Part II - Epilogue (5)

Summer had arrived in Lazumere, once again.

Buzz of cicadas. The laughter of elflings playing in the fields. Rustle of starchgrass, blowing gently in the occasional breeze.

Cameron stepped out the door of his cottage home on the edge of the Village, where he lived alone.

It wasn't a big place. Basically just a single room. A bed, a stove. A writing desk. Workbench for his tools. A bookshelf.

… Yes, that's right. He read, now. He was even able to understand a bit of the various elfen scripts, these days. Even if his vocabulary still left much to be desired.

He breathed in the morning air, and stretched.

He was turning fifty-three this year. Not so young, anymore. But he wasn't that old, yet. Maybe his hair was balding a little at the top. And maybe his back and hips weren't what they used to be.

But surely he wasn't … 'old'-old yet.

… Right?

He set out, walking through the village. Waving at the villagers. Nods of acknowledgment.

He was still the only human in Lazumere. And he didn't have all that much to say to the other villagers.

To them, he was just … Old Man Callihan. (He cringed every time he heard that name. Again, he wasn't that old. Right? … Right!?) … To them, he was just the old human hermit living at the edge of town.

Even so, the villagers all respected him. They all knew what he'd done. How he'd helped the village rebuild, after the destruction caused by the war, more than twenty years ago. Each year around Observance they still left him gifts and offerings of food at his doorstep.

… Man. Twenty years.

It scared him, how fast time seemed to pass these days.

He whistled as he walked. He wondered if Heinrich might stop by again this summer. His kids grew so much each time he saw them.

"Mr Callihan." A voice to his left. "Now where are you off to this morning?" asked a young elf mother, just leaving her house, her elfling daughter in tow.

"Oh, you know, Alma … Just out for a walk."

Her eyes drifted to the tools he was carrying. A small hammer. A chisel. "Is that right? … Goin' off to fix something? More work to do?"

"Something like that," said Cameron. He bent down. "Hi there, Yuki-chan! Going out with Mama today?"

Yuki scrambled behind her mother. The child peeked shyly out from behind Alma's dress, hands gripping the fabric. After a while, she nodded, hesitantly.

Cameron smiled. "Shy as ever."

Alma ruffled her daughter's hair. "Now, don't be rude, Yuki. Say 'Hi' to Mr Callihan."

"… H-hi, Mr Callihan."

Cameron laughed. "Hello!" He looked back to the mother. "Well … I'll leave you two alone. You have a nice day now, Alma." They waved goodbye at each other, as they went their separate ways.

… Alma. He'd known her since she was still an elfling herself. A war orphan, who'd come to Lazumere during its reconstruction. … An avatar, at one point, as it turned out.

And now she had a child of her own. … No 'Rite of Crystallization' in Glintwood, he supposed.

One day, a war orphan. And now look at her. Cameron shook his head. … Seriously, where had all the time gone?

Her daughter's name.

Yuki.

Short for Miyuki.

Miyu-ki.

Named in honor of the priestess who had saved her mother's life, so long ago.

*

After a lengthy hike, Cameron entered the hidden glade near the summit of the mountain behind Lazumere.

He came up here a lot. Maybe not every single day—but just about.

He minded the Lazublooms, taking care not to trample on them, as he walked to the altar he had set up here, under the cover of a tree. The crystal on it was growing dim. He'd have to replace it soon.

On the altar, a framed portrait of her likeness. Drawn by Heinrich. A gift from him, the first time he'd visited Cameron in Lazumere.

Next to the portrait, the crystal ring he'd made for her so long ago. She never even got to see it. She'd never even known about it, in the end.

Cameron talked to her a lot up here. For hours, sometimes.

He unfolded the wooden stool he kept nearby, and sat in front of the altar. He told her about his day so far. What he ate for breakfast. Running into Alma. Precious little Yuki.

He told her how his garden was coming along. … Though, of course, he wasn't nearly as skilled as her father was. And Lazublooms were just completely impossible. It really was a miracle that they grew so easily in the glade.

"Heinrich and your brother still keep in touch, you know. Even though they're so far apart, they're working on a project together. Collaborating on one of his … narratively illustrated panel-books. (… Man, there's really got to be a catchier name for that medium.) Anyway, Heinrich's drawing, obviously. Your brother's gonna write. Heinrich says it's inspired by the summer at Lazumere, actually. … He says he'll show it to me when it's ready."

He sat there for a while. Listening to the sounds of the forest. Enjoying the sweet scent of the Lazublooms.

… He wasn't here today, just to talk.

He had another reason for coming. But he was putting it off.

"Alright," he said. "Might as well get this over with."

He got up, put away the stool, and then slid out the locked, metal chest from beneath the altar, where he'd placed it last.

He picked up his hammer and chisel, and knelt in front of the box.

He'd first noticed it about a month ago. The sun glinting off the metal at just the right angle. The box wedged snugly inside the base of a split-trunk tree. Hidden there so well that he hadn't noticed it at all, in the ten-plus years he'd been coming up here.

He knelt there for a while.

Was he really going to do this?

The mere fact that it was locked, that it was hidden so well, meant that whoever it'd belonged to didn't want people getting in.

Shouldn't he respect that?

Surely he couldn't just invade the privacy of whoever this box belonged to. Surely he had more honor and integrity than that.

Right?

… Wrong.

… All lies, obviously. This denial was just his way of prolonging the inevitable.

Because of course he was going to open it.

And he knew exactly who it belonged to. He never questioned it, not even for a single second.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

If he opened it, there'd be no more left of her to discover in this world.

Once he opened it—that'd be the end of Miyu Nocturne's story.

And there was no way he was prepared to deal with that sort of absolute finality.

… But hey, then again, maybe he never would be.

So in that case, what else could he do, really … except steady his hands, and begin working at the lock?

It didn't take that long.

About twenty minutes of prying at the hinges, before the lock broke.

The box was finally open.

He breathed in, then out.

And then he flipped open the lid, and peered inside.