This is an old fairy tale.
A long time ago when the emnetwiht prospered on the surface, it was passed down from mother to child as folklore, told as a bedtime story. The story naturally changed as it travelled from mouth to mouth, details changing in each variation. Nonetheless, the main bits remained the same and the meaning survived.
As it went, an overworked cobbler was frustrated to no end until he was visited by a sprite. In exchange for milk, it assisted with the workload. Since its body was so small, it couldn’t work as efficiently as humans, and at most made a single shoe per night.
Those were the consistent details. Another variation went like this: The sprite was a troublemaker who would break things and disappear without a trace afterwards. Some stories suggested it owned many glittering coins and hid them underground or within earthen jars. If you could catch one of those critters always scurrying around with grins on their faces, you’d be rich—or so it went.
The remnants of the mark those good-natured companions had left on the emnetwiht’s history was this old fairy tale—the story of the sprites known as leprechauns.
“I see… I get the gist of it,” a youth murmured to himself. He was a uniformed imp, somewhat short in stature with pale hair and lilac eyes, with a pair of small glasses perched atop his nose. His face seemed locked in a whimsical grin.
He was Feodor Jessman, a fourth officer in the Winged Guard. The book he’d just shut had been borrowed from a city bookstore where business was slow. It was a textbook for younger students; a simplified compilation of myths no longer passed down.
Until recently Feodor hadn’t cared a bit about ancient history or even the occult. But once he’d seen the word leprechaun, he couldn’t look away.
They generally had diminutive bodies. They were substitutes for human labor. They tended to be mischievous pranksters. And the second you took your eyes off them, they disappeared—
“Sheesh.”
Pretty much everything in the book was true, generally speaking.
“Basically, you’ve always been like this…” Feodor murmured, idly tapping the cover. Leprechauns lived only to do what had to be done. If they were needed, doubtless all they’d demand in return would be to serve by your side. And just a little bit of milk was all it took for them to smile happily.
The awful, disgusting emnetwiht hunted them down day after day in pursuit of their gold, and forced them to endlessly toil making shoes.
“No wonder they got wiped out…”
The emnetwiht had long since perished alongside the once-fertile land. Unknown invaders—harbingers of destruction known as the Seventeen Beasts—had completely annihilated everything on the ground. Like a deadly wave, they consumed and wrecked everything before them until all life had been wiped out. The barely-surviving creatures in their wake searched for a place the Beasts could not reach.
That was the sky.
Hundreds of floating islands rose into the skies, and with them began a new civilization which, though immense, remained a pale shadow of the world they’d left behind.
That’d been almost 500 years ago. Regule Aire was never a paradise, nor was it ever safe. Sacrifice after sacrifice piled up to protect that tiny new realm, preventing it from becoming a true utopia. Even now, the destruction of the world continued. One after the other, islands dropped from the sky. Some met their doom at the hands of Beasts that had managed to reach the sky, while others were sunk by the deeds of their own residents.
This inescapable truth was common knowledge.
The world had ended once already. Even now, it continued to walk towards death. Every step choked out the lives of flesh-and-blood faeries, all so that its residents could enjoy an all-too-fragile peace.
Feodor clenched his fists. “No wonder they got wiped out.”
Ten days had passed since then.
In that time, things changed.
The mechanisms that comprised Lyell continued to deteriorate rapidly. Nearly all the maintenance personnel from when Lyell was a mining city were already long gone. Most of the remaining population fled in panic after Island No. 39 was swallowed up by the Beasts and word got out that the 38th would soon join its fate. Those who remained had no way of getting the systems which formed the backbone of the city going again.
Broken machines wouldn’t repair themselves. Once they’d been pushed to their limits, there was no going back. Those in Lyell went about their days ignoring the failing machines, leaving things as they were and jettisoning any wrecked parts.
A month prior, the city had dropped half of the port district, which formerly served as a distribution hub. Within the span of these past ten days, it was found that the mechanisms of two whole districts were out of control. They were designated as hazardous zones, and people were banned from entry.
