Someday, Vivi Rain Will Fall in Love

It began with flames erupting in the night sky.

Tearing through the clouds against the starlit backdrop, two fiery blossoms burst forth, then three, spreading crimson across the depths of night.

A distant rumble reached the traveling entertainers crossing the desert. The adults looked up, squinting at the flames erupting one after another beyond the clouds.

Eden transport ships. It's unusual for them to fly at night.

They're huge. Bigger than I've ever seen.

A collision, maybe? The navigation lights are still on, but . . .

Half-listening to the hushed conversations around him, a boy stood with the adults, gazing up at the star-filled sky.

Something is about to begin.

The thought struck the nine-year-old boy suddenly. Before he knew it, he was running toward the flames that lit up the night.

Hey, Luca! Don't go running off on your own!

It's dangerous to get close now. Can't you see the debris falling?

Kid's got a death wish. Just leave him be.

Ignoring the warning shouts behind him, the boy called Luca ran breathlessly across the desert through the night, his face turned skyward.

Each time thunderous rumbles echoed from above, he could see ship fragments falling like snow, glittering in the moonlight. A direct hit from any of those would mean certain death. Yet as if drawn by some invisible force, Luca left the adults behind and raced down one sand dune and up another. The closer he got, the clearer the damaged airship's outline became, the full scope of the disaster illuminated by flames.

Pterosaurs . . . !

Massive pterosaurs, each over thirty meters long, swarmed around the two transport ships, driving their talons deep into the hulls and tearing apart propulsion systems and rudders. The ship frames, reinforced with flying stones, crumbled helplessly before the pterosaurs' fangs.

Pterosaurs attacking airships—he'd never heard of such a thing. Something was terribly wrong with the sky tonight. Luca stopped and tried to figure out what had driven the pterosaurs to such fury.

The pterosaurs want to take back the cargo from those ships . . .

The moment he thought this, a massive explosion ripped through the transport ship's belly, and what looked like an enormous amount of cargo that had been stored in the hold came tumbling out into the sky. The pterosaurs ignored the falling debris and continued their relentless assault on the transport ships.

Luca gathered his courage, crossed over another sand dune, and ran toward where the cargo would land.

Among the falling debris, he could see many human-shaped objects mixed in—clearly mechanical soldier frames. If he could get his hands on even one and sell it to a broker, he could say goodbye to this miserable life. As he squinted to spot better treasures, the bright moonlight made one particularly small shadow stand out against the night.

A girl . . . ?

Against the flame-lit night sky, what was slowly falling like a feather was unmistakably a girl's silhouette. As if she alone were drifting through a sea of stars, the other debris fell past her, one piece after another.

Gravity seemed to be acting gently on that girl alone.

That's how it looked to Luca for a moment. But that couldn't be right. When he looked more carefully, he could see what was actually slowing her fall.

A small pterosaur was desperately flapping its wings, supporting the girl.

The girl appeared to be unconscious. Her arms and legs hung limp, and the back of her dress was caught on the pterosaur's rear claws. The pterosaur, which couldn't have been even a meter long, was beating its wings frantically to keep the girl from falling to her death. It was almost heartbreaking to watch—but honestly, if she hit the ground like that, she'd be seriously hurt.

Should he help her? Luca hesitated for a moment. Other debris was still falling in the area, making it dangerous to approach. He could abandon the girl, wait for her to crash, then calmly collect Eden's cargo and take only the valuable items home . . .

That cold logic was swept away by Luca's instinct.

He had to save that girl.

If he did, something wonderful was bound to happen.

His miserable, hopeless daily routine would end tonight, and an amazing adventure would start right here, right now.

There was no logical reason for this belief—just pure instinct. Ignoring the mechanical soldiers scattered around him, Luca ran forward, shouting.

Pterosaur! I'll catch her, so drop her here!

At about seventy meters up, the girl's trajectory shifted slightly. The pterosaur must have found one last burst of strength to beat its tiny wings. Luca spun around, positioned himself at the peak of the sand dune, braced himself, dug his feet firmly into the sand, and spread his arms wide.

Wake up! Fall this way!

When he shouted with everything he had, the falling girl's jade-colored eyes snapped open.

Huh?

Pterosaur, over here!

The pterosaur beat its wings frantically and shifted the girl's trajectory, practically flinging her toward Luca.

They crashed together in what felt like a desperate embrace.

Ahhh!

Along with her scream, Luca's outstretched arms wrapped around the girl's back. His right foot, planted behind him, absorbed the impact and sank deep into the sand.

Using his right foot as a pivot, Luca spun once, then shifted his weight to his left foot for another spin before tumbling down the slope of the sand dune, rolling with the girl still clutched in his arms.

The starry sky whirled around and around. He could feel the warmth of the girl in his arms. Sand filled his mouth and nose, and as he tasted the grit, he prayed she was safe.

Kreee.

The world stopped spinning, and that sound was the first thing to reach his right ear. He winced and spat sand from his mouth, cracked open one eye, and saw it had been the cry of the small pterosaur now perched right beside him.

A sea of stars stretched out before him. He realized he was lying on his back in the desert. When he tried to sit up, he groaned from the pain shooting through his hands and chest. The pterosaur's efforts had softened the impact considerably, but it had still been quite a shock. Was the girl okay?

Gritting his teeth, he somehow managed to sit up. The explosions that had been echoing continuously from the sky had stopped, but the two airships were now heading in opposite directions.

The transport ship with its belly blown out seemed to have given up and was heading south, while the transport ship with flames rising from its upper hull stubbornly continued north. But with that kind of damage, it couldn't possibly fly much longer.

Where had they been headed? And what had they been carrying?

Kree.

The pterosaur cried out again from beside him. The young creature, about a meter long, was staring at Luca with round eyes. Then it lifted its head and stretched its long neck toward a corner of the sand dune, as if directing his attention there.

The girl was lying face-down in the sand. She wasn't moving at all.

Ah . . .

Panicking, Luca pushed himself to his feet, grimacing from the dull pain coursing through his body, and rushed to the girl's side before dropping to his knees again. Nervously placing both hands on the girl's shoulders, he turned her over. She let out a short groan, so at least she was breathing.

H-hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?

He shook her, but the girl remained unconscious with her eyes closed. She had the most vivid golden hair he'd ever seen, skin so white it seemed bloodless, and wore a white dress. Luca had never met an Edenian before, but he could somehow tell intuitively that this girl wasn't from the surface. She looked like a doll crafted to be perfect—too perfect, as if she'd transcended humanity itself. She was probably around the same age as Luca.

He could hear the commotion of the traveling entertainers in the distance. They'd be coming here soon to scavenge the fallen cargo.

They'd do anything for money. A girl this beautiful would definitely be sold to human traffickers. Or they'd give her some title like "the girl who fell from Eden" and make her a sideshow attraction for the traveling troupe.

He wouldn't let that happen. He was going to save this child.

