Episode 1-a. The Village Where Letters Fly In.
Emotions ripple like a mirage.
The heart flutters and flows along with the wind.
It is something that cannot be fully captured with simple words and actions, simple expressions and gestures.
Sometimes, conveying it through other means becomes something more valuable and precious.
This precious and rich thing makes one wish to keep it close without it slipping away.
People put it into writing and hand it over to others.
The ability to express something in words is surely a blessing.
Some convey love, while others express affection.
For some, it must be memories, and for others, it must be bitterness.
And for someone, surely, something essential is conveyed to others.
A letter.
Its name is a letter.
And there is a village where letters fly in.
Like a bird fluttering, letters soar through the sky.
They come from the past, the present, or even the future, sometimes crossing the river of death, delivering someone’s heart that connects with others.
What has already been mentioned: love and affection, memories and bitterness, longing and fleetingness.
Feelings that cannot be described and stories that cannot be conveyed in words.
Or perhaps □□.
It is certainly something needed by those who continue their journey into the ashen world.
So.
I wish you good luck.
May there also be letters flying in to you.
May the letters that come to you contain the luck you desire.
The carriage rattles.
As it makes its way up the mountain path, every time it bumps over a stone, the heavy loads thud and jolt uncomfortably.
However, they do not have mouths to moan and disturb the ears of the coachman.
Only the sturdy wooden boards develop scratches, and the joints become loose, causing them to collapse and spill complaints.
So to speak.
At least the loads are patient enough to only express their accumulated pain when they reach their limits.
“I’m going to die here; I can’t take this any longer! If I can’t drive this damn carriage properly, I’ll die of exposure, you fool!”
“That’s a discriminatory remark against the carriage, old man Horn.”
“It’s a discriminatory remark against the coachman, not the carriage.”
The old dwarf was complaining heartily, not even up to the level of the burdens.
“Yes, it is a discriminatory remark against the coachman, your sturdy body reminds me of dwarf Horn.”
“…You’re getting on my nerves, you brat. When we arrive, I’m going to need to look at the carriage; it won’t do like this.”
“I told you to check it before we left. Why did you insist on it then?”
The children were sound asleep, and a quack doctor was continuing his reading and research inside the swaying carriage, but the cantankerous old dwarf was determined to keep chatting to prevent himself from dozing off.
“I’ve said more than thirty times that I’m a blacksmith, not a carpenter, kid.”
“Hmm, is it possible that all dwarfs are stubborn like you?”
This thought perhaps reflects a characteristic of dwarfs not mentioned in the novel.
People driven mad by mountains and minerals.
The feelings and hearts that the dwarf race possesses.
“I’ve noted over thirty times that it’s discriminatory towards dwarfs. And to be precise, elves are even more obstinate and have no manners. That’s why those who handle trees are unreliable.”
“I’ve also pointed out that’s a discriminatory remark against carpenters and elves more than thirty times.”
Even if he says such things, his inner warmth still flickers like a flame.
“Do I care?”
“…”
Hmm, it can’t be.
This fucking racist.
As the carriage trundles along, the old dwarf’s mouth never seems to rest.
Perhaps this is also a process of him opening his heart, but at least in this process, blood is surely flowing from my ears.
The village where letters fly in, Literra.
This is the name of our destination.
To put it simply.
It doesn’t mean there are post offices and delivery people to send letters, but literally, the sky of that village is always floating with letters like they have wings.
Literra is a place where remnants of ancient magic still linger, allowing letters to fly in continuously for centuries.
It is said that the first steps of the hero and the holy girl also led here, and it has become customary for all travelers and adventurers to make their first step towards this place.
Despite being a small village, it is always bustling with activity.
If one is lucky, they might receive a letter sent to them from the past.
Thus, it is a place where many people must stop to obtain what they desire.
“You won’t receive any letters, kid.”
“Old man, it’s a bit harsh to curse your companions like that, don’t you think…?”
“The chance of receiving the desired letter is slim there. If you don’t receive anything within a few days, you’ll just leave without gaining anything, so honestly, it feels like a waste of time.”
