“We grew up within the range of the Tower of Babel.”

— *Selected Fairy-Tale Poems of Wilkin*

.....

Cold rain fell on the top of the tombstone, trickling slowly down the edges of the white marble. Wilkin’s sky had never been so gloomy. Cold winds swept gently through the neatly trimmed shrubs on the lawn, and the leaves’ soft rustling sounded like a quiet song, telling of the dead and the stories they’d left behind in the wind.

The funeral was over. Because the rain had come so suddenly, most of those who’d come to pay their respects had hurried through their farewells and left. The graveyard on the estate seemed all the lonelier for it, much like the cold, gloomy weather. It all felt like some predetermined ritual, some process everyone had to gather and go through together—absurd, and almost laughable.

All the dead were truly left with was a white marble Grave and the endless freezing rain.

Before long, the last of the mourners had disappeared beyond Wilkin’s horizon. By the time they climbed into their luxury cars, they were already chatting about things like what to have for dinner. Life rushed on. They shut the dead man’s name and the cold rain outside the car doors, and moved on.

One car after another drove away. No one noticed...the girl sitting with her knees hugged to her chest, curled up behind the Grave.

Freezing rain fell on the girl’s head and trickled down the tips of her white hair, dripping onto the lawn. In the bitter cold, she sat in silence with her back against the Grave, her tiny, reddened face buried between her knees. Her blood-red eyes silently watched the world grow hazy before her.

“Liar...”

Warm tears welled at the corners of her eyes, mingling with the cold rain as they slid down her young cheeks. As the mourners left one by one, the girl finally couldn’t hold back anymore. With her back to the Grave, she began to cry.

“Liar...”

The cold wind swept over the girl, stealing the warmth from her frail body, but she didn’t react. In the freezing rain, her senses had gone numb, just like her heart.

“All mortals must die,” but those hollow words could never make up for the pain of losing someone.

For the girl, that someone was her father.

“Liar... sob...”

The girl buried her whole face between her knees, closed her eyes, and sobbed softly. Her small figure and the white Grave huddled together in the freezing rain. Rain trickled down the face of the tombstone, running over the name carved into it:

“【Edward von Valantia】.”

“.....”

“Is that her?”

At the sound of footsteps on the lawn, the girl raised her head. Two men stood before her, looking her over.

“You’re Edward’s daughter, Perlis Hafu'erjiade, aren’t you?”

The girl didn’t answer. She lowered her head and buried her face between her knees again.

“Of course it’s her, Ivar. Look at her eyes. There’s no mistaking them.”

Laplace looked down at the girl, his silvery-white eyes seeming to see right through her. Rain soaked his pale sideburns, but the old man’s expression remained as unmoving as stone.

“I just wanted to make sure...” Ivar looked at the girl with a helpless expression, his pale green eyes narrowing slightly in the freezing rain. “But she’s so young. Are you sure...?”

“She’ll grow up, won’t she?” Laplace muttered, then turned to leave. “All right, Ivar. Get her in the car. Don’t let her catch a cold.”

Watching the old man walk away, Ivar sighed. He turned and looked silently at the girl curled up behind the Grave. She’d stopped crying. The person she could show her weakness to without holding back was dead. She wouldn’t cry in front of anyone else.

In the freezing rain, Ivar bent down slightly and held out a hand to the girl.

“My name is Ivar Saikepasi.”

The girl raised her head again. Her vacant red eyes fixed on Ivar’s face. Rain slid down her cheeks. Her blood-red eyes flickered faintly, as if she were unsure about the hand he was holding out to her.

“Come with me,” Ivar said, his hand still suspended in the air. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“Go... where?”

The girl looked at Ivar in confusion. She trembled slightly, but not from the cold.

Ivar’s expression grew complicated and conflicted. He studied the girl’s face for a long moment. At last, he seemed to make up his mind. He sighed, then forced a smile.

“Your new home.”

At the word “home,” a spark suddenly lit in the girl’s blood-red eyes. Her lips trembled for a moment, as though she were holding back something about to burst out. Then she gently bit her lip and reached out to Ivar—

“Mm.”

Ivar lifted the girl from beside the tombstone, held her in his arms, and walked toward the last black car by the roadside. Looking in that direction, the girl saw where she was about to go. At the edge of the horizon, the Sky-reaching Tower stood tall, stretching into the clouds.

“There now, little one. The weather in the Academy Federation is much nicer than it is here. You’ll like it there.”

Ivar settled the girl in the back seat. Before he closed the door, she took one last look at the white Grave, then turned her head away with great difficulty, trying to leave it—and the freezing rain—outside the car.

But she couldn’t. As if driven by instinct, the girl trembled and looked back at the Grave in the freezing rain. Her blood-red eyes, reflecting the rain, seemed distant and unfocused.

The engine started, and the car drove toward the end of the road. She kept staring at the Grave until it vanished from sight.

Years later, Perlis might forget what she’d seen when she gazed from Wilkin toward the Tower of Babel. Back then, smoke and freezing rain shrouded her future, and her vision was dim and helpless. Even so, Perlis would never forget the hand reaching out to her through the freezing rain, or the promise of a “home.”

That lie in the freezing rain.

...END...