Luca stood up and scanned the area around them. Cargo that had fallen from the transport ship was scattered everywhere. Among the silhouettes illuminated by moonlight were mechanical soldiers, but most had their limbs torn off from the impact or were buried deep in sand—they wouldn't be usable right away.

Then the young pterosaur that had been watching nearby poked Luca's shoulder with its horn and stretched its long neck toward a corner of the sand dune, pointing like a compass needle.

At the end of its neck was . . .

That . . . has legs!

A small mechanical soldier about three meters long was buried face-down in the sand dune. Its head and one arm were blown off, but both legs were intact. With that, he could escape with the girl. He hurried over to the mechanical soldier and checked its condition.

It was a Type-30 Bogots Machine Soldier—not built for combat, but a rear support type used primarily for construction and towing. It had a simple internal mechanism, thin armor, and was light, sturdy, and hard to break. When he examined the six-axis leg units, both feet were undamaged. This thing should be able to walk.

The traveling troupe had performances using mechanical soldiers and wild beasts, and Luca was in charge of their maintenance. He knew how to start the engine on Bogots mechanical soldiers, how to pilot them, and how to make emergency repairs. He opened the rear hatch, squeezed his body into the narrow cockpit, and turned the ignition key while praying.

On the fourth try, the soma engine roared to life. After thanking a god he'd never believed in, he worked the foot pedals and control sticks with both hands, bending the machine's knees from its prone position, raising the torso, and finally bringing it upright in one fluid motion.

It had a silhouette like a headless giant. Exposed circular connectors could be seen on its shoulder and knee joints. Its paint-worn alloy armor caught the moonlight with a dull silver gleam.

When he tested the foot pedals to try walking, the familiar side-to-side swaying settled into his gut. If he didn't push the pace, it should cover about thirty kilometers in one night.

He could hear the adults calling in the distance. They seemed to be celebrating that mechanical soldiers were among the fallen debris. But Luca had no intention of returning to the troupe. He was done with the wandering life that took them across Graceland year-round—zero wages, working from dawn to dusk, with nothing but one meal a day of bread and bean soup as payment. If he stayed, he'd eventually be worked to death.

Luca's mechanical soldier approached the girl, grasped her body with its left hand, and held her against its chest.

Kree.

The young pterosaur cried and perched on the girl's shoulder.

Time to head for town. Larandia, the capital of the Garmendia Kingdom, wasn't far from here. He'd sell this mechanical soldier to a contractor and use the money to get proper identity papers. With papers, he might even land a regular job. Sleep in the same bed every night, do the same work every day, eat bread at least twice a day. Such a dream might actually come true.

Luca peered out through the narrow viewport. The sleeping girl's face was just inches away in the mechanical soldier's arms.

. . . Vivi . . . wait . . .

Over the engine's rumble, he could hear the girl's soft groans. She seemed to be having a nightmare, her expression pained. He didn't understand the words, but knowing she was alive was enough. Luca spat on both hands and stared determinedly into the night ahead.

All right, let's go!

With firm resolve, he set the mechanical soldier walking, stepping away from the adults in long, measured strides. He could still hear their angry shouts—the same adults who had worked him mercilessly all this time—but he didn't care. He was done living like a slave. From now on, he would live by his own will.

This nameless girl would surely bring him a new life.

Following his gut instinct, Luca walked through the desert night. The adults' curses soon faded away, leaving only the pale moonlight and the young pterosaur's cries. Luca had no way of knowing then that what the girl would bring wasn't just a new life, but the destruction and transformation of the world order itself.

There were no blue skies in the royal capital of Larandia in December.

The stone cityscape was almost always shrouded in bluish fog, making it impossible to see down the main streets even during the day. People in gray coats and carriage horses traveling the wet streets appeared suddenly from that blue fog as if born from it, only to vanish back into it again. When the fog thickened, gas lamps burned even during the day, and funeral-like orange flames floated up from the blue streets. Illuminated by a row of dim orange lights, a single boy came into view.

A baggy, torn corduroy jacket and patched cotton trousers. Both canvas shoes were split open, and his exposed toes were caked with mud from the street. The unremarkable appearance of a street orphan, nothing unusual for this city.

He blew warm breath onto his bare palms and rubbed them together vigorously against the cold. His gaze swept the street as he walked, picking up discarded items and dropping them into a hemp sack he carried. The sack was full of salvaged odds and ends: rags, old clothes, wire, rusted nails, glass shards, cigarette butts, and bones. They looked like nothing but refuse, but the boy collected each piece of street trash as carefully as if it were treasure.

Megalodown, Larandia's slum district.

Two hundred thousand poor souls eked out a living in this district on scraps from the ruling class—less than three percent of the population. Many, like the boy, survived by scavenging. Those with no home, family, or papers had only three choices: beg, scavenge, or steal. Most street dwellers chose theft, so the authorities despised them all and harassed them whenever they could. Now a police officer blocked the boy's path yet again.

Well, well, Luca. Hard at work with your "cleaning duties" again today? How admirable.

The mid-forties officer wore a sneering smile, tapping his baton against his palm as he spoke with mock appreciation. Luca Barca looked up and grinned back.

Good day to you, Inspector Gregson. I'm always hardworking, you know. Model citizen by any measure. I even have proper identity papers.

Though his words sounded respectful, there was a subtle edge to Luca's voice. Inspector Gregson leaned in close with practiced menace and breathed his alcohol-soaked breath right in the boy's face.

Papers you bought with dirty money, right? I see right through you mixed-bloods.

Luca didn't answer. He just smiled—or something that looked like a smile, as if to say "this is my respectful expression, sir." But Inspector Gregson couldn't read it as anything friendly. The malice lurking beneath it was too vicious, and it unnerved him to see such hatred in a twelve-year-old's eyes.

I know exactly what you street rats get up to when I'm not watching. Act tough all you want. I'll nail you eventually. Twenty years minimum, so look forward to it, you little brat.

A grown man would flinch if a burly inspector got in their face with threats like that. But Luca kept that fake smile plastered on and replied calmly:

Come now, Inspector. I'm just an apprentice mechanic. I don't do anything wrong. If I can't be a citizen, then I guess I'm a model vagrant. I live quietly, so please don't pick on me too much.

Again, the words sounded humble, but his tone and that painted-on smile dripped with hostility and contempt. Most of all, that fearless stare from behind the fake grin infuriated the inspector.

This little bastard who had nothing was staring him down—the man who controlled all security in this district—keeping his expression and words polite while radiating pure malice just beneath the surface. This trash picker who barely survived day to day had no respect for him at all; the kid was looking down on him. It was maddening, but since the insult stayed unspoken, he couldn't touch him. If Luca had voiced his contempt directly, Gregson could charge him with insulting an officer, beat him senseless with his baton, and throw him in jail for two years. But the boy was too smart to make such an obvious mistake.

