43

Sion begins to run towards the spire, chasing after the distant shadow of Hyrtan and his mount. He comes to a small fence and passes by it without another thought. He doesn’t allow himself to think of anything but the battle ahead of him.

Sion remembers the strength of Gitsung. It was overwhelminging. All he could do then was run for somebody else. All he could do was rely on the headmaster to solve the problem. From what he’s understood, Hyrtan shares her rank. Sion can’t imagine Hyrtan being that much weaker than Gitsung was. He can’t imagine himself winning. However, Kreteo believes in him, and entrusted him with this mission. There is nothing else for Sion to do but to run, to run and to defeat Hyrtan here.

A shiver runs up Sion’s spine as he approaches the spire. With each step, the image of his vision, the mass of pure magic and that old man, becomes more clear in his mind, like a remembered dream. Even though in his vision that old man seemed to bear no ill will, the thought that something so powerful might exist in reality, right before him, is terrifying. He thinks he can’t win against Hyrtan, but knows he would die if he faced that being. If that mass were to round the bend of the spire and turn its blade against Sion, he would have no choice but to run or be killed where he stands.

Fortunately, such a thing does not come to pass. Sion comes to the entrance of the spire without any obstacle. The entrance is blocked off, the doorway covered by a smooth white stone. Sion presses his palm against the slab and pushes with all his might, hoping to see if he might be able to move it. It doesn’t budge, as though it were welded tightly to the doorway. Sion begins to pull his hand back.

He had heard that people have been inside of the spire before, but if they have a method to get inside, he does not have the time to learn it. Sion decides that his only option is to run around the perimeter, hoping to find some crack he can exploit. As he takes his hand off the slab, however, it begins to glow. Blue light, as with soul magic, though Sion used none, begins to shine. It seems to have created some sort of crest, though with the wavering quality of the light, he cannot quite make it out. Regardless, he hears a rumbling, then the stone splits and separates, allowing him access to the spire.

Sion takes a step inside the spire. It’s dark inside, not a single source of light. His footsteps echo around the large room he finds himself in. He walks into the center of the room, or what he presumes to be the center, and tries to look around. The only thing he can see is the entrance, light still spilling into the spire from it. If there’s a way up, he can’t see it.

All the most ancient writings on the spire agree on its purpose. They all state quite clearly and quite definitively that it was the last bastion for humanity during the Heavenly War. Sion can’t wrap his head around that. He can’t imagine any number of people having lived here for too long, much less a great enough number to preserve humanity alone. As he plays with such thoughts, bright lights of all colors begin to cascade down. Sion does not know where the light came from, but can make out that they are each individual motes, similar in appearance to magic. The motes seem to be converging on the center of the room. Warily, Sion moves away. However, the motes seem to follow him. The lights wash over him, knocking him to the ground, and as they brush past him, Sion begins to hear a chorus of high-pitched voices.

“It’s Cenit!”

“Cenit’s back!”

“Cenit came back!”

“Cenit! Cenit!”

All the voices seem to share this same sentiment. They all seem to be overjoyed that Cenit has come, and they all seem overjoyed that Sion is before them, but of course, Sion does not understand. He stands up and tries to shake them off, but the excited motes of lights don’t dim and continue to cling to Sion. Sion keeps looking around. There don’t seem to be any more motes of light coming, and although they are bright Sion still cannot see a way to ascend the spire. He decides that there can’t be any harm in trying to talk.

“Excuse me, um… Who is Cenit? I think you’ve mistaken me for somebody else. And I’m looking for a way up the spire, and I’m in a rush, so do you know the way?” The chorus of voices respond, the motes of light circling around Sion in a frenzy.

“Cenit?”

“Why are you being mean?”

“You won’t trick us, Cenit!”

“But Cenit wasn’t this big?”

“She feels the same?”

“Cenit, why don’t you feel as strong?”

“Humans grow!”

“Humans shrink!”

“Her eyes are the same!”

“They have more rings?”