“Well, that’s true… but couldn’t one of us out of the four receive something?”
However, just as the old man cursed, not everyone can receive the letters they need.
Some may receive things with no particular meaning, while others might get simple love letters or worrying messages from family.
Usually, the letters concerning the path ahead are sent only to those who are destined to be heroes, so the letters I desire are only sent to those like the hero and holy girl or those considered sword saints and grand magicians.
Hero Pris, Holy Girl Lua.
Sword Saint, Trick Belyam.
Grand Magician, Insenia Ignotos.
It is they who are destined to change the world.
Those who will leave a significant mark.
Only such individuals are selected to receive letters that have flown in since ancient times.
So.
“We’re not heroes or anything, so there’s no way a letter would come for us. Thus, don’t get your hopes up too much. High expectations often lead to greater disappointments.”
“Umm… that’s true.”
His statement that letters won’t come to us, who fall short of even being ordinary, isn’t wrong.
It might be a very obvious and expected statement.
“Usually, either we leave without receiving a single letter or we leave with letters that aren’t particularly helpful, sighing in disappointment. I’ve been there too.”
“You’ve already been there?”
“…I’ve lived for a few hundred years, so I must have gone at least once. I didn’t receive what I desired. And if it doesn’t come flying the first time, there won’t be a second. That’s just how it is.”
Old man Horn claims that even the letters that do come to us, who are not heroes, are merely ordinary. Or perhaps he states that we won’t even get a chance for a letter to fly to us.
And then he falls silent.
Horn’s eyes have sunk deep, immersing themselves in a past I cannot fathom.
The traces of time are not only marked by the wrinkles etched across his face, but can also be discerned by the dim ember-like flame flickering within his murky gaze.
I still do not know his past, and he still does not reveal that inner self to me.
Only.
If I dare to say, he seems to have no more attachments to life.
Horn nodded to my persuasion and set out on this journey, but whenever I glance back and meet his eyes, he is surely looking for a spot that signifies death.
Whether this is a characteristic of a dwarf who has lived for several hundred years or merely him relinquishing any lingering sentiments he has held inside.
I do not know even that, but Horn’s eyes keep getting deeper and deeper.
His grumbling had long since quieted down.
Somewhere off the path, in the woods.
We decided to spend the dark hours of the night camping.
Crackle— crackle—
The sound of the campfire always flows in the midst of calm.
And above the fire was a large pot, with the two children placing all sorts of ingredients into it with their tiny hands.
It’s not feasible to travel only by munching on jerky.
Before every departure, they had placed various vegetables and fresh meat into the magic-sealed ice box they bought at a high price.
So the children pulled out the ingredients they wanted from that box and put them into the pot one by one.
“Tori, that won’t taste good; Ain oppa told you not to put mushrooms.”
“You mustn’t be picky, Yaki. If you can’t eat mushrooms, Ain oppa will just leave you behind.”
“When did I ever say that, you brats?”
Their giggles and playful banter as they argued over the ingredients were quite adorable.
But.
“Wait… where did you get that mushroom from?”
No matter how I think about it, I can’t remember putting a mushroom that looks like that into the ice box.
“We picked it over there.”
No way, are they out of their minds?
“Hey, that’s a poisonous mushroom. Unless you want to die together, hurry and throw it away.”
“Okay~”
Thus, the twin siblings’ attempt at poisoning was thwarted by my intervention.
“What a waste.”
“Old man, what a waste of? We would be dying if we ate that.”
“What, if you eat it and are okay, I would have tried to eat it too. Long lives make you cautious, you know.”
“….”
Old man Horn has once again opened his mouth and started pouring out curses.
And.
“Haha… it’s alright. Even if you eat it, I will try to detoxify you. As long as I succeed within three times, I suppose… we could save you.”
“….”
Avery, usually quiet, blurted out something oddly unsettling and laughed sheepishly.
So I suddenly thought.
I wanted to see a normal person.