The inspector's eyes turned murderous as he crouched down and stared directly into Luca's face.

You'd better watch yourself. There are human traffickers around lately. Several young girls have already been shipped off to foreign countries. If you get snatched, that precious sister of yours might be next.

For just a moment, Luca's eyes flashed with rage, then he buried it and smiled thinly.

They'd turn her down. She's sick, after all.

True enough. She's filthy and stinks—just touching her would make us rot too.

Luca's servile grin didn't twitch. But the inspector clearly heard Luca's unspoken thought: You're already rotten.

You're worth less than one of Sylphie's toenails.

Even while maintaining that fawning smile for the inspector, Luca's true thoughts came through loud and clear—in the furrow of his brow, the slight curl of his lips, and most of all in his eyes—speaking volumes without a single word.

About a week ago, Gregson had been bullying an orphan girl in Yellow Cross when someone suddenly kicked him from behind and sent him tumbling into the gutter. By the time he crawled back onto the street, covered in sewage, the girl was gone and the culprit had vanished into the fog. But Gregson knew exactly who had done it—Luca. He wouldn't rest until he caught that little bastard red-handed and threw him in jail forever.

Inspector Gregson straightened up, his face contorting with hatred as he snorted into the freezing air and glared down at Luca's infuriating smile.

The inspector had been a public servant for twenty-five years and had dealt with countless fraudsters and violent criminals, but this twelve-year-old boy was different. He was smart—dangerously so. No matter how much Gregson threatened or insulted him, the kid didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow or show any sign of being rattled. Because he didn't get rattled, he didn't make mistakes. That made him all the more detestable.

Remember this. I hate kids like you. No parents, no home, no job, no education, no money—never owned a damn thing your whole life. I know better than anyone what bastards like you end up doing. Pickpocketing, fraud, robbery, and eventually murder. Nothing but trash. If you want to be useful to society, hurry up and die. Take that filthy sister of yours and jump in a river. The world would be a little better off.

After delivering this parting shot, the inspector looked down at Luca's face—still completely unmoved—spat on the street, turned on his heel, and walked away down the winter street.

Once Gregson's figure disappeared into the fog, Luca dropped the simpering grin and muttered to himself.

I'll kick your ass again, so look forward to it, you pig of an inspector.

He shouldered his hemp sack again and breathed on his hands. The inspector's words echoed in his mind.

Don't own anything, huh? What an idiot. He doesn't know anything about me.

Luca shot a mocking sneer into the fog that had swallowed the inspector. Then his expression softened as he pictured his sister Sylphie waiting for him back at the mechanical soldier warehouse.

I have Sylphie. Even without parents, money, or a home, as long as Sylphie is there, I don't need anything else. I'll do whatever it takes for her to live happily and healthily. I don't care how much that pig inspector insults me, but if he ever said those same words directly to Sylphie, I'd spend my entire life making him pay.

Stefano Calendar year 1784, December, Larandia, capital of the Garmendia Kingdom.

Three years had passed since that starry night when he met Sylphie.

After that night, he had walked to Larandia in the mechanical soldier over four days and sold it to a black market broker. Since it was obviously stolen goods, he was forced to sell cheap, but it was enough money to enter the slums and obtain identity papers. Luca, who had no surname, acquired the surname "Barca" at this time. The broker had assigned it arbitrarily, but he rather liked it.

With his papers in hand, he managed to get an apprenticeship at a mechanical soldier maintenance factory. There was no salary, but he received one piece of bread a day and a place to live. If he worked honestly for two or three years, he thought he might be formally employed.

Life with Sylphie was very happy and fulfilling. Luca's world, which had been filled with nothing but suffering, became bright and joyful.

Though Sylphie was so physically weak that she could barely walk on her own, she would mend tears in Luca's clothes, make soup from their meager ingredients, and greet him with a radiant smile—saying "have a good day" when he left and "welcome home" when he returned. Each time, Luca felt happy and proud to have gained a family, and even the hardest labor felt like joy.

His days fell into a routine: working from morning to evening while being yelled at by his boss and getting covered in oil, then leaving the factory at five o'clock with his daily wage of one piece of black bread.

Then came the real work—finding food for Sylphie.

Luca sold the garbage he'd spent an hour and a half collecting to recycling dealers. Rags, scrap iron, and glass shards went to specialized recycling dealers, while bones were purchased by crushing mills. Cigarette butts could be bartered with the poor in the slums. If you knew who needed what and where to find them, even garbage could be turned into money just by making deliveries. Today's haul earned him one berrie—enough to buy a bottle of milk.

Night had fallen, and the pale blue fog had deepened to blue-black. Luca began walking toward the upper-class residential district through the fog illuminated by gas lamps.

The cold grew even more bitter at night. Constantly breathing on his hands and rubbing his palms together vigorously, he went around to the back of large mansions and asked familiar servants for kitchen scraps. He made the rounds of six mansions this way, then plunged his hands into the collected garbage to sort out fats and grease. Candle and soap manufacturers would buy these. This amount would probably fetch about half a berrie. Enduring the nauseating smell, Luca sorted the fat from the garbage with fingertips covered in scars from glass shards, then dragged his exhausted feet to Central City and made the rounds of dealers to exchange it for money.

Gripping today's earnings of three half-berrie coins, he headed to a bakery on the outskirts of Central City. At eight o'clock in the evening, he stood in front of the shop entrance just before closing time as the owner came out to take in the sign from the front. Luca silently handed the three coins to the owner.

Don't come into the shop. Stay there.

The owner went back inside and returned to the doorway carrying one piece of black bread, a bottle of milk, and one unleavened round loaf, which he handed to Luca outside the store.

Thanks.

Luca showed a genuine smile—different from the one he'd directed at the inspector—as he thanked him and put the bread in his pocket. Because his appearance was dirty and he smelled of kitchen scraps, he couldn't be allowed inside the shop, but this owner sold milk cheaply and baked inexpensive round loaves without yeast for the poor, giving extras when you came just before closing time. Luca survived thanks to these round loaves.

He hadn't eaten anything since morning. Drawing water from a roadside well into a cup, Luca ate the round loaf as he walked. It was the same bread served at workhouses—hard as stone and flavorless. You couldn't swallow it without washing it down with water. While breathing in the delicious aromas of food wafting from taverns along the street, Luca chewed the flavorless bread over and over like biting stone, washing it down sip by sip until it settled in his stomach.

When he glanced at a house's window, he was startled to see a pale ghost with sunken cheeks and emaciated limbs staring back at him. Realizing it was his own reflection in the glass, Luca pretended not to have seen it and returned his gaze to the road ahead.

After walking for about forty minutes, he finally returned to Megalodown. Having finished the unleavened bread, he hurried home while glancing at the poor people huddled motionless by the roadside.