Although Lyell had yet to die, it steadily approached its end.
But that was a different story.
Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious had expended venenum far beyond common sense. Her consciousness shattered, she fell into a deep sleep without any hope of recovery.
But that was to be expected.
Apple, the young faerie who’d tackled Feodor with all her strength whenever she got the chance, was gone.
Provisions included building repair materials, cannonballs, gunpowder, food, various luxuries, and all sorts of commodities. Each item within the wooden boxes was checked off a list. It was necessary to see whether the boxes were mislabeled, ensure the amount was always as listed, and spot any instances of embezzlement by unscrupulous officers.
This time, they had received two whole airships of provisions from Winged Guard Headquarters.
“Yes, we got everything we requested.” Looking up from his checklist and around the mountains of stacked boxes, Feodor nodded in affirmation to the frogger from the cargo transport division working alongside him. “Putting that aside… Here it says we’ll be given a secret package of some kind. What could it be?”
He tapped the list with the back of his hand. “Ah, it falls under Second Officer Ithea’s purview. Seems like it was delivered to her directly.”
“Eh, that thing?” The frogger eyed the list. “That was the big black box with chains all over it.”
“Hold on, isn’t that box obviously suspicious?”
“Well, it’s secret ’n’ all.” As usual for a frogger, his tongue flitted out from his mouth constantly as he spoke. “Not even the guys on our cargo ships know what’s in it—only instructions we got were ‘Handle it delicately’ and ‘Don’t poke your nose into things that don’t concern you.’ Can you believe that? Makes me jumpy, it does.”
“It must’ve been tough on you guys,” Feodor chuckled amicably. “…The rumors say it’s the Sage’s legacy,” he continued in a quiet undertone, the air of someone passing along idle gossip—a soldier’s favorite pastime.
As expected, the frogger’s eyes perked up. After looking around to make sure they were the only two people in the room, he responded in a similarly low voice.
“The one from the legends, huh…? The Sage croaking is why the brass is so busy these few years, ain’t that so?”
In the past few years, something was strange within the Winged Guard. Though it was never discussed in the open, a certain rumor had quietly begun spreading within the Guard’s ranks.
The Winged Guard’s mission was to form a large-scale military in order to protect the whole of Regule Aire. That was common knowledge, and their objective hadn’t changed from the beginning. Yet, they’d strayed off course in the past two to three years. They’d dismantled costly armaments, reinvested funds in newer experimental weapons of dubious effectiveness, and reorganized their fighting strength for unknown reasons. What’s more, they’d even interfered with the internal politics of various autonomous territories—something once unthinkable.
The blame for this loss of direction lay in the chain of command. In principle, the highest decision-making authority within the Winged Guard rested with its five generals, with each of them holding the power to determine and shape the Guard’s key policy directions.
To put it simply, even if everyone’s common goal was to protect Regule Aire, disagreement could arise if, for example, five people were to each propose different methods to achieve it. Furthermore, by virtue of their high station, it wasn’t easy for them to come to an agreement. The Winged Guard might not be some gargantuan collective, but once you became a general, you were given sufficient authority to lock horns with mayors of large cities, all the while shouldering all sorts of constraints and responsibilities. Expecting the generals to achieve consensus would be equivalent to expecting different city-states to agree with each other.
Nevertheless, under such a system, the Winged Guard had weathered all sorts of storms and survived till the present day. The reason for that laid in the existence of the Great Sage.
Yes, the Great Sage—the most famous person in all of Regule Aire’s history. The savior who’d led the lucky few survivors and lifted the islands into the sky just before the surface was brought to ruin at the hands of the Seventeen Beasts. Once before, when disputes between the islands had nearly passed the point of no return, he replied by assisting in the creation of the Winged Guard. Like a mighty sentinel, he’d worked behind the scenes to observe the situation ever since. Some even claimed there’d be no Regule Aire without the Great Sage, and it’d have been impossible for the floating islands to survive without him. He was a truly special individual, one whose absence might throw all the islands into disarray.
