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Traveler – Part 09

A bullet whizzed past, grazing Kazuya’s ear. A dull ache followed. It was only after a moment that he became aware of blood trickling down from his earlobe.

The ongoing battle unfolded beneath a heavy overcast sky, the morning so dim it resembled dusk. Snow fell sporadically.

The rifle in Kazuya’s hands had long turned from a weapon into a makeshift staff. Bullets sliced through the air, tanks roared, and explosions reverberated with fiery intensity across the desolate battlefield. Fallen comrades littered the ground. The absence of medics suggested they were injured as well.

Kazuya’s right leg, shot last night, felt heavy as a log.

A fellow soldier caught sight of him and called out, “Kujou, over here!” offering a helping shoulder. Amidst the relentless barrage of bullets, they trudged forward.

“S-Sorry,” Kazuya said.

“I thought we were supposed to say that in French. What was it again? Par… dan?”

“…Oh.” Upon closer inspection, it was the same boy he had helped before. Kazuya smiled. “It’s ‘pardon’.”

“Anyway, have you ever seen a tank shaped like that before?” the young soldier said, glancing fearfully at the enemy side.

Kazuya looked over his shoulder and stared at the state-of-the-art tank from the New World. It loomed like an imposing, black building made of iron.

The earth rumbled as a bomb from the tank landed nearby. The blast threw Kazuya aside, separating him from his comrade, and slammed him onto the unforgiving ground.

“Ugh… Hey, are you okay?! Where are you?”

Groaning, he staggered to his feet.

The soldier lay lifeless a short distance away. It was clear at a glance that he had succumbed to the chaos. Kazuya groaned as he hung his head.

Gripping his rifle and thrusting it into the ground, he attempted to push himself up, to move closer to his comrade, but his body betrayed him. His limbs felt leaden, and his injured leg seemed to drag him into an invisible, suffocating swamp.

For a while, body and mind wrestled until finally, Kazuya collapsed flat on his back.

Countless bullets whizzed by above. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes. Then, feeling a summons, he slowly opened them again.

The wind whispered. The clouds began to part, and the morning sun pierced through the rifts in the gray canopy. The sight brought a faint smile to Kazuya’s face.

The clouds thinned, transforming into a narrow, zigzagging shape like a wooden staircase. A secret path that extended high into the heavens endlessly.

Is that…

Kazuya tilted his head slightly.

It looks familiar. What is it? Ah, right…!

His smile widened. Bullets streaked above him.

That’s the labyrinthine staircase in St. Marguerite Academy’s library tower.

The distinctive ambiance of that solemn place. A mysterious hush, the scent of knowledge and ink and dust mingling together. Profoundly quiet, yet tension hung in the air, as if the European books lining the walls were observing with unseen eyes.

Looking up, the labyrinthine staircase wound in a zigzag pattern, and at the summit, a faint glimpse of the conservatory’s lush greenery could be seen. Religious paintings adorning the high ceiling.

Something golden dangled from the railing on the top floor. It was undoubtedly the golden fairy, the subject of ghost stories whispered among the students of the academy.

It was here all along. Saint Marguerite’s Grand Library. Victorique and mine’s secret meeting place.

Kazuya smiled, stretching both hands toward the sky. Toward the bullets flying overhead. There was nothing to fear now.

Ah, Victorique. My Victorique!

His smile deepened, taking on a sadder note.

If I go up those stairs of cloud, will I see you again? Not the you now, not the future you, but the fourteen-year-old you in 1924. It doesn’t matter. I just want to see you again. And say the things I couldn’t that last night—the New Year’s Eve of 1924. This time, I’ll make sure you know.

Tears welled up in Kazuya’s jet-black eyes, eventually spilling onto the muddy ground, glistening as they fell.

My golden butterfly… I want to protect you forever…

Whether it was the tropical plants in full bloom in the conservatory or the flowers swaying in the flowerbed maze at the back of the French-style garden, an illusion of warm wind and the fragrant smell of green surrounded Kazuya in the winter battlefield.

Through the greenery, something fluttered towards him.

A small, golden butterfly.

No, not golden…

It seemed to have white or silver wings. A tiny cabbage butterfly, perhaps, common in the country where Kazuya was from. Flapping its wings, it flew towards him, slow and desperate. Kazuya was briefly surprised, but instantly smiled. He reached out a hand towards the butterfly, beckoning it over.

I know it’s you, Victorique. I can tell, even if you’ve changed a little.

Kazuya smiled again.

Bullets whizzed, explosions roared relentlessly, and the scent of blood hung in the air amidst the gunpowder smoke. Nevertheless, the morning sun shone bright and refreshing, creating a surreal moment that felt like a narrow space between this world and the next.