The pungent smell of coal blanketed the entire slum district, making his throat scratchy just from walking through it. In the cold that turned their breath white, people without coats huddled around drums burning coal for warmth. They were all short, thin, and dirty as if they'd been doused in engine oil, with no life in their eyes. Some were missing one or both arms or legs—probably lost in the war. The wet, muddy streets weren't even paved, and rabid stray dogs with bared fangs prowled through the gaps where rotting vegetables, horse manure, and horse urine had collected.

Luca walked determinedly through the foul-smelling night slum with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, finally reaching Yellow Cross—a slum within Megalodown that had particularly serious problems with security and sanitation. In this infamous district where even the authorities feared to tread, where illegal immigrants, fraudsters, and criminals washed up, lay Luca and Sylphie's sleeping quarters.

Crowds of people slept on the streets, huddled together for warmth. Each other's body heat was all they had to keep warm. The bare feet protruding from blankets had turned purple. Come morning, some would have frozen to death. Since university hospitals bought fresh corpses for dissection, brokers known as "restoration shops" would quickly rush over to collect them. Burial in communal graveyards also cost money, so it wasn't uncommon for bereaved families to contact the restoration shops themselves to sell their relatives' remains. No one felt naive guilt about turning family deaths into money. These were the residents of Yellow Cross, simply living desperately in the present moment while giving thanks to family members who had become today's bread.

Weaving through the narrow streets lined with densely packed half-ruined buildings, he emerged before a small two-story warehouse. Luca went around to the back of the warehouse, knocked twice on the wooden door, paused for a beat, then knocked three more times in succession. The door immediately opened outward, and along with the smell of machine oil and soma—a type of fuel for operating mechanical soldiers—Sylphie peeked her pale face out into the moonlight.

Luca grinned broadly. A genuine smile befitting a twelve-year-old boy—different from both the one he'd directed at the inspector and the one for the bakery owner.

I'm home.

Welcome back.

Sorry I'm late. Were you scared? Are you hungry?

He slipped quietly into the warehouse. Inside, there was only a narrow ventilation opening and no windows—complete darkness. When he struck a phosphorus match and lit a candle, orange light flickered unsteadily throughout the space. Engines with missing parts, discarded circuit boards, chipped gears, broken metal struts, and punctured armor plates lay scattered chaotically in the shadows. This was the scrap storage area of the mechanical soldier repair factory where Luca worked. In exchange for maintaining parts and watching over the engines, Luca and Sylphie were allowed to live rent-free in one corner of the warehouse.

Sylphie, thin as a rail with a complexion as pale as porcelain, sat down directly in front of Luca and smiled sweetly.

I wasn't scared at all. I was perfectly fine by myself.

Her once-beautiful golden hair had faded and showed obvious damage, but her jade-colored eyes alone remained as beautiful as a starlit sky, unchanged from better times.

I can see that. You're brave. I wanted to come home earlier, but work was really busy today.

It's fine if you take your time coming home. I can watch the house by myself.

As she said this, she broke into a harsh coughing fit. A girl with lung disease couldn't possibly not be frightened staying alone in such darkness. Luca took out two pieces of black bread and milk that he'd earned from working all day, and set them on a wooden plate.

The boss gave me this. Go ahead and eat.

What about you, Luca?

I already ate at the boss's place. Wheat bread with vegetable soup and everything—it was delicious.

That sounds wonderful. I wish I could work too.

You'll be able to work once you get better. But you can't get better if you don't eat. Come on, eat the bread and try to cheer up.

When he urged her, Sylphie weakly took the black bread into her mouth.

It's delicious.

Hearing those words, Luca's fatigue vanished completely. He occasionally pressed his hand against his stomach to suppress the growling sounds it threatened to make if he let his guard down.

Lately Sylphie had lost her appetite. Since she wouldn't get better without eating, he made sure she ate both pieces of black bread and drank all the milk.

Thank you for the meal, Luca. It was really delicious.

Good job—you ate it all. Now let's go to bed. Staying up too late isn't good for you.

Sylphie blew out the candle. In the warehouse once again plunged into darkness, the siblings covered themselves with the same threadbare blanket, pressed their bodies close together, and shared their warmth.

He could hear her gentle heartbeat close to his ear. The warmth of life passed between them. Thanks to this shared warmth, both of them could survive. If either one disappeared, the remaining one would probably die from the cold as well. Sylphie lived on Luca's bread, and Luca lived on the warmth Sylphie gave him.

Luca barely remembered his parents. His mother had been a magician with a traveling entertainment troupe, but when Luca was four, she ran off with a passing merchant and vanished. He had no idea who his father was. His mother had been promiscuous—there were so many potential fathers just among the entertainers in the troupe that he'd need more than both hands to count them, and if you included her casual flings on the road, he'd run out of fingers and toes. He remembered nothing of his mother's face or any words she'd spoken to him, and every entertainer who might have been his father despised Luca and treated him like a slave.

That's why Sylphie alone was Luca's gift from God.

Aside from Sylphie, Luca owned nothing. But Luca was happy. When Sylphie smiled at him, that alone was enough—nothing else mattered.

Once he heard her breathing deepen alongside her heartbeat, Luca quietly slipped out of bed. Though his body was completely exhausted and he wanted to sleep like the dead, the fog tonight looked thin enough that the moon might break through. He didn't want to waste the chance.

He pushed aside the bundle of straw in the corner of the warehouse and retrieved the expensive leather-bound book and dictionary he'd hidden there. Then he climbed the ladder against the warehouse wall to reach the attic room, climbed another ladder, pushed open the wooden hatch in the ceiling, and emerged onto the warehouse's tile roof.

Just as he'd hoped, a brilliant deep blue full moon shone through the thin fog. It was a bright night. Luca sat down on the roof and began reading by moonlight, rubbing his tired eyes.

It was a war chronicle written 130 years ago by the founding emperor of the Rivanova Empire. Shivering from the cold, Luca turned pages with single-minded focus by moonlight, looking up unfamiliar words in the dictionary and absorbing every detail.

Not even one child in a hundred could read in Yellow Cross. Luca couldn't read either, originally. But two years ago, a well-dressed boy who came to this district taught Luca to read and write, and started lending him books from his personal library along with a dictionary. When Luca asked why he'd do such a thing, the boy, five years older than him, answered with a bored expression.

I want a well-educated servant.

The boy called himself Gemini. Probably a fake name. He appeared to be mixed race, with beautiful brown skin. Though Luca had never asked about his past, the local residents gossiped that he was most likely the illegitimate son of a white noble and a black servant, and the boy himself never denied it. He seemed to live off money sent from somewhere and owned many expensive books.

After learning to read and write from Gemini, Luca became obsessed with reading on moonlit nights like this. It would be ideal to read under streetlights, but if a twelve-year-old boy openly read such expensive books on the street, they'd definitely be stolen. This was the only place safe from thieves that still had light.

