Part I - Summer (Late) - "I did my best."

In the weeks that followed, Cameron barely spoke to Miyu at all.

He saw her, sure—but always from a distance, and never as his Miyu: only as the avatar of Princess Aerya, the current living incarnation of Lazumere's guardian deity, who spent the entire duration of Observance conducting one ceremony after another, without rest, for hours on end.

These were sombre affairs, all of them—evidenced, in part, by the fact that Miyu had now donned, in place of the free-flowing white robes Cameron had always seen her wear as part of her duties up until now, a black variant of her priestess's raiments.

… Reserved for the most solemn of occasions, he was told, by one of the lesser priestesses—the same Lazumerians who helped run the Reliquary in Miyu's absence when she was off at school in Crystal City. (But even then, Cameron learned, there were things only Miyu was allowed to do—such as Betrothals, and the Observance-specific practices he saw now.)

Visitors from all over the surrounding region, some of them making days-long pilgrimages, came to Nocturne Reliquary bearing offerings—letters, various gifts meant for their departed loved ones in the realms beyond—to be burned by Miyu in the central firepit, the blue flame that was to burn for the entirety of Observance.

At certain times during the day Miyu performed what appeared to be ritual dances in front of the fire—her black robes billowing gracefully, elegantly, as she held aloft her purifying staff, swinging it in delicate and gentle arcs as she recited prayers in Archaic elfen tongues Cameron had never heard spoken aloud before, the crowds of elfen mourners kneeling mostly in silent prayer, a few of them weeping quietly. Cameron learned, later, that these dances were meant to guide the souls of the recently departed to the realms beyond—some of those kneeling elves had waited for up to a year for this moment, for their loved ones to finally find peace.

Other visitors came from afar, seeking connection with those they had lost, by means of imbibing a kind of crystalbrew, said to act as a sort of spiritual conduit to the realms beyond.

Cameron watched as elves drank from tiny metal cups, served to them by the Reliquary priestesses.

"It's a bit bitter," said Heinrich, lying on the floor in Cameron's room one afternoon.

Cameron, post double-take: "They let you drink it?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't they?"

"I thought it was an elves-only thing."

"Guess not."

Cameron, skeptically: "There's no way it's made with actual crystals. You can't just ingest them like that. You'd get crystal poisoning within seconds. Instant coma. Or death."

"Miyu told me there's crystal in it, but how they make it exactly is a closely-guarded secret. You actually don't drink that much of it, anyway. That's why they serve them in those little cups … "

"So …?"

Heinrich blinked. "So, what?"

"Did it … do anything?"

"Well, you get a bit of a buzz from it. Numbs your brain, sorta. Like your head's … empty? I guess?"

Cameron shook his head. "… Seriously, drinking crystal …"

"But it doesn't last that long. And then …" Heinrich thought for a while. Then, he said, "… You know, I did feel like my mom was there, with me, in the Reliquary. Watching over me. But, then again—she's always with me, in a way. So …" He trailed off, shrugging. "I dunno."

They didn't talk about it again, after that.

Cameron, unlike Heinrich, had never lost anyone close to him. As such, he didn't—couldn't, really—partake in anything at Observance. All he could do was wander around awkwardly, taking it all in, as the outsider he was.

If he was being completely honest, the whole thing seemed like one long, never-ending funeral.

… Which is probably why he stopped going to the Reliquary, after the first few days.

He couldn't even see Miyu at night, as he was usually long asleep by the time she returned to the estate in the early hours—that is, if she returned at all. He had tried staying up to greet her, but after seeing how exhausted she was each night—most nights she wouldn't even take the time to lay out her futon, collapsing instantly on the floor—he decided to leave her alone. And of course, by the time he woke up each morning, she would be long gone, back at the Reliquary.

So he ended up spending the rest of Observance in the village proper, going on long walks, or hanging out with Heinrich, or sometimes even chatting with the locals he had gotten to know over the summer. … Especially the dagashiya lady, who was kind enough to spend her afternoons helping him translate his proposal into the local dialect.

… No, not the actual proposal to Miyu itself—but rather his proposal for the proposal: what he was going to say to Miyu's father, in a language he could understand. (… In other words, what he had put off doing, until the very end of summer.)

And now, with his return to Crystal City looming close, Cameron practiced this finished, translated speech in his room, memorizing the elfen syllables that the dagashiya owner (… why the owner? … well, who else was he going to ask—Elegia? …) had so thoughtfully chosen to reflect what he'd originally composed in Common: all the carefully crafted turns of phrases and agonizingly wrought metaphors (some of which were perhaps a little cliche, sure—but at least they were earnest—oh, so very earnest) and flowery language that he had spent weeks writing—just to say, in so many words, at the end of it all:

"… Mr Nocturne, please allow me to spend the rest of my life with your daughter."

And when the intended recipient of the speech stared blankly back at Cameron, who had finally delivered his proposal's proposal, and was now waiting patiently for a response, his head bowed deep in humility, the two of them standing outside in the garden where Miyu's father had been tending to his flowers—the ensuing silence following his speech having gone on for a bi-iiit too long for his liking—Cameron couldn't help but wonder if the dagashiya owner hadn't made some error in translation. (… Because if so, he was going to have to have a talk with her after this …)

Then, finally, Miyu's father spoke. "That was, um … a lovely speech, Cameron-kun. Although, uh—I didn't quite understand the part about narwhal tusks."

"Narwhal …? Oh, I must've mispronounced—Wait, hold on. You speak Common?"

Miyu's father chuckled. "Well, when your wife speaks it, you learn to pick up a bit over the years. My vocabulary is not so good, perhaps, but I do understand a little, yes."

Cameron shuffled around nervously. "Um … Well? Sir? About what I said?"

Miyu's father thought for a while, and then turned around and knelt back down to his flowers.

Back turned to Cameron, he simply said, "It doesn't matter so much, what I think."

"… Sir?"

"Cameron-kun … Have you spoken to Miyu about any of this? Properly?"

Cameron said nothing. With his bare hands, Mr Nocturne dug into the soil, turning it over.

Leaves rustled overhead. The distant shouts and laughter of elflings nearing the end of their carefree summer days echoed through the air. Somewhere close by, a bird sang.

Then, Miyu's father delivered his final verdict—gently but firmly, as though this would be the last he would speak of it.

"… If Miyu is fine with it, then I'm fine with it. … As long as my daughter is happy, I am happy."

Cameron watched silently for a while, as Mr Nocturne continued working the earth around his flowers.

Was—… Was that an approval?

It was … Wasn't it?

But … so, then—why didn't it feel like one?

"… Is there anything else I can help you with, Cameron-kun? If not, then please enjoy the rest of this fine afternoon. Unless, of course, you wish to help me with the flowers. You are most welcome to do so."

Cameron stood there for a very long time.

Finally, he bowed deeply, and thanked Miyu's father for his time. And then he went back inside.

He paced around the hallway of the Nocturne estate, for a bit. How long, exactly, he didn't know.

He walked into the bathroom and stood there looking at the tub.

In the kitchen, he found himself turning on the tap, and then shutting it off. He did this a few times.

At some point, he somehow ended up back in his own room, with no memory of having walked there. He sat down slowly on the tatami floor, and crossed his legs. He stared at the wall in front of him, blankly.

That was, uh …

… Huh?