Such overwhelming force should have demanded an equally overwhelming cost. Mana, after all, was never free. And yet, like rainfall feeding a river, the efficiency of this system made the loss feel insignificant. Almost illusory.

The dungeon was the sun. The mana coursing through the seal was the river born from it, endless and almost self-sustaining.

I was not a religious person. But even I could see it, this world’s ecosystem had been designed with frightening beauty. I was not the type to indulge in poetic thinking either, yet standing here, tracing the seal with my senses, poetry forced itself out of me whether I liked it or not.

The same beauty was true of the one who created this seal.

This thing could stand for another century. Only a calamity on the scale of a demon invasion could hope to break it, and even then, not because of oversight or weakness. It would break because it was meant to.

There were release points. Fail-safes layered beneath fail-safes. Controlled collapse lines woven so subtly into the structure that they looked like decorative redundancies unless one knew exactly what to look for.

Whoever made this seal had anticipated even its own destruction, had calculated the precise threshold beyond which preservation would become meaningless.

Such brilliance made my fingers tremble.

I wanted to shake her hand.

The one who created this seal had lived in an era before the Research Division was formally established by my master. She might have been shunned for ideas like this. Or perhaps she believed in the prevailing dogma wholeheartedly and created this as its ultimate expression.

Maybe I was the one trapped in my own dogma, unable to believe the former was even possible.

If only I could meet her.

If I had grown up alongside her… would my life have been different?

Would I still have spent my childhood alone at the top of the tower, surrounded by cold stone and endless tomes, with only my master’s praise for company? Would I still be known as the sole prodigy of the Magi Tower of Greifswald, burdened with a title that sounded glorious to others but felt unbearably hollow to me?

Would that shallow title ever have been placed on my shoulders at all?

My fingers traced the air unconsciously as I followed the mana currents deeper, eyes narrowing as layers revealed themselves one by one.

The dungeon fed the seal that imprisoned it, forming a perfect parasitic loop. Every fluctuation was absorbed, refined, and redirected.

For the first time in years, I felt inferior and the realization was… exhilarating.

To know that someone like this had existed. To know that the peak I had been told was unreachable had already been claimed by another. That the sky I strained toward had once been walked upon.

But the exhilaration slowly curdled into something heavier.

Somber.

I would never meet her.

She was gone. Reduced to history, to lingering intent on ink and stone. Which meant…I was still alone.

Even that loneliness felt different here. As if the seal itself was a mirror, showing me the shape of my own isolation with uncomfortable clarity.

I pushed further.

Past the obvious layers. Past the elegant redundancies. Past the adaptive corrections.

And there something subtle.

The seal monitored the dungeon’s pulse, not passively but actively, adjusting its internal ratios in real time. A living equation carved into stone and mana. It reacted to pressure changes before they fully formed, preemptively redirecting strain along invisible channels.

“...You’re joking,” I muttered under my breath.

Whoever built this had not been satisfied with merely containing a threat. They had turned the threat into an ongoing source of data.

Seriously… what kind of monster designed this?

“We should head back.”

Serah’s voice cut cleanly through my thoughts, as her hand came to rest on my shoulder. The contact was brief yet my focus shattered instantly.

“The sun is already at its peak.”

I blinked, the world snapping back into place. My head throbbed faintly. I pressed a hand to my forehead.

Was I really that drained? Even now, the seal was still shifting, remixing its own access patterns as if mocking me. As if daring me to keep up, seriously... 

“Y-yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “It just… caught me off guard. Nothing to worry about-”

I stopped, Serah was smiling.

Not her rare, confident smile meant to command subordinates or intimidate enemies. This one was softer. The sunlight caught along the edge of her armor, casting gentle shadows across her features.

“It’s been a while,” she said, “since I’ve seen you this absorbed. This passionate about something.”

My face burned.

“H-Hmph! I-it’s nothing!” I snapped far too quickly. “I-I was just doing my job!”

Did she see all of that?

Of course she did. She was guarding me. That was her role. Idiot. Absolute idiot. Why did I lower my guard like that? Why did I let myself drift so far?

Now I must have looked like some overeager brat, getting lost in her own thoughts while she stood watch like an adult.

“F-Forget it!”

I turned and started walking back toward the camp before my embarrassment could fully crystallize.

Coward? Yes. I knew that. I shouldn’t have done that, but I already had. So all I could do was double down.

Behind me, I heard a faint chuckle carried by the wind. Then came the steady clanking rhythm of armor as Serah followed.

“That’s fine too,” she said simply.

The space between us shortened until I could hear the faint shift of leather beneath her armor with every breath she took. Why did my chest feel lighter at that?

“So,” Serah said, her voice returning to its usual steadiness, “what does it say about the Elf?”

I could feel her turning her head toward me. I kept my eyes forward.

“What I can say,” I replied carefully, “is that there is no defect in the seal.” I gave the mana pillar one last glance. Even at this distance, I could still sense its rhythm. “For a parasite that could not even escape that glass sample, it is difficult to believe it slipped out of the dungeon without leaving so much as a ripple.”

Serah was silent for a moment. I could almost hear her sorting the implications.