If the generals were leaders of the Winged Guard on paper, the Great Sage was its de facto head. Not only was he a pillar of Regule Aire’s history, he knew everything about the world that existed before it. Always leading the masses forward, the guiding role he played had allowed the Winged Guard to survive as an organization up till now. That was why, as the Winged Guard fell apart, rumors began to spread.
“The Great Sage is no longer alive.”
“Now that the great guardian who represents us has departed this patch of sky, those of us who live in Regule Aire have no choice but to move forwards.”
“You might have heard this before,” Feodor whispered conspiratorially, “but they say the Sage left behind a box before he vanished. It’s said the worst disaster is locked within it. At the same time, this disaster is our last hope to rescue Regule Aire from true despair…or something like that.”
“I’ve got my own ideas too. Maybe it’s a powerful poison that’ll give the Beasts a bad case of flu, or some hangover pills that work like a charm but taste bitter as hell? Heck, it could even be a portrait of some girl the Sage used to have a crush on!”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
This sort of harmless gossip often led to wildly creative conclusions. After all, half-assed rumors couldn’t spread. You had to make them big. “Maybe that black box is the one the rumors are about. A legendary item, right there within our grasp…” Feodor said. “It’s fun to think about, isn’t it?”
“Even so, it’s too bad we can’t poke our noses where they don’t belong. Gotta keep fantasies as fantasies and let sleeping dogs lie.” The frogger’s eyes rolled about as if he was laughing.
Feodor chuckled in return. “You said it, my friend.”
As if recalling something, the frogger let out a croak. “But say, Feodor—sir—something happened recently, didn’t it?”
“Eh?”
“You look a lot more cheerful than last time I saw you.”
Feodor searched for a response. “…Probably your imagination. Nothing in particular has happened.”
“Oh, really?” The frogger squinted at him suspiciously, cracking his neck.
Before anything else could happen, one of Feodor’s acquaintances waved at them from a distance. “Hey, Fourth Officer! Come give us a hand!”
“On it!” Eagerly waving back, Feodor took the cue and dashed off. “You’ll have to hand off the rest to a third officer. I’m counting on you!”
Ten days had passed since then.
In that time, Feodor behaved himself. Always pleasant and cheerful, his smile never left his face, and the way he worked reflected his mood.
The faeries’ existence and traits remained top secret. Thus, the credit for defeating Croyance, which had suddenly appeared to consume Lyell, went to an experimental new bomb developed in secret by Fourth Officer Feodor Jessman.
They said he’d courageously faced the Beast after Apple was killed and Lakhesh was defeated. Even though the explosion’s energy would’ve been absorbed by Croyance to speed up its encroachment, he’d still launched it at the Beast, as the rumors went.
Some person who had nothing to do with the events of that day came up with the story, and their rumors spread like wildfire.
“Impresssssive.” The findanthrope officer offered his commentary. “He lost an important ssssssubordinate and a child he cherissssshed like hisssss own daughter, yessss? Even sssso, he dissssregarded sssself-pressservation to get revenge on our greatessssst foe. Even now, he continuessss to forge on and live with a sssssmile.”
The officer nodded in approval. “He musssst believe it would disssssapoint Lakhesh and the other children if he doesssss not live with hissss head held up high. He mussssst feel like breaking down, in ssssspite of the front he putssss up. That isssss the duty of a ssssoldier. He mussssst underssssstand.”
A lycanthrope officer who’d known Feodor for a long time cast his eyes downwards. “We’re boots-on-the-ground soldiers. You can’t avoid the chances of losin’ your comrades. Nobody ever really knows what they’re gonna do when your friend up and dies on you. Everyone deals with loss in their own ways—deals with knowin’ your pal ain’t gonna be around anymore. Even if you’re buried under an unimaginable amount of sadness, you’ve gotta pick yourself up and keep on fighting.”
