Chapter 169
He could have simply left her there, but he had already stepped into the muddy water and dirtied his clothes. He had no desire to let his efforts go to waste.
As the drizzle fell over him, he walked toward the enormous old tree.
Meanwhile, the little girl puckered her tiny lips and chattered about something. Finding it rather amusing that she was putting on such airs despite being soaked to the skin, he lightly teased her, and the deathly pale complexion of her face immediately gained a hint of color.
He studied her carefully beneath the hood pulled low over her head.
She looked to be about Aila's age. She was roughly the same height, though her frame seemed much smaller. Through the rain-soaked fabric, he could feel the delicate bones beneath, as fragile as a bird's.
Despite boasting that she was the daughter of someone important, it was not difficult to guess that she was not someone receiving proper care.
'...It's none of my concern.'
Perplexed by the irritation rising within himself, he bent down to set her on the ground.
At that moment, something like the faint whistle of a bird brushed past his ear.
He stopped moving and lowered his gaze to the hands she held clasped tightly against her chest.
"What are you holding?"
The little girl looked up at him hesitantly before slowly opening her hand.
Nestled inside was something that looked like a mud-caked bundle of grayish-brown feathers.
He frowned.
"A bird?"
As he muttered skeptically, the girl's cheeks grew even redder.
"It only looks like that because it fell into the mud. Originally it..."
She began protesting with a flushed face, only to trail off and lower her head gloomily.
He could not understand why a bird on the verge of death saddened her so much, or why she had been clutching it protectively despite standing in the rain.
And yet, that shabby little bird she simply could not abandon reminded him of something he himself had lost long ago.
Immersed in that strange wave of nostalgia, he adjusted her against one arm and drew her tiny hand beneath his own hood.
The skin that brushed against the back of his neck was so cold that he wondered whether blood was even flowing through it.
"Your fingers are like ice. How long have you been standing out there?"
He looked down at her with obvious disapproval, only to find himself staring directly into a pair of enormous eyes fixed intently on his own.
What could she possibly be looking at?
Just as he was about to ask, the little girl murmured in a hushed voice, as though she had discovered an extraordinary treasure.
"Hey... there's a silver crown inside your eyes."
He stared down at her, utterly speechless.
It was she who possessed truly peculiar eyes.
Her irises were so dark that the boundary between iris and pupil seemed to disappear, yet they did not appear black. Rather, they shone with an eerie, crystalline clarity.
Then, all at once, he remembered where he had seen that pure light before.
It was the light that had poured down upon him when he raced across endless grasslands long, long ago.
The moment he realized it, it was as though a veil covering his vision had been stripped away, leaving everything startlingly clear.
The change came so suddenly that he could not even comprehend what had happened to him.
As he stared unblinking into the sudden flood of vivid light, a cascade of colors spread outward from her eyes, filling everything around them.
Only then did he notice that the girl's hair gleamed with a brilliant golden hue, like fields at the height of autumn.
Without thinking, he reached out toward it.
Just then, she suddenly turned her head away.
He had to clench his fist to stop himself from grabbing that tiny face and turning it back toward him.
The girl murmured awkwardly,
"I... I have to go now."
She sounded reluctant.
If you don't want to go, then don't.
The words almost escaped him before he shut his mouth.
He had only just met her.
There was no reason to stop someone who wished to leave.
Slowly, he bent down and set her on the ground.
Standing on her own feet once more, the girl held out her hand toward him.
"Will you take it with you?"
His gaze settled on the tiny bird resting in her palm before he carefully reached out.
As he cupped the rain-soaked young starling in his hand, the rapid flutter of its tiny heart beat against his palm.
He gently pressed the cooling little bird against his cheek and pulled his hood farther forward.
The girl silently watched him before asking in a voice filled with an indescribable longing,
"That bird... can it survive?"
"...Yes."
Realizing that his own voice lacked conviction, Varkas added firmly,
"It will survive."
A faint smile slowly spread across the anxious girl's face.
It was an incredibly bright smile, and somehow unbearably sad.
A moment later, she turned and began running away.
As she disappeared into the distance, colors spread across the landscape like watercolor paint dissolving into wet paper.
While he stood there blankly watching the scene, Bernadette's voice echoed through his mind.
"Someday, the day will come when you discover something that truly keeps you alive."
Impossible.
It had been nothing more than a fleeting encounter.
His life could not possibly change simply because he had crossed paths for a moment with a nameless little girl.
Varkas soon turned around and began walking away.
The little bird she had entrusted to him let out a weak cry.
He parted his collar, pressed the bird close against the warmth at the base of his neck, and lengthened his stride.
The road he had walked hundreds of times suddenly felt like an entirely different place.
A strange wave of dizziness swept over him.
He looked up at the few rays of light filtering through the gray clouds before quietly lowering his eyelids.
* * *
Heavy footsteps forced their way into his hazy consciousness.
Varkas, who had been catching up on lost sleep while sitting in a chair, slowly opened his eyes.
He heard voices bustling beyond the rain-soaked command tent, and a moment later a black-haired young man clad in golden armor pushed aside the curtain and strode inside.
"Is it true that you proposed the peace talks?"
The Crown Prince ripped off his orichalcum helmet and hurled it onto the floor as he shouted furiously.
Picking up the goblet resting on the makeshift table, Varkas replied in an indifferent tone.
"I merely made the suggestion. His Majesty the Emperor is the one who actually decided to pursue the negotiations."
"That's the same thing!"
The Crown Prince strode toward him, his bright green eyes blazing.
"Negotiating with traitors... have you lost your mind? Every last one of those who raised their banners against the Imperial Family should be hanged!"
"Do you honestly believe executing every noble in the North is realistic?"
After taking a sip of wine, Varkas let out a weary sigh.
"Let's say we slaughter every Valto noble just as Your Highness wishes. How exactly do you intend to govern that vast northern territory afterward?"
"I'll reward my closest supporters with it! Or divide it among the conservative nobles! There are plenty of nobles drooling at the thought of acquiring even another patch of land..."
"The people of Valto would never accept lords from another people."
Replying with growing irritation as he rubbed his forehead, he watched the enraged Crown Prince's expression turn icy.
Patiently, he continued his explanation.
"The North is also Imperial territory. If we do not end this war now, the damage will inevitably return to the Imperial Family. More importantly, excessive retaliation could provoke resentment among the Imperial vassals."
"Including you?"
The Crown Prince sneered, his eyes glittering.
Varkas said nothing.
He silently looked at his younger cousin, whose maturity seemed never to have grown despite the passing years, before slowly rising to his feet.
As he headed toward the entrance of the tent, Gareth stepped in front of him and blocked his way.
"You act as though you're thinking of the Imperial Family, but the truth is you just want this war to end for your own sake. Do you think I don't know why you refused the position of Supreme Commander and keep lingering near the eastern frontier?"
Gareth's heated breath brushed unpleasantly against his chin.
Leaning in until their faces were only inches apart, Gareth ground out through clenched teeth,
"So you can keep slipping back to Kalmor whenever you get the chance."
"..."
"You think you're the only one who understands me. But I know you too. I've been watching you for nearly twenty years."
The Crown Prince's green eyes darkened until they were almost deep emerald.
Although their personalities could not have been more different, whenever Gareth looked at him like this, he always reminded Varkas of the late Empress.
Gareth spat out his next words.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice that your heart has been somewhere else this whole time? Even these negotiations—you only pushed for them because they were convenient for you!"