“Then that means the parasite could not be from the dungeon.”

“I would prefer to leave room for doubt.”

“…Doubt, huh.”

The word lingered between us like a drawn blade.

For Serah, doubt was something to eliminate. That was the mindset of someone raised not only within a militarized division, but within nobility as well. Ambiguity was risk. Risk endangered lives. And lives, to her, were not mere abstractions. They were soldiers under her command. Civilians under her protection. A household name she carried on her back.

For me, doubt was something to cultivate. To dissect. To turn over and examine from every possible angle. Certainty ended inquiry but doubt sustained it until nothing remained but an unavoidable conclusion.

I was not a mage from a militarized division. I was a researcher, one whose competency had once been spoken of as an alternative to my master’s.

Serah understood that difference in our perspectives. Even as I could feel her gaze burned against the side of my face, waiting for me to elaborate.

Seriously, do not look at me like that.

“The way Elaister presented that parasite,” I continued, “it was almost as if she were selling us the idea that it could only have come from the dungeon. Too hard in fact. She dismissed cultist involvement with theatrics and absolute confidence. I find it difficult to believe that someone as deliberate as her would leave an argument so easy to dismantle.”

“That lying elf,” Serah muttered.

“Lying about alternatives, more specifically,” I corrected. “There is a possibility that the parasite is native to the dungeon, but someone entered and exited without damaging the seal. After all, there is a key for it. The seal is a lock, not a wall.” I paused, choosing my next words carefully. “There is also the possibility that it was never a creature of the dungeon to begin with.”

Serah’s jaw tightened. “Even so, what do you personally think? Doubt is fine, but the threat of that parasite is very real. That elf’s ambiguity is a liability we need to account for.” She exhaled sharply. “I have a feeling she is going to be a pain for me in the future.”

A small chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.

“Heh.. Well, If I had to guess…” I said, “she already knows where it came from. Her belief may not match that knowledge. Which version she presented to us, belief or knowledge, is unclear. We would need to either confront her directly or examine the dungeon ourselves, which we will eventually do.”

Serah clicked her tongue. “Confront her? She joined yesterday. Yesterday. And already she’s parading around demonified corpses like it’s some kind of exhibition.”

I let her speak.

“She’s a wanted criminal in the Elf Regime, isn’t she?” Serah continued, her tone sharpening. “That alone should be enough reason not to trust her. And now she appears with something like that and expects us to swallow her explanation whole?”

“She did not ask us to swallow it whole, she invited us to react.”

“That’s worse.”

Her pace quickened slightly, boots grinding against gravel. “People like that don’t say anything without purpose. Every word is bait and every pause calculated. If she wanted us to believe the dungeon was responsible, then she wanted us to move with that assumption. And if that assumption is wrong, then we’re the ones who pay for it.”

I did not disagree.

“But dismissing the dungeon entirely would also be premature,” I said. “The seal shows no instability, but that does not mean it is inviolable. A key implies intention. Someone had to design a method of access. If that method is known beyond its original creator, then the integrity of the lock becomes a matter of who holds the key.”

Serah’s expression darkened. “And you think she might hold it.”

“I think she won't be surprised by what she finds.”

We walked in silence for several steps.

Then Serah let out a breath that sounded almost like a growl.

“I don’t like elves,” she said bluntly.

I did not respond immediately.

It was not a secret. She had told me once before. The ongoing expansion of the Elven Regime had already consumed fifty years. A war dressed in ideology and superiority. 

Her older brother had been destined to lead the Eilendorf family had not returned.

Even now, sometimes when Serah stood with her chin lifted and shoulders squared, issuing orders with effortless authority, I could see the faint hesitation beneath it. As if she were measuring herself against a shadow only she could see. As if she were asking whether she was leading… or merely imitating. She had told me once that she sometimes wondered the same.

So, when she said she disliked elves, it was never simple prejudice. But, It was not just loss either.

“He was a kind person, you see.”

Serah’s voice had been quieter that night. Not the firm tone she used for orders, nor the clipped restraint she wore around the others. Just quiet.

We had been seated across from each other, the campfire reduced to embers that glowed more than they burned.

“Even as elves kept racking up bodies with barely any casualties on their side, he never had hatred in his eyes,” she continued. “Not even when we attended our uncle’s funeral. He spoke about responsibility. About duty and protecting what remained.”

She paused, staring into the coals.

“Yet they took him too. There wasn’t even a body to return.”

“Then there is still a chanc-”

“Missing in action feels hollow when the entire battlefield was scorched.”

Her words were steady.

“You had given up.”

“It has been 5 years after all, there’s no respect in denial either.” She exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t forgive them, Elira. I know you don’t care about politics. You told me you couldn’t understand familial sentiment either. But… I feel I want you to know his name.”

I folded my hands in my lap, considering.

“Do not misunderstand me, Serah,” I said. “We are here because we are convenient and chosen by the king to accompany the saint and the hero. You were chosen for your charisma and sociopolitical knowledge. Kestrel was chosen because she is the king’s direct leash on this party. I am here because my master is needed elsewhere and because I am not a pure military mage.”