The only way to escape this situation was through education, and education could only be gained through reading. As if driven by an obsession, he devoured the war chronicles and biographies Gemini recommended. High-quality war chronicles and biographies contained the accumulated knowledge and experience of those who came before. The more he read, the better he understood how this world was structured and operated. He even came to grasp the logic behind why royal nobles could lounge around without working and live in luxury, while people like him could barely manage to eat two pieces of bread a day no matter how hard they worked.

If we ate our fill, we'd rebel against the nobles.

If they taught people like him to read and write, they might accumulate knowledge and unite. That would be trouble for the nobles. By squeezing them dry, they'd be too busy with daily survival to gain knowledge or build strength, remaining obedient slaves to the nobles, living their miserable lives until they died when there was nothing left to squeeze out of them . . .

Having to read books while shivering on a roof under the cold night sky to save on candles was also due to excessive taxation. If only there were windows, he could read indoors by the light streaming through them, but since a window tax was levied for each individual window, most buildings in Yellow Cross had none. So the poor typically used candles and coal stoves in poorly ventilated, pitch-black rooms, contracted lung diseases, and died miserable deaths. Since paupers who couldn't even pay taxes were better off dead from the nobles' perspective, they strangled people like him through indirect methods like the window tax.

I won't die like a dog. I won't let the nobles have their way.

With this resolve, Luca turned the pages while praying the moon wouldn't be hidden by clouds.

I'll climb my way up.

Breathing on his numb, cold hands and rubbing his tired, sleepy eyes, Luca continued his solitary rooftop studies.

I'll get a decent job, rent a room with windows, and cure Sylphie's illness.

I was born with nothing. I've been at the bottom from day one. If I stay like this, I'll just get beaten down and die in the gutter. That would be fine if it were only me, but I have Sylphie. For Sylphie to live happily and keep smiling, I can't stay ignorant. I have to read, gain knowledge, and learn to think for myself so the nobles can't fool me.

Just as he steeled his resolve, the moonlight suddenly dimmed.

Looking up at the sky, he saw seven massive pterosaurs, each over twenty meters long, flying in formation as they cut through the stars. Aerial fleets descended from Eden above, separated by endlessly towering walls, while strange birds and pterosaurs flew up from Judecca below, separated by equally endless cliffs. All of them looked down upon the inhabitants of Graceland, who had no means of flight.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar cry from the night sky. A small pterosaur about a meter and a half long descended from the starlit heavens and perched beside Luca.

Hey there, Bathsheba. How've you been? It's been two weeks.

Kree.

This was Bathsheba, the young pterosaur who had been with them since the night Luca first met Sylphie. He still visited Luca's home once or twice a month like this, as if checking on Sylphie's condition.

You've got it good. Being able to fly through the sky. You can go wherever you want, right?

When he spoke to him, Bathsheba cried out briefly as if responding. Sometimes Luca thought that Bathsheba might actually understand human speech.

I'd like to visit Eden someday. Judecca too. I wonder what those places are like.

Eden—the paradise reached by climbing three thousand meters of wall from Graceland—and Judecca—the purgatory that lay beyond a three-thousand-meter descent down sheer cliffs. No human from Graceland had ever been to either place. Perhaps some had reached those distant realms, but none had returned. Only pterosaurs and airships could travel between the two worlds shrouded in mystery.

Luca's curiosity was piqued. He dreamed of escaping this slum at the edge of the world and going on an adventure to explore unknown realms with Sylphie. Just imagining it made his heart race with excitement. But to make that dream come true, he couldn't stay as he was. He had to study more and build up the strength to survive in this world.

Luca endured the cold and continued studying by moonlight. Bathsheba stayed beside him the entire time, as if watching over his efforts.

The next morning . . .

Someone pounded roughly on the back door. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, Luca got up and opened it to find a poorly dressed child wearing a hunting cap standing before him.

. . . ?

The child didn't state their business, just silently glared at Luca. About the same age as Sylphie, perhaps, with a height that only reached Luca's shoulders, yet staring up at him with fierce, upturned eyes. No matter how long he waited, they never said what they wanted. Luca spoke first.

What do you want?

. . .

Don't just stand there silent. Say something.

. . .

Luca scratched the back of his head and studied the child intently. Small but strong-willed, with piercing eyes like a proud cat. Red hair, deep blue eyes, and skin with a slightly yellowish tint—probably mixed-race ancestry. The gender was unclear—dressed like a boy but with delicate, somewhat feminine features.

Are you a girl?

The moment he asked, the child's expression darkened with clear displeasure. After spitting on the street and narrowing those fierce eyes even further, the child spoke in a deliberately low, gruff voice.

I'll let it slide this time. But if you treat me like a girl again, I'll crush you with gears. I'm Mizuki. I'm a boy no matter how you look at it. Got it? Did you remember? Repeat it back.

Mizuki rattled this off in one breath, then crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Luca to respond. Maybe he was trying to mimic adult behavior, but he seemed like a troublesome kid either way. Luca scratched his head again and kept his expression neutral.

Name: Mizuki. Gender: male. So what do you want?

I'm running an errand for the boss. Give me two number 34 gears and one number 3 plug.

The memo he handed over contained part numbers for a repair shop in the city. No need for such an attitude over a simple errand. He was probably trying to act tough because he was self-conscious about looking weak.

What a pain . . .

Fighting with other poor kids like this was just exhausting and pointless. Luca didn't take the bait and headed back into the warehouse to find the requested parts.

Mizuki followed him inside, looking around curiously at the stacked parts before turning to Luca with a question.

Do you have a sister?

Hm? She's sleeping over there. Don't wake her up.

He'd probably heard about her from the boss. For some reason, Mizuki approached Sylphie. Ready to punch the kid if he tried anything, Luca turned his back and sorted through the scrap materials. The requested items were in a hard-to-reach spot, but he managed to grab them.

You actually had them?

Mizuki sounded confrontational about everything as Luca handed over the parts.

Here you go, boy. Take them.

What's with that? Don't keep saying "boy". You already know what I am.

Grumbling, Mizuki confirmed the part numbers were correct, glared at Luca, then stalked off with her shoulders set in anger.

. . . What a weird kid.

Watching her small figure walk away, Luca shivered from the cold outside air, then closed the door again.

Sylphie was still sleeping and wouldn't wake up.

Sylphie, it's morning. Let's go get water.

He called to her, but even though she usually woke up earlier than Luca, there was no response. Puzzled, he pulled back the thin blanket to find Sylphie curled up in a fetal position in the darkness, her arms and legs folded against her chest, shivering violently.

Sylphie . . . ?

It was too dark to see her complexion clearly. Luca hurriedly reopened the door, let in the outside light, and crouched down beside his sister.

Sylphie's face was much paler than usual, and her teeth were chattering audibly.

Wh-what's wrong? Are you sick?

I'm . . . so . . . cold . . .

Her words came out weak and broken. Luca placed his hand on Sylphie's forehead and panicked.

You have a fever! What should I do?