He respectfully shook his head from side to side. “That’s…probably the answer Feodor found, in the depths of his grief.”
“Bah.” Another old comrade, an ailuranthrope officer, grunted. “He’s no hero. That’s an empty title. He’s just a guy who’s made a name for himself by stepping over other people’s corpses. I don’t know if it was all according to some plan of his, but I’ll agree it’s very impressive. He sacrificed the girls who unconditionally loved him and cinched another career achievement without looking back. He’s so hell-bent on climbing ladders that he’s thrown away all his values, conscience, and common sense.”
The officer gave a soft hiss of displeasure. “That selfishness isn’t something to underestimate.”
“What d’you think ’bout Feo nowadays?”
The loud, lazy voice came from somewhere up above, making her almost drop her stack of boxes. She shot an irritated look upwards. “You sure like slacking off, don’t you, Nax?” Tiat Siba Ignareo snapped.
“Hey, I’m on break! I swear, ya always gotta think the worst of people…” Nax Selzel shrugged as he sat atop his perch on a mountain of wooden boxes. “’Sides, us winged folks have got trouble bulkin’ up. Our dinky lil’ bodies ain’t made for this kinda stuff. It’s like they say, ya know? Never get an imp to do a troll’s job.”
“Oh?” Tiat said dangerously. “Are you saying us faeries ought to do the heavy lifting since we’re bulky and muscular?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that…” Nax waved his hand as if brushing away her question, glancing at her arms. “But unless I’m mistaken, yer much stronger than ya look. Ain’t that a hefty one?”
“Well, yes…”
Tiat had perfect form for lifting heavy objects: she lifted the boxes in her arms and against her chest, distributing their weight evenly. She was carrying three of them stacked atop one another, and in them were standard-issue cannonballs packed with gunpowder meant for the Winged Guard’s use.
Indeed, just as he’d said, they had to be heavy. The falconfolk couldn’t help but consider the possibility that their combined weight exceeded hers…although he tried hard to believe it was only a possibility.
“I fired up some venenum to enhance my physical strength.” Proving her point, she shook herself slightly from side to side.
Venenum: the reason for the leprechauns’ existence. Like a secret technique that tapped into one’s life force, it was a flame that burned harder the closer one was to death, filling them with invisible power. Faeries like Tiat were incarnations of dead spirits, and never should have been alive to begin with. Consequently, there were no better wielders of venenum.
“I’m not talented like Lakhesh; my venenum isn’t all that strong. But because of that, I don’t have to worry about losing control, and I can be a little more carefree about how I use it. It’s actually pretty helpful.”
“…Being able to maximize and apply your own strength to the right situations… Ain’t that kinda thing an amazing talent all by itself?”
“A normal person with inferiority complexes might say otherwise,” Tiat said coldly. Her next sentence came with just a bit of hesitation. “…I can’t bear to watch him go on like this.”
“Eh?”
“Your first question. You asked what I thought of Feodor?”
It took a few seconds for Nax to remember. “Oh! Yeah, yeah!” He nodded. “I’ve thought the same about that guy. I ’ppose you know all ’bout how he is?”
“He’s frustrating and I hate him, but it’s as clear as day to me. He lies and lies, but it’s painfully easy to read such an incredible dumbass.”
She sighed heavily. “That honest model student act he puts on as a fourth officer—he’s even got the glasses—is flawless. But he’s using it like a defense mechanism to repress his true self.”
Within Feodor Jessman were two antithetical personas. His diligent, sincere front was but one of them. His real self wasn’t anything like his mask; he was actually a twisted, horrible, awful person. Normally, he’d hide it quite well, but that’d bleed through if you looked closely.
But right now, nothing leaked out at all. He was killing his emotions and pushing away his feelings. That was the impression Tiat got.
“He’s just running away from reality. He’ll have to face it eventually, and it’ll be all the more painful.”