Did you come all the way to this distant battlefield for me, Victorique? You’re such a handful!

Kazuya reached out eagerly, but just before his fingertips could touch the illusory butterfly, his eyelids abruptly grew heavy, and his arms dropped to the ground.

Tears continued to flow down his cheeks. His complexion was pale, and he seemed to have lost vitality as if he were made of wax. Bullets still crisscrossed overhead.

Why are you crying, Victorique? I can hear your tearful voice from somewhere far away.

Don’t worry. You won’t be alone anymore.

Hey, remember that spring day? The day I climbed the labyrinthine staircase of the library tower and found you, resplendent in gold.

I’m here for you. Your knight. I promise… So please, don’t cry. I’ll find you again, no matter how many layers of ruffles you hide in.

Why? Because I know the color of your soul. I will never miss you, regardless of how much your appearance has changed.

I love you, my one and only Victorique.

---

Twilight came to the battlefield.

The seemingly endless battle came to an end, leaving only debris and a burned wasteland. A wind carrying the scent of gunpowder blew past. Silence enveloped the surroundings like a heavy cloth. Birds chirped somewhere, but there was no other sound.

Soon, soldiers from the New World walked slowly across the seemingly lifeless battlefield. Armed with bayonets, they systematically stabbed the hearts of fallen soldiers from the Old World, their actions unfolding in silent, mechanical precision.

One by one, they pierced the chests of young, black-haired soldiers as they advanced.

A soldier arrived at the spot where Kazuya was lying. His injuries seemed minor, and although his skin was ashen, it was unclear whether he was alive or already dead.

The soldier raised his bayonet high and swung it down with all his might to stab it into Kazuya’s chest.

Into Kazuya’s heart.

“…Oh?”

The soldier stopped his swing. He crouched down, wearing a pensive look.

He searched Kazuya’s chest and found a ring hanging from a thin, straw rope around the neck. The purple gem sparkled.

The soldier flicked the shiny purple stone with his fingers, then threw a nearby pebble at it. When he realized it wasn’t made of glass but a genuine gem, he grew excited, staring at the ring with a surprisingly innocent expression.

Another soldier called him from behind. After responding, he snatched the ring from Kazuya’s chest and quickly hid it. Smiling with satisfaction, he hurriedly left the scene.

As the sun set slowly, soldiers from the New World left the battlefield. Packed into tanks, they chatted and sang as they moved away. A cold wind dispersed the ominous smell of gunpowder.

Sunlight turned into a deep gray, and the battlefield gradually changed to black and white, colors gradually fading. Birds sang. From the cloudy sky, white snow began to fall again.

---

Victorique was about to throw herself off board the ship. She staggered. A second later, however, the sailors’ firm arms grabbed her.

“Let me go!”

“Take off the bonnet! Damn it, stop thrashing. All right, I got it. It’s… blonde…?”

With the bonnet removed, Victorique’s long hair bundled inside unfurled in the wind, sparkling magically. From the small, astonishingly beautiful face flowed locks of hair like a river.

Shocked by the hair that glittered and spread like silk fabric, the crew stepped back.

“What’s this?”

“The notice definitely said blonde hair.”

“Do we have the wrong girl?”

Victorique gently cast her gaze on her own hair, waving like a flag in the wind, to find beautiful, unfamiliar locks.

“Hers is white! No…”

“Is this silver?”

It was a lovely color. Like snow. Like moonlight. As brilliant as a mystical diamond.

While on the ship heading towards the New World, Victorique, along with Brian Roscoe and other ancient creatures, suffered physically.

In just a few days, her hair had lost its golden hue. She crumpled on the spot.

“Well that was confusing,” said one of the sailors. “I guess we just had the wrong person.”

“What a waste of time!”

They left Victorique on the deck and walked away.

Crouched down, Victorique peered into the sea of death she had just tried to jump into and shuddered. She began sobbing, quietly.

Was it relief? Was it the faint hope that had returned shaking her core? Or was it the terrifying loss of the fairy’s golden brilliance?

“Onward,” she breathed, her tiny shoulders trembling with anxiety. “T-T-Towards a new…”

Glittering silver hair enveloped Victorique. It looked as if that area alone had turned as dark as night, filled with irresistible charm.

A moment later, Victorique raised her face gallantly. She staggered to her feet. Her emerald eyes flickering, she nodded resolutely.

“To the new world!”

A gust of wind blew, lifting her silver hair.

The whistle sounded. The ship continued to sail across the sea, turning its back on the Old World.

“You will not die together.”

“Years from now… a gale strong enough to shake the world will blow.”

“Your bodies are light. No matter how strong your feelings are, you are no match for the wind.”

“But worry not. Your hearts will never be apart.”

“Our hearts?”