Chapter 239

Chapter 239: Gregor, Gregor

As ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍winter approached, snowflakes drifted down everywhere.

The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍air turned cold, stinging the throat with each breath. Puddles along the roadside wore a skin of ice, and the moisture that had seeped between the flagstones gleamed with a slippery sheen.

The ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍city of Elvra had not fallen.

Torches ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍on the walls burned at regular intervals, and the bells marking the changing of the guard rang on time. There was no chaos. On the streets, monks appeared making their way toward the Sacred Ground. The market bustled, and prayers offered up to Kriya sounded the same as ever.

Calix ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍walked through that order, taking it in.

He ‍​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍made no judgment—neither good nor bad. He simply confirmed it with his own eyes. The people here had endured, and they had risen again.

It was different from Astria or Niboria. There, doubt after doubt had erupted all at once—over who to save, what to abandon, which promises to believe—and that doubt had eaten them alive from within.

But Elvra was different.

There was unease, yet that unease had not come to rule the city. The clergy had stepped forward, and the people had willingly followed.

The framework was precarious, but the locals were somehow still breathing.

"……This place is more intact than I expected."

A low voice sounded from behind.

It was Gajit.

The attendant who had followed Calix all the way from the mine. He was keeping watch on the surroundings with excessive caution, though the stable atmosphere had visibly eased his tension.

But what could be seen on the surface alone was not enough.

Calix passed a group of children begging at the roadside. Nearby, a guard clad in pure white armor watched with sharp eyes.

‘Elvra isn't entirely fine, either.’

The reason the city appeared stable was that the nature of its struggle had changed. The war being waged here was between those striving to hold together and those who had let go of life entirely. And at the center of it stood people whose faces Calix knew.

Just then, Volga returned from the other direction with news.

"We're meeting at dusk."

"……"

"You've been there before."

The abandoned cathedral on the outskirts of the city.

The very place where, once upon a time, he had first met Sier Lagrin.

***

At dusk, the abandoned cathedral looked exactly as it had before. The roof had half caved in, and cracks ran up the spire. The walls were scorched black in places, and the steps were blanketed in moss, some of them crumbled away.

The one thing that had changed was the knights standing in formation around the cathedral. Calix passed through them and stepped inside.

The first thing he encountered was silence.

And at the heart of that silence, a man stood.

Marik.

Calix recognized him at a glance. There were more lines on his face than in memory. Yet he was dressed in ornate armor, and on his chest was emblazoned the crest of the Crusaders.

"……"

When Calix removed his hood, their gazes met.

Marik did not move for a long moment. He simply stood there, watching. As though checking once more—as though measuring whether this was truly not an illusion.

"……I heard the rumors."

Marik spoke quietly.

"Something unbelievable was being said to have come out of Niboria."

His gaze moved slowly across Calix's face.

"Still, I didn't believe it."

Only then did Marik step forward. Without further hesitation, he pulled Calix into an embrace. The strength in it was not great. It was brief, and firm.

Confirming that someone was alive—that was enough for that.

"You're back."

Those were the only words.

Afterward, the two men spent some time recounting the days that had passed. They shared what each had been through, and at one point teased Volga lightly to break the tension. But not a single word was spoken about what lay ahead.

It was better for everyone that way.

Marik's gaze lingered briefly on Calix's iron rod, then returned to his face. Likewise, Calix had seen the new emblem on Marik's chest.

People change.

Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing—there was no point in judging it. In the moment where their choices had diverged, a simple gladness was not enough to turn back the clock.

"Those who follow me……have made their home in the Kingdom of Elvra. Once I had something to protect, I could no longer wander forever."

"I see."

"……"

Calix asked nothing further.

And yet Marik fell silent. Weariness toward reality showed through in his expression.

"The Pope……no, Lady Ella has not been able to come out. Seeing her won't be easy."

Marik added, briefly.

"Gregor couldn't come out either, for different reasons."

At that name, Calix's eyes flickered for just a moment. The image of the old man losing his memories surfaced belatedly in his mind. The fragments of memory were gradually piecing themselves back together.

That was when it came.

"His health is not good. The time he has left……is not much."

Calix did not waver. Gregor had been old from the very first time they met. He had fought through one great battle after another—it was not strange at all that his health would deteriorate sharply. Even so, something inside him dropped.

He followed behind Marik.

As they emerged from the cathedral, the men who had become Crusaders stole glances at Calix. It was the first time they had seen him without his hood. Some of them averted their eyes, and others could not pull their gazes away. It was a look in which warmth and unfamiliarity, respect and distance, were felt all at once.

Calix walked on, receiving each of those gazes one by one.

This was no longer a place he could return to. And that fact—it no longer hurt quite as much.

***

Gregor lay in a well-appointed room.

To be precise, it was somewhere between sitting and reclining. The blanket had slipped down past his waist, and his hands rested on his knees, trembling faintly. Attendants moved in and out of the room—he was clearly being looked after properly.

Yet his body was frail with age.

It was the price of long years spent wandering from battlefield to battlefield. The ceaseless use of his neural accelerator had placed an unrelenting burden on his flesh. High-ranking clergy had come and read healing prayers over him, but it had reached the point where there was hardly a sound part of him left to find.

It was around that time that Calix came to visit.

