She could only stand there watching the young man walk away. As if he were simply going for a stroll, instead of plunging into a forest with a dangerous skeleton inside.
For a moment, her gaze fell on the road, seeing the path that in less than half an hour would take her back to her village, where they were waiting for her. And where they needed to be warned of this danger.
But then she looked back at the young man, who had—strangely enough—helped her. And who now, in bizarre madness, was doing this foolish thing.
Letting out a cry of frustration and stomping her foot, she finally decided to go after this lunatic, to see if she could knock some sense into his head.
She had to at least try—otherwise she would never forgive herself.
The wretch had already entered the forest, and so she had no choice but to follow. Which she did with haste and anxiety, telling herself that she would shout at him a bit, and if he still didn’t come to his senses, she would leave immediately.
At the very edge of the road and the forest, she hesitated, memories of what had just happened still fresh. But it was the memory of Widow Grapton’s sacrifice that gave her the strength to go on. For she didn’t want someone else to lose their life if she could do anything to stop it.
So once again, she found herself in this forest, where only a few beams of moonlight reached through. Making it difficult to see anything—especially the fool who had just gone in.
In such conditions, only one solution occurred to her, and she prepared to start calling out to the boy. Only then did it strike her—they had never introduced themselves, and so she had no idea what his name was.
Lacking any better option, she began walking and calling carefully, “Boy! Hey, boy!”
She soon realized how ridiculous this was—here she was, in a dark forest, calling softly for someone she didn’t even know. But since she had no better idea, she kept at it for a while, until she began to lose heart. The thought of giving up and heading to the village became very tempting.
At that moment, a voice sounded at her side: “Hey, kid, do you really think it’s a good idea to be doing this?”
Turning toward the sound, she saw the very person she had been looking for. And at that moment, she noticed something else—this guy had the annoying habit of treating her like a little child.
“Hey, we’re the same age!” she blurted out, unable to contain herself. For even if he were a bit older, it couldn’t be by more than a year or two.
“You think so? …Maybe in some way. But I bet in others you’d be wrong,” he replied casually, even shrugging.
She, on the other hand, couldn’t make sense of what he’d said. What could he mean in some way? You are older than someone, or you aren't.
But faced with someone who argued even about something so simple, it was impossible not to respond. “Are you really going to say our ages are so different? I’m…”
The young man raised one hand to stop her and gestured to the surroundings with the other.
“Do you really think this is the best place to discuss metaphysics?” His tone was so smug she almost wanted to hit him.
Instead, she asked, “What the heck is metaphysics?”
He sighed as if answering the bothersome questions of a child, then said, “You really do like difficult questions. But wouldn’t the more relevant one be what you’re doing here?”
Which, indeed, was the important thing to know. Why the damn was she trying to help someone so irritating? But instead, she shot back, “And what are you doing here?”
“Me?” he said, pointing at himself. “I’m a traveler, so it makes sense for me to be traveling.”
Then, pointing his finger at her, he added in his infuriating tone, “You, on the other hand, should be heading back to your village, kid.”
At that, she almost lost her temper and nearly shouted, “Berta… my name is Berta.”
He tilted his head, started to speak, then stopped. She swore he was about to say something to annoy her again. But instead, he returned to a gentler tone and said, “Even so, Berta, you shouldn’t be here. Go home. In the end, you’ll find everything’s fine.”
Just as she was about to answer, she noticed some movement behind him, drawing her gaze. In the distance, beside the trunk of a tree, was a figure she recognized.
The relief she felt for an instant vanished when the figure stretched out a hand toward them and then collapsed to the ground.
Without thinking, she cried, “Grandma Grapton!!!” and rushed toward her.
As she passed the young man, she felt something but paid it no mind. The only thing that mattered was helping Widow Grapton.
Almost instantly, though, her arm was pulled back. The movement halted her and spun her around, leaving her face-to-face with the young man.
His face was half hidden in shadow, only the lower part visible under a ray of moonlight. His hand gripped her wrist firmly enough that she couldn’t pull free.
“What are you doing?” she asked, unable to keep anxiety and worry from her voice.
Before she could say she had to help the old woman, he spoke again.
“Saving your skin…” His voice was still gentle, but now carried a strange humor she didn’t understand. Tilting his head, he seemed to ponder something.
Before she could ask what he meant, he went on, “…Well, more precisely, saving your heart. But I suppose it’s not so important to be exact.”
To then finally release a heavy sigh and declare, “You really should have left, kid.”
Which, of course, did nothing to explain anything. But from the angle of his face, it now seemed he was now looking past her. Meaning he must have been seeing the widow. So surely he was thinking of helping her, right?
But what she saw instead was his lips forming a cold smile. Then his voice, harsh but with a chilling humor, spoke:
“Hello. Remember me? I think we can continue my little experiment.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he extended his free hand toward the widow and said:
“Lesser Servant of Dekart.”
As he spoke, two pale blue lights appeared where his eyes would be—barely perceptible except in the darkness, and lights that reminded her of something…
But before she could dwell on it, a circle surrounding a star of white light formed in his outstretched palm. For some reason, her eyes followed where his hand pointed.
And there, on the ground beside Widow Grapton, who was propped up on her hands and knees, she saw the same symbol mirrored, large enough to contain a person.
Her mind reeled in awe at the magic she was witnessing. At least until glowing strands of light began weaving and unweaving within the circle. At their intersections, something began to appear.
Something she didn’t want to believe—because not long ago she had seen those very shapes emerge from a hedge. But the long, slender, gleaming white legs now revealed by the magic were unmistakable.
Beside the circle, Widow Grapton started crawling away on all fours, not even trying to stand. Meanwhile, the rest of the figure took shape—quickly, though to her it felt endless.
And now, in paralyzing shock, she could see an exact replica of the skeleton armed with sword and shield, like the one she had fled.
“Don’t let her escape,” she heard the boy behind her exclaim.
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