I met her gaze evenly.

“Knowing all of that… do you still want to tell me?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s up to you whether you remember his name or not.” A small breath escaped her. “Johniel von Eilendorf. My eldest brother. The person whose belief I have now betrayed.”

I tilted my head, pondering.

“Do you want me to judge you?”

“…I’m not sure myself.”

“Then go speak to Sei,” I replied. “She’s a priestess, and the soon-to-be Saint on top of that. If there is anyone you should tell, it is her. Not a miracle girl who grew up isolated in a magi tower.”

For a a simple moment, there was silence.

Until, “Pffft-ahahahahaha,” she laughed at my face. 

I frowned. “What now? Have you finally gone insane? It would serve you right for-”

“I take that back,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye, laughter fading into something softer. “I get it now.”

“What exactly?”

“I wanted to tell you because you’re Elira.”

She smiled then.

Not the confident grin she used before sparring. Not the composed expression she wore in courtly settings. It was something smaller and warmer. And unfamiliar enough that it burned itself into my memory.

“I’m certain of it.”

That day… I, too, was certain.

“She may be a criminal to her own regime,” Serah went on, her voice growing more heated the longer she spoke. “But that doesn’t erase what her kind is doing. Expansion. Subjugation. Fifty years and counting. And now one of them just appears in our party like it’s some sort of cosmic joke.”

I kept my gaze forward.

“And she laughs,” Serah continued. “About everything. About danger. About demons. About us. As if none of it matters.”

She flexed her gauntleted hand unconsciously.

“I don’t trust people who treat war like a stage.”

I listened.

“I know you’re going to say that her origins don’t determine her intent,” Serah added, quieter now but no less intense. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe she hates her regime. Maybe she has her own reasons.”

She exhaled sharply.

“But I don’t have the luxury of assuming that.”

The clanking of her armor softened as our pace steadied.

I understood why she felt that way. I did not agree with painting an entire race in a single color, but I understood the scar beneath the stance.

So, I said nothing.

“If it were up to me and not Hiroto-sama, she won’t be in this party.”

That name stopped me.

My feet slowed, then halted entirely as I turned and met her eyes. She only stopped a few steps ahead, startled by my reaction.

“Woah, did you realize something about that elf?!”

I said nothing. The question slid past me. I resumed walking, gaze lowered, the dirt path blurring beneath my boots.

“Elira?” Her armor shifted as she caught up again. “Is something wrong?”

I shook my head. Words wouldn’t form. They were there somewhere, tangled and damp, like fabric left to rot.

“I… Okay.” She fell back after a moment, deliberately giving me space.

Hiroto-sama.

The sound of it kept echoing. Warm. Sweet. Familiar. Or whatever. It should have settled in my chest like it always did.

Instead, something twisted painfully.

I loved him. Of course I did. Serah loved him. Kestrel loved him. That was simply the shape of things. I could recall the nights clearly enough, the warmth of his hands, the softness of his voice, the closeness he invited, the approval he gave. Proof stacked upon proof.

So why did they feel like descriptions written by someone else?

My fingers brushed my lips unconsciously, as if checking whether they still belonged to me. The skin felt foreign, overly sensitive. I remembered leaning into him, craving him, needing him, and yet now the recollection sat wrong in my stomach, heavy and sour.

Why had I fought for him?

Why had it mattered so much?

And stranger still, when I tried to follow those memories back further, before him, they blurred. Like furniture rearranged overnight.

I could remember laughter shared with Serah, the weight of her presence beside me feeling grounding. A warmth that had never needed explanation. So why had that warmth been redirected? Repurposed into something else entirely?

My teeth pressed together.

It made me nauseous. A slow, crawling unease that sat at the base of my throat.

I loved him. That statement remained solid. Every time I approached it, my thoughts slid away, polished smooth.

Which only made the absence of doubt feel worse.

Why was there no doubt?

Why was everything about him so… pleasant?

Why did the idea of questioning it feel like trying to grip glass shards with bare hands?

My fist tightened at my side while the other covered my mouth, breath shallow and measured. Serah’s steps rang faintly behind me. The sound alone eased something coiled inside my chest, even as I couldn’t explain why.

And that felt wrong too. 

Before I could dwell further, metal rang sharply beside me. Serah rushed past, "Ugh," her shoulder crashing into mine hard enough to sting, "Serah?"

“Hiroto-sama!” she called, bright and giddy.

I looked up and the moment my eyes landed on him, the fog vanished. Every crawling, unpleasant thread snapped cleanly away, leaving clarity in its place radiant and perfect.

Of course, the reason is simple... 

Relief flooded through me so completely I almost staggered. The nausea dissolved, replaced by certainty so natural it felt foolish I’d ever questioned anything at all.

“You cheating noble!” I snapped, already moving after her.

...It’s because I’m Hiroto-sama’s.

つづく

"Better than usual, Altair."

"Even though I’m your first!"

"I don’t wanna!"

"Kestrel?!"

"Lut, huh? It should be a she, right?"

=Next time: The 18th, I Know You Could Hear It Too.=

Nothing has value. Everything is useful.