The moment he faced Gregor, he could tell that the old man's health had deteriorated sharply. His mana was trying to gather near the heart, but could not be stopped from seeping out beyond the body.

Then the old man's head turned.

A brief silence.

What crossed Gregor's face was neither surprise nor joy.

"An impostor! He's an impostor!"

"……Gregor."

"Cook Comrade, why have you only come now!"

The shout was followed, a beat late, by joy unmistakably breaking through. Because his mind was not clear, he could not ask how Calix was still alive.

He simply extended his hand, eyes brimming with tears.

Calix took the hand Gregor offered. Then the old man let out a ragged voice. Hoarse coughing came mixed with it, but the words were not difficult to make out.

"To appear just when everything is nearly over—what in the world do you think you're doing……"

As Volga stood frozen with a stricken expression, Calix soothed the old man, then pulled a chair close and sat down beside him.

That action only fanned the flame.

"You're not going to answer?"

Gregor gritted his teeth.

"You were always like this. Whether appearing or disappearing. Always deciding alone, always carrying it alone……"

His breath grew labored. The end of his words broke off for a moment, then resumed.

What followed was a quiet confession.

"I failed to protect you."

This time, a clear tremor ran through it.

"I failed to protect your end. I couldn't do anything. I'm always late—always a man who does nothing but chew on his regrets."

The fist he had clenched shook violently.

"That's why you ended up like this!"

Gregor cried out suddenly.

"All of it……is my fault."

A fit of coughing erupted. As his body shook violently, Calix reflexively reached out and patted him on the back. The old man was unwell—in body and in mind alike.

Yet Calix did not leave.

He quietly remained by his side.

This time, at least.

***

After that, Calix shared everything with Gregor. They cooked and ate together, lit fires, slept, and on the occasional day when his physical state allowed, they went out for walks.

The old man lost longer and longer stretches of time.

On most days he did not recognize Calix, and on some days he mistook him for a spy sent by an enemy nation—and swung a pillow at him instead of a shield. Time and place were all muddled together.

Yet one emotion alone remained sharp.

Guilt.

The conviction that he had failed to protect those beside him never grew dim.

Calix did not correct his thinking. He did not argue, and he did not explain. He simply sat at his side.

When anger poured out, when breath grew short—he kept his place beside him without a word. As if following the example of someone who had once done the same for him.

And so, several months passed.

On a day when winter storms had raked across Elvra and moved on, Gregor suddenly opened his mouth. It was while Calix was tidying a cluttered table.

"……Calix."

At those words, every movement stopped at once. Because Gregor's condition had been growing worse with time. He would lose consciousness and regain it several times a day, and his words had grown fewer and fewer.

Yet in this moment, the old man's eyes were clearer than they had been in a long while.

"I should go outside."

Calix nodded. That was all.

And within it, he learned one more thing.

This was not a battle. There was no one who needed saving. There was neither an enemy to fight nor a time to restore.

Once he accepted that, his heart grew still. Calix supported Gregor and made ready to go out.

It could not be put off any longer.

***

In the early hours before dawn, the city still slept.

Without telling anyone, Calix came out alone with just the two of them. The forest path that continued beyond the city walls was so quiet it seemed to swallow even the sound of footsteps.

Gregor walked with long strides, as though he had never been bedridden at all. A thin layer of snow had settled on the ground, and with every exhaled breath, white mist spread thickly through the air.

Haah……

Before long, the two stopped at a place on a hill where a broad, flat boulder rested.

Calix tried to build even a small fire, but at the old man's gesture he gave it up and went to sit beside him. Instead, he removed his cloak and draped it over Gregor's shoulders, then propped a stone behind his back to help him settle into a comfortable position.

Gregor said nothing for a long while. Before them, the faint outline of the Kingdom of Elvra's landscape spread in the distance.

Yes—they had not come very far.

The old man was looking at that view, but his gaze reached much further than what lay before him. Whether he was looking beyond the city or tracing memories from long ago, it was impossible to tell. Each time a cold wind blew, his breathing hitched briefly.

Calix removed Gregor's gloves and clasped his hands together in his own. The knuckles were thick and the skin rough. Warmth still lingered, but it could be felt slowly slipping away.

The corners of Gregor's mouth rose almost imperceptibly.

"……This place."

A hoarse voice scraped through the air.

"It's not bad."

Silence followed those words once more. The irregular sound of his breathing gradually grew even and then faded.

How much time had passed.

When the eastern sky began to grow faintly bright, Gregor's lips moved all at once. This time there was almost no sound at all.

"Mother……"

The clasped hands tightened. Just for an instant.

"My mother……"

Those were the last words.

The old man's hand no longer moved. As the strength drained away, that sensation was conveyed directly to Calix. The breath of life was departing.

Then, Calix quietly opened his mouth.

"I shall not let you depart in solitude."

There was a story that had to be told before Gregor set off on his long journey.

"For sorrow belongs to those who remain—and so I go forth to meet the one who departs."

And he—

"I remained by your side……and bore witness to your death."

—recited the Mountain Rabbits' Oath.

A little later, the sun rose. Light filtered through the leaves, and the shadows of the two who sat together on the boulder stretched long—a teacher and his student. One of them no longer moved.

Even so, Calix kept his place beside him.

For a long, long time.