“Humans grow!”

“Her hair is different?”

“Humans shrink!”

“She must be Cenit!”

“Humans change color too!”

“She’s the only one who could be here!”

“She has to be Cenit!”

The motes of light swarm around Sion. They talk quickly, moving almost too fast for Sion to follow. But even still, he can hear the sadness building in their voices.

“I’m sorry, but I’m really not Cenit. I don’t even know who that is. I’m not the one you were waiting for.” The motes of light begin to slow. They back away from Sion, then a single mote falls onto his brow as their representative.

“Have you really forgotten about us, Cenit?”

“I’m really not her.” Sion laughs slightly. “And I’m a man anyway.”

“Huh? But Cenit, you’re a girl!”

“So I can’t be Cenit, can I? We’re different people.” The mote of light begins to cry.

“But…! But…! We’ve been waiting this whole time! You told us you would come back! We wanted to see you for so long, so why aren’t you Cenit!”

“I can’t become Cenit. I might not be the person you’re waiting for, but if it’s alright, I’ll listen to you talk about her.”

“Talk about her?”

“Yeah. That might make you feel less lonely. And I’d be more than happy to listen.”

“Why?”

“Listening to people talk about the people they love is fun.” Sion remembers his goal. “And if it’s possible, could you lead me to the top of this spire?” The mote of light seems to grow cheerful once more.

“Okay!”

The motes of light come together and drag Sion along like a wave. Their representative stays in place on his brow. They take him to a wall, another white stone set in a doorway. Sion reaches out to touch it, and again the stone opens up and allows him passage. The mote of light begins to talk as he crosses the threshold, the steps leading up illuminated by Sion’s followers.

“Are you sure you’re not Cenit?”

“Yes. Why were you so sure I was?”

“It’s simple! You have to be!”

“Sorry, that’s the part I don’t understand.”

“Hmm? Well, when Cenit left, she told us to protect all the humans here! We took control of all of the spire, but we were only able to because Cenit wasn’t here anymore! She told us that when she was close to coming back, weird things might start happening in the spire! And then, and then, a little while ago, the doors slammed shut again, and we couldn’t open them! But you could! And only Cenit could, so you must be Cenit!”

“I see. I guess I can’t blame you then.”

“And you feel the same!”

“Is that so? Can you tell me more about Cenit?”

“Okay! She’s the one we love the most! She taught us how to talk! And she played with us!”

“I hope you can meet her again soon.”

“Me too! And she was never mean to us!”

“Mean?”

“She never made us go away!”

“Other people did that?”

“Yeah! But never Cenit! Ausus was mean and swatted us away from her so we ran away when he came! But Cenit always came to play with us after!”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you’re hurting anyone, so I guess I can’t understand what the problem was. Isn’t it fine if you do what you want, if nobody’s getting hurt?”

“Are you sure you’re not Cenit?” Sion laughs softly.

“Yeah.”

“And she’s the most beautiful!”

“And you still didn’t know I wasn’t her?”

“You feel the same!”

Sion steps out into another large room. Suddenly the motes of light on the ground cross the room and cling to the far wall. The light illuminates a mural, a portrait of a girl. The mote of light still on Sion’s brow gets even more excited.

“It’s Cenit!”

The girl certainly is beautiful. She seems to be only slightly older than Sion. The girl has pale skin and hair and eyes the color of the sky. A thin golden arc makes a ring around her irises. She’s smiling in the portrait, but only so much. Sion can’t see the warmth the motes of light spoke of her in the depiction before him. However, shockingly, Sion does know this girl.

She is an almost legendary figure, the Lady of the Sky. She is one of the most common motifs in art, known as the savior of humanity, the one loved by the heavens. Her name has long been unknown, her existence only attested to after the fact. She looks younger in this portrait than any other Sion has seen. Sion marvels at the sight, the great mystery partially unraveled in front of him. And he realizes then that Cenit has been long dead. He begins to speak, but before he can, his vision blurs and his legs give out.