Sylphie seemed to find even answering painful. He wanted to get her warm, but they only had one blanket and no stove, let alone coal.

Sylphie's teeth chattered loudly. If he left her here alone, she would die from the cold. Luca put Sylphie on his back, covered her with the blanket, and headed out into the early morning Yellow Cross.

Soot from coal stoves rose from house chimneys, covering the sky and casting silver-gray reflections on the frozen streets. Luca ran through the steam that rose from the gutters ahead.

He didn't have money to see a doctor, let alone buy proper food. At this rate, Sylphie would die.

I won't let her die.

No matter what happens to me, I won't let Sylphie die.

With this resolve, Luca ran through Megalodown carrying Sylphie on his back, heading for the city.

Sylphie whispered painfully in Luca's ear, her voice catching.

You know . . . I think you're someone who stands up for people who are weak or in trouble.

Luca turned to look at Sylphie on his back. He couldn't understand what she was suddenly talking about.

I . . . love you so much for being that way. So . . .

. . . Hey. What are you talking about all of a sudden?

Sensing something ominous, Luca interrupted her. But Sylphie continued speaking.

If I . . . die . . .

I won't let you die. I absolutely won't let you die!

Find Vivi . . . Rain . . .

It was a name he'd never heard. Sylphie pleaded with all the strength she could muster.

I'm supposed to do it myself, but . . . it seems impossible now . . .

Suddenly, Sylphie pressed an unfamiliar pendant into Luca's hand. It was a blue stone engraved with an eight-pointed cross—a cross with two additional horizontal lines above and below the main crossbar—hanging from a silver chain.

It's called the Seraphim Crest. The person who has the same emblem . . . on the back of their right hand. That person is . . . Vivi Rain.

After staring at the pendant and being momentarily at a loss for words, Luca shouted back.

You need to find them! Get better and find them yourself!

Once we find Vivi . . . we can change the world. You can change it into a world where the weak, the poor, and the powerless won't be stepped on anymore.

Sylphie seemed delirious with fever, apparently caught up in some kind of fevered vision.

Promise . . . me. That you'll find Vivi Rain . . . That you'll make this world . . . better . . .

Not understanding anything Sylphie was saying, Luca shouted in frustration.

I told you, I don't know anything about that! Do it yourself! I don't know who this person is, but if they're important to you, then you need to find them yourself! It's okay, you won't die—I'll definitely save you!

Desperately trying to dispel Sylphie's despair with his words, Luca headed for Central City. He needed money fast or Sylphie would die. For the poor, there was only one way to get a substantial amount of money quickly. He'd commit as many crimes as necessary. Why follow laws that only made people like them suffer? Pushing through the crowds, Luca steeled his resolve.

If Luca had noticed that he'd passed Inspector Gregson in civilian clothes on the way to Central City, everything that followed would have been quite different.

But Luca's mind was consumed with worry for Sylphie. Normally he would have definitely sensed that the inspector was following him, but panic had clouded his judgment.

Inspector Gregson, who was off duty, sensed his chance for revenge had come. He concealed himself and followed Luca without being noticed. The inspector already knew what a desperate brother carrying his sick sister would resort to in the city.

Let go of me! I didn't do anything—let me go!

Grabbing Luca's right wrist and twisting it behind his back, Inspector Gregson addressed the gentlemen and ladies who had gathered around, wondering what was happening, like a performer on stage.

I apologize for the disturbance. This boy is a notorious criminal from Yellow Cross. I followed him expecting he'd try something, and sure enough, here we are.

The busy street corner in Central City filled immediately with onlookers. The inspector snatched the expensive-looking wallet from Luca's right hand and held it up to the crowd with a flourish.

I sincerely hope there isn't anyone here who bumped into this boy a minute ago and lost their wallet.

As the audience focused on the wallet, a shocked cry went up.

That's my wallet! I definitely bumped into someone just now . . . That boy?

The inspector smiled at the well-dressed middle-aged gentleman.

If you'll pardon me, could you please tell me your name?

After confirming that the gentleman's response matched the identification papers inside the wallet, the inspector returned the wallet to its owner and smiled at Luca.

Luca Barca, you're under arrest for theft in progress. Four weeks in the holding cell. Make sure the senior inmates treat you real good.

The handcuffs clicked around Luca's right wrist, chaining him to the inspector's left. Luca's blood ran cold. He couldn't believe the inspector had been following him. Too late now. Sylphie.

H-hey, please, just give me five minutes. My sister's waiting for me.

Watch your mouth. Make that five weeks.

In the case of the poor and displaced, if caught in the act, there was no trial—the length of imprisonment was at the inspector's discretion.

Please. Just give me a little time to explain to Sylphie. Five minutes—no, four minutes is fine. She's dying. She's going to die if I don't help her.

We'll hear your excuses at the station. Now let's go.

W-wait! Please wait, I'm begging you—Sylphie is waiting for me, I left her on the roadside!

An hour ago, when he'd decided to pickpocket, he had wrapped the shivering Sylphie in a blanket and left her on the city streets. If Luca was taken to the police station like this, Sylphie would freeze to death on the roadside.

Inspector Gregson responded to Luca's pleas with the most satisfied expression imaginable.

Weren't you listening to me? Six weeks. Keep this up and you'll get half a year by the end of the day.

Luca's speechless expression only heightened the inspector's satisfaction further. This was why he couldn't quit this job. There was nothing better than bullying the weak. When driving cocky brats to tears and pushing them into despair, he felt the ultimate joy of being alive.

Someone! Please tell the girl wrapped in a blanket at the corner of Belling 2nd District that Luca will be back soon, so go home! Don't wait there—just go home and wait quietly!

Finally, Luca began shouting to the onlookers in a tearful voice. The gentlemen and ladies merely exchanged puzzled looks, but none responded to his plea.

Shut up!

The inspector's right fist drove deep into Luca's abdomen. The blow to his empty stomach, delivered with an adult's strength, sent Luca collapsing forward.

Now, let's end this show. Please clear the way. A dangerous criminal from Yellow Cross is passing through—wouldn't want any mud to splash on you fine ladies and gentlemen.

Carrying the unconscious Luca's small body on his shoulder, the inspector headed for Megalodown Police Station, thinking only of how he would break this boy's spirit.

P-please . . . ! I'll do anything you say . . . ! Please let me go to Sylphie—she's sick, she'll die without me!

In Inspector Gregson's office, Luca was literally on his hands and knees, prostrating himself at the inspector's feet while tearfully pleading. The pendulum clock on the wall showed 4 PM. Four and a half hours had passed since he'd left Sylphie on the street.

Come now, Luca, you're not seriously asking me to let a thief go free, are you? That's impossible. My job is to protect model citizens from criminals. If you think you've done wrong, then spend the next seven weeks reflecting in the shared cell.

Prison was not a place to rehabilitate criminals. It was a facility for legally eliminating useless poor people from this world. A twelve-year-old child surrounded by tyrannical guards and bitter prisoners for seven weeks would not emerge with mind and body intact.