Apple was dead. Lakhesh was comatose. Of course, Tiat also felt broken inside. But for reasons different from Feodor, she chose to bottle up her feelings—as a faerie soldier, as a leprechaun who personally wished to fall in love someday, staying stuck and not moving forward was unacceptable to her. She didn’t intend to force others to do the same, nor turn to anyone for sympathy. She had at least that much pride.
“Wow, yer real serious ’bout this. Been there ’fore?” The falconfolk flapped his wings and glided down from the boxes next to Tiat with a thud. For a second, she’d hoped he might share her load in some way, but of course he didn’t lift a finger. “Dunno if you’ve heard this before, but oh well. D’you know, when Feo was a kiddo, he got wrapped up in some nasty stuff?”
“Nasty stuff?”
“Yep. Everyone he knew, from family to relatives to passing acquaintances…well, everyone that used to be around him is gone now. This don’t sound too nice, but he’s used to losin’ people important to him. That guy’s been through all this ’fore, so he’s not broken at all.” Dunno whether that’s a good or bad thing, Nax’s pained expression seemed to say. “Since he’s gotten this far, he won’t stop moving forward, even if he’s pushed to the brink and nearly falls into despair. His past won’t let ’im.”
“Are you an old friend of his or something, Nax?”
“Or somethin’.” He smirked. “We met first year in the Winged Guard. Got stuck with ’im as my roommate ’till he got a room for himself.”
“Then…does that mean he’s told you about his hopes and dreams and stuff?”
Tiat had only glimpsed Feodor’s true colors a handful of times. Although she didn’t feel it was too good for a lot of people to know about it, it was, without a doubt, the future he sought.
But he said he’d given up on the world. Even though he was a fourth officer in the army protecting the world, he said such a thing. Why? What did he mean?
“Well?”
As Nax scrutinized Tiat’s expression, she reflexively looked away. “Well…he might’ve said somethin’.”
Tiat shivered. Nax closed one eye in an airy wink. “Let’s just say that it ain’t somethin’ to talk about in front of girls like ya.”
“Oh, he’s that kind of guy?”
She felt somewhat disappointed, but at the same time cracked a smile. That’s great. She wanted to press more, but couldn’t calm herself enough to do so.
“Was it, by any chance, anything about making friends with an ailuranthrope beauty?”
“Eh? Oh, he said once he likes them with fluffy black hair…”
“He’s got high standards, doesn’t he?!”
They laughed. “…Well, that’s how it is.” Nax stopped chortling. “Dunno if it’s some vow he made ’fore, or else somethin’ he wants to do in the future, but long as he keeps pinin’ after it, it’s poisonin’ him.”
For some reason, that phrase rang familiar to her. If she remembered correctly, there had to be something to say in order to follow up after that. “Um… The only time we live in is the present. I think that’s how it went?”
It was a line from her favorite childhood story, a crystal recording she’d rewatched many times. The main character, a handsome, retired lizardfolk officer, heard it as a farewell from his grizzled findanthrope commander as the old snake puffed on a cigarette and watched him leave.
Nax whistled softly. “Didn’t take ya to be so old-fashioned.”
“It’s just a coincidence.” Tiat suddenly passed all the boxes in her arms towards Nax.
“Ungyuh?!”
He let out some weird sounds, sweating and looking as if he was panicking, but just barely kept the wobbling stack from collapsing. He doesn’t act like it, but I guess he’s still a soldier after all.
“Please take that to Warehouse 4 later, okay?”
“W-wait, wait wait! Tiat! T-this junk is heavy! Don’t joke around like this!”
“If a delicate little girl like me can do it, you’ll be fine.”
“Yer awful cheeky sometimes, ain’t you?!” Tiat was already walking away from the shrieking Nax. “Ow, ow, ow… My spine’s screwed…”
…Despite squawking for a while longer and taking countless breaks, ultimately, he was a soldier who got the job—trivial as it was—done as requested. At the very least, Tiat could give him that. Not that it mattered.