I'll do anything, please spare me from prison! Sylphie will die without me! I'll do anything you say, just please don't put me in prison!

Gone was yesterday's insolent mocking face—Luca's face was contorted, tears streaming down without being wiped away, abandoning all pride and dignity as he bowed deeply to the inspector. He looked ready to lick the man's boots. The inspector was having the time of his life. He wanted to torment him even more.

That's it.

He would make this insufferable little brat suffer with a method he'd never used before.

Something that would turn his very world into hell.

Like silk slowly tightening around a throat, he wanted to inflict a slow, lingering torment that would gradually consume him through the simple act of living—continuing relentlessly until death . . .

Listen, Luca. I'm not a monster. If you absolutely must see your sister, I might be willing to arrange it.

As he infused his words with false compassion, a faint glimmer of hope appeared on Luca's tear-stained, snotty face.

R-really? Thank you! Thank you!

Luca threw himself at the inspector's feet like a worshipper before a saint, pressing his forehead to the floor.

I could even release you today if I wanted to. It's entirely up to you. You said you'd do anything I asked, right? That wasn't a lie, was it?

Luca stared up at the inspector with his mouth hanging open, then nodded vigorously twice.

I'll do anything! If it means I can see Sylphie, I'll clean sewers, I'll wash corpses—anything!

Is that so? What admirable resolve—I'm truly moved. Very well then, for your sake, I'll spare you from prison. But in exchange, you'll have to accept a different punishment.

Yes!

To Luca, who grasped at this offer like salvation itself, the inspector announced:

You'll get a tattoo on your face.

Luca's mouth fell open again.

The mark of a murderer. So anyone can tell at a glance that you're a convicted criminal.

Luca gave no reply. The inspector sighed.

Don't like it? I thought I was being as generous as possible. After all, I'm exempting you from prison—you'll have to do at least this much, or I'll lose face.

He noticed Luca's hands trembling. The inspector savored the moment inwardly. The kid was terrified. Well, that was only natural when you thought about it. If he got something like that tattooed on his face, Luca would lose the work he'd finally managed to secure, he wouldn't be able to rent a room anywhere, and he'd never find new employment. A normal life would be forever out of reach. And the sight of a twelve-year-old boy with a murderer's mark carved into his face would be grotesque beyond measure. He'd be stared at wherever he went, and children would throw stones at him.

Simply living would become hell for Luca. For the inspector, that prospect was pure bliss.

So what'll it be? Prison's fine with me if you prefer. Decide quickly, before I change my mind.

Luca's face slowly drained of color. He was clearly at a complete loss, suddenly confronted with such a momentous life choice.

He could throw away his own life and run to his sister.

Or he could abandon his sister on the street and protect his own life.

Come on, you little shit—which will you choose? the inspector thought.

I'll do it.

Luca's voice came out as barely a trembling whisper.

Please give me the tattoo. Right now, right here. Please let me off with that.

Still on his hands and knees on the floor, Luca looked straight up at the inspector and spoke with eyes that showed no hesitation. He was trying to appear brave, but the inspector could see him trembling from head to toe.

Heh heh heh. What an idiot. Throwing away his own life for that filthy sister of his.

The inspector stifled his laughter and put on a thoughtful expression.

But when you say right now, right here, I'd need to arrange for a tattooist and all. Could you wait one night?

Please do it right now! I'll leave it all to you! If I wait a whole night, Sylphie will die—please!

Luca's scream filled the inspector's heart with great satisfaction. Yes, yes, everything was going exactly as he wished. Tonight would be a good night—he'd stop by the tavern later for some ale.

Is that so? If you insist so much, I suppose I have no choice—I'll do it for you. I believe you just dip the tip of a sewing needle in ink and scratch away. Since I'm an amateur, there might be some mistakes, but you'll have to bear with it. After all, I'm letting you off with such a light punishment for your sake.

The inspector agreed with a pompous air. He was quite pleased with himself for being able to inflict punishment equivalent to murder for merely stealing a wallet. He ordered his subordinates to bring a sewing needle and dipped the tip in an inkwell.

His subordinates pressed down on Luca's shoulders, pinning his back against the wall.

Though trembling, Luca pressed his lips together and fixed the inspector with a defiant stare.

The inspector approached Luca's left eye with the needle tip dripping with ink, wearing a grinning smile.

He would carve an ugly scar so this boy would be despised by every human being for the rest of his life. So that every time this piece of trash looked in a mirror, he would remember him—he would etch a persistent, deep, lifelong mark that would never fade . . .

Luca bit back his screams. He'd only cried out during the negotiation—now he'd die before giving this bastard the satisfaction of hearing him break.

The needle traced a path from beneath his left eye, across the side of his nose, down to his lips. The delicate muscle fibers of his face were pierced and torn again and again by the sewing needle. The inspector re-inked the tip and drove it mercilessly into Luca's flesh, carving deep, ragged gouges.

He used every ounce of strength to keep his limbs from thrashing and bit his lip until it bled, fighting through the agony.

He thought only of Sylphie, wrapped in her blanket on that frozen street corner, waiting for him to return. Sylphie was on the other side of this pain. He just had to endure a little longer, and then he could go to her.

Sylphie, you must be so cold. Just wait a little longer. I screwed up, but I'll come to you as soon as this is over. You're all I have. No parents, no friends—if you're gone too, there's no point in me living. I'm scared of being alone again. So please, don't die, Sylphie . . .

And then—

Once released, Luca left Megalodown Police Station and ran toward the city.

At 6 PM the fog had lifted from the western sky, leaving a purple afterglow, and lamplighters on stilts were lighting the gas lamps.

The cold air stung his facial wound, but the pain no longer mattered. Luca ran without stopping toward the city. Passersby occasionally stared at his face in shock, but he didn't care about that either.

Luca was thinking only of Sylphie.

He ran while praying that her small warmth, gentle smile, and kind words that always encouraged and cheered him would never be lost.

It took about forty minutes to reach the corner of Belling 2nd District.

Breathing heavily, Luca found a small body lying completely wrapped in a blanket in the same place as seven hours ago.

Sylphie!

He dropped to his knees on the wet cobblestones illuminated by orange gaslight, clinging to hope. The coldness of the frozen street seeped through his knees.

Luca gathered the blanket in both hands and pulled it onto his lap. Then he opened the tightly wrapped cocoon and pressed both hands against Sylphie's cold, pale cheeks.

Sylphie! Sylphie!

Sylphie's expression didn't change in the slightest. He rubbed his hands roughly against her cheeks, but her frost-covered eyelids showed no sign of opening.

He took her small, limp hand and checked for a pulse. There was none. He pressed his ear to her thin chest, searching for a heartbeat. The sound of life that had been there yesterday—it was gone.

Sylphie! Sylphie!

No matter how much he called out, that smile never returned.

Sylphie lay in Luca's arms, cold and hard as ice. No matter how much he rubbed her skin, pulled at her cheeks, or tapped her gently, her frozen eyelids remained closed.

I won't believe it! I won't believe it, I won't believe it, I won't believe it!

Luca screamed. Passersby stopped in alarm to see what was happening and stared at the peculiar scene before them.

He lifted Sylphie's still form, carried her on his back, and covered her with the blanket. It was too cold here—if he took her somewhere warmer, Sylphie would wake up.

What's that? She's dead.

That kid's face—isn't something wrong with it?

Hey, that's a tattoo.

The kind murderers get! That kid has killed someone . . . !

The citizens' whispered comments reached Luca's ears.

Move!

Luca's voice cut through the air with fierce intensity. People screamed and the crowd parted. Luca walked through the gap with Sylphie still on his back. People recoiled at his frightening appearance.

Murderer!

Someone's curse reached Luca's back. It was because of the tattoo. Just by walking down the street, he was condemned for crimes he hadn't committed. These people were nothing but busybodies who would immediately gather and create a scene at the slightest spectacle. A child with a murderer's tattoo on his face was perfect fodder for gossip at taverns, workplaces, and dinner tables.

Go ahead and gossip. No matter what you say about me, I don't give a damn.

Clear the way!

Luca raised his voice again to the crowd that had gathered after hearing the commotion. Those who saw Luca's face gasped and backed away. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, he pushed through the crowd and walked away.

Leaving the City, he headed for Megalodown.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how far he walked, no warmth came from Sylphie on his back. The cold air seeped directly into her body, making her grow colder with each passing minute. If Sylphie was this cold, how would he keep himself warm tonight?

Returning to the scrap yard, he laid Sylphie's body on the bed they usually shared.

When he lit the candle, her deathly pale face emerged from the darkness. He checked once more—no pulse, no heartbeat. He covered her cold body with a blanket and placed his hand on his sister's forehead.

If she warmed up here overnight, she might wake up again. She might give him her usual gentle smile and greet him with "Good morning".

Believing this, Luca slept with his arms around Sylphie as always. But the familiar warmth was nowhere to be found.

The next morning, Luca found a shovel among the scrap materials and strapped it to his back along with Sylphie's cold body. He put the war chronicle and dictionary borrowed from Gemini, flint, and a cup into a small hemp sack.

As he left the warehouse, he looked back just once. The faint morning light illuminated the pile of parts scattered about.

It was the space where he had lived with Sylphie for three years, since they first met.

See ya.

Luca said goodbye to no one in particular, then left his home behind without looking back.

Carrying Sylphie's lifeless body on his back, Luca walked through the indigo fog. He headed toward the outskirts, in the opposite direction from the peddlers heading out for their daily business.

After walking for about thirty minutes, he reached Larandia's castle gate. When he showed his special identity papers at the checkpoint, the official gave an annoyed glance at the tattoo on Luca's face and Sylphie on his back, then granted passage without questions. They stopped troublemakers from entering the capital, but had no problem with them leaving. Luca looked up and gazed at the endless rolling grasslands and the mountain range hazy in the distance. That mountain would do.

Around noon, he found a scenic spot in the mountains. The trees thinned out into a clearing, and the walled city of Larandia was visible in the hazy distance. The sun shone brightly—if there were no clouds, sunlight would reach this place from sunrise to sunset.

Luca laid Sylphie on the ground and drove the shovel into the earth. He spent over an hour digging deep into the soft soil with single-minded determination.

When it was sufficiently deep, he laid Sylphie's body in the hole. He placed wildflowers picked along the way beside her small form, took one last look at her pale face to burn it into his memory, and covered her with earth using the shovel.

He piled earth into a mound so he wouldn't forget the location and placed a large stone as a grave marker. He walked around the area picking fresh flowers to offer at the grave, then knelt and prayed.

I'm sorry, Sylphie.

While praying, Luca apologized. He let the tears he'd been holding back for so long fall freely.

I couldn't do anything for you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.

Tears and snot streaming down his face, Luca apologized through his sobs.

I'm stupid and poor and worthless—that's why I let you die. I'm useless. Can't do anything right. I'm completely pathetic.

Luca sobbed miserably as he berated himself.

Sorry for being such a mess. This is the last time I'll cry. I'll never cry again.

Even as he made this promise, Luca continued crying, as if pouring out every last bit of weakness from inside him.

This is where I'll leave my weakness behind. I'll become strong. So one last time, right here and now, I'll let myself be completely vulnerable.

After crying to his heart's content, Luca pressed his knees into the earth and stood up.

Then he glared at Larandia, hazy in the distance.

Find Vivi Rain.

In the wind, he heard Sylphie's voice.

If you find Vivi, you can change the world.

Luca took Sylphie's pendant from his pocket. He placed the blue stone bearing the eight-pointed cross in his palm.

You'll change it into a world where the weak, the poor, and those of low status won't be trampled on, big brother.

Promise me. Promise you'll find Vivi Rain. Promise you'll make this world better.

It seemed as if Sylphie were here right now, whispering beside him.

He raised his face and looked up at the deep blue sky. Not the cloudy sky he saw from Megalodown, but a clear, majestic sky of true blue that stretched endlessly.

Luca put the pendant around his neck and gripped the blue stone. They said Vivi Rain had the same Seraphim Crest as this stone on the back of their right hand.

I'm going to find Vivi Rain, Sylphie.

When he replied like that, Sylphie's smile seemed to shine through the blue sky.

His chest tightened.

I couldn't do anything for you. At least I can do this much.

Sylphie had said the world could be changed, but he had no desire to change anything. He just wanted to find Vivi Rain—that would be enough. Sylphie, who had never wanted a proper room or a bed with cushions or vegetable soup, had asked for this with her dying breath, so he had to make it happen. He owed her that much for all the happiness she'd given him.

I promise. I'll bring Vivi Rain back here with me. You might get lonely until then, but please wait here for me.

Luca wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. He scrubbed again and again, forcing out what he swore would be the last tears of his life.

Then he raised his head, his face set with determination. The lightning-bolt tattoo that zigzagged from beneath his left eye to his lips looked like tears carved in stone.

Now, let's go.

To find Vivi Rain.

I'm going.

Carrying the hemp sack with his books, flint, and cup, Luca descended the mountain without looking back. It was a solitary departure with no one to see him off.

For Luca, the journey had only one purpose: to find Vivi Rain, someone out there in the world whose gender he didn't even know. That this seemingly trivial quest would lead to encounters with countless companions, drag entire nations into war, and eventually see Luca himself ruling the earth as the Demon King of Calamity—the boy setting out had no way of knowing any of this.

What would later be called the greatest war in history, the "Great Graceland War", effectively began with this twelve-year-old boy's departure. Unaware of the tremendous destiny that awaited him, the boy took his first small step into the world, carrying only his sister's wish in his heart.