The underground chamber they had descended into was still brightly lit. But it wasn’t the natural sunlight he’d seen before leaving—it was light spilling out from the lamps. Through the sliver in the research room door, glowing with a crimson hue, Yuder saw Inon’s back. He was sitting in a chair placed to directly face the tree—the sa one he’d been by before Yuder had woken up.
Maybe it was the way his back seed strangely sunken, but the voice Yuder had intended to use to call out to him suddenly got stuck in his throat and retreated inward.
But Yuder didn’t need to speak first. Inon, sensing a presence, turned his head and looked in his direction. His eyes narrowed subtly as he confird who it was.
“You looked like you were asleep. Why co down instead of just sleeping more?”
“I did follow you, but I didn’t co to just lounge around like a comfortable guest.”
“You could just say you were worried, you ass. What kind of way is that to talk?”
Inon clicked his tongue. But unlike just a mont ago when his gaze had felt like that of an inanimate object, his eyes now held their usual spark again.
“If you’re coming in, then co in.”
He waved his hand lazily. Yuder stepped into the research room. The scene inside hadn’t changed much since earlier. The only new detail was the lemon bag Kishiar had given Inon now resting on his lap.
Apparently, he’d been eating up until just now. In Inon’s hand was a half-eaten lemon. Perhaps sensing Yuder’s gaze linger on it, Inon opened his mouth.
“I’ve eaten them all. This is the last one. Don’t expect to share.”
“I didn’t even want one.”
A snorting breath ca from Inon’s side, like a scoffing breeze. Yuder pulled over a random chair nearby and sat down. The two of them stayed like that, in silence, for quite so ti. Still fiddling with the lemon in his hand and staring at the hollow inside the tree, Inon suddenly began speaking without warning.
“You know what Luma’s na ans? It’s ‘lemon.’”
“No. First ti I’ve heard that.”
“Technically, it’s how they used to say lemon in the old dialect of Luma’s hotown. Lemon. Luma. Kind of similar, right?”
Now that he said it, the pronunciation did sound sowhat alike.
“She got that na because she was found as a baby under a lemon tree. Soone had abandoned her there, and kind-hearted people rescued and raised her. But that hotown was completely wiped out during the Great Destruction. Luma chose the lemon flower as her sigil to never forget that place. That flower wasn’t even particularly unique-looking... people only ca to recognize it because Luma used it.”
Yuder thought back to when they’d found the Grand Mage Luma’s brooch, and how Kishiar had imdiately recognized the faint pattern engraved on it as a lemon blossom and deduced who it had belonged to.
“Like Inon said... it really didn’t look that unique.”
So that was why she had chosen a lemon flower as her symbol. Yuder, still silent, opened his mouth again.
“Is that why you like lemons too? Because of Luma?”
“I guess you could say that... When I first went to the Capital and had a proper al—rember that story I told earlier?”
Yuder nodded, and Inon gave the lemon half a little wave.
“There was a lemon on the dish, ant to be squeezed for juice. I didn’t know better and just ate the whole thing—peel and all. Everyone freaked out, but Luma laughed like crazy. She said in her hotown, a lot of people ate them that way and that it made her feel nostalgic.”
“......”
“I think that was the first ti I ever thought sothing actually tasted good. Ever since then, I’ve eaten lemons whole.”
He stared at the half-eaten lemon in his hand and took another bite.
“When I eat it like this... it brings that mory back. Makes realize again how, even after a thousand years, so things don’t change if there’s a vessel to carry them. Through this tiny lemon, Luma and I—and the thousand years between us—are still connected. It’s kind of like Luma’s magic, in a way.”
How was that similar, exactly? The question was soon answered by his next words.
“Luma knew a lot of different magic, but she once said the foundation of all her spells was ‘connecting things.’”
“I don’t get what she ant by that.”
“Literally connecting anything. Things you can see, things you can’t. Like, she said the land Ghilandre Hill was on was hidden by cutting it away from the surrounding landscape and stitching it sowhere else. Or how the stairs between a building’s upper and lower floors felt shorter than they should—because she had connected the distance in a way that warped space. You follow?”
To Yuder, that didn’t seem like sothing to understand or not—it felt like a different kind of logic altogether.
“I don’t know... but that sounds more like an Awakener’s ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) ability than magic.”
“Luma said she realized she could do it naturally the mont she beca a mage. More precisely, she called it her ‘core magic.’ Back in that era, a lot of mages were born with core magics like that from the start. So maybe you’re right.”
Yuder faintly recalled sothing from long ago—claims that old magic was similar to Awakener powers. Perhaps that wasn’t just baseless rumor after all.
“If that’s true... then Luma’s magic might be better understood as an Awakener’s ‘connecting’ ability.”
It was an abstract idea, but not unimaginable. Even Kishiar had once limited his “push-pull” ability to the physical, visible world, only to later expand it into sothing far more versatile.
“Thinking of Luma’s magic like that is making you excited, huh? You suddenly look a bit more energetic.”
“...Not really.”
“Don’t lie. Lying doesn’t work on , you know.”
Now that he thought about it, Inon had always been good at seeing through lies—even in his previous life. Could his uncanny ability to read the link between soul and body have also co from the Grand Mage?
“That power too... did you inherit it from Luma?”
“What power?”
“Knowing when soone’s lying. Being able to see when my soul isn’t fully connected to my body. You said it’s not sothing you see with your eyes.”
“That’s because my soul is a spirit’s, you little shit.”
Inon replied with a sullen look.
“Spirits are a race that’s inherently closer to the soul. Even if we have physical bodies separate from our true forms, they’re nothing like a human’s. Since we’re soul-based, it’s natural we can see other people’s souls. We communicate through our innermost selves—no shells, no barriers. That’s why lies don’t work.”
“......”
“It’s definitely different from seeing with your eyes. You just know. Not perfectly, of course.”
“That’s not perfect?”
“Well, I’m only half a spirit now.”
This was the first ti Yuder had ever talked with Inon in such depth. Maybe it was just an illusion, but it felt like he was closer to him now than in any previous conversation.
As he thought that, Inon turned to him and chuckled with a slight frown.
“It’s really weird. Having a conversation like this with you.”
“......”
“But not bad. Honestly, I was sitting here thinking about spirits and Luma all this ti.”
So that’s what he’d been doing—chewing on lemons and reminiscing. Yuder debated whether to ask more, then just decided to speak.
“What were you thinking about?”
Inon popped the last piece of lemon into his mouth. While he chewed, silence settled over the room, broken only by the looming presence of the tree. Inon turned his gaze toward it and finally spoke.
“Hmph. That word—‘struggle’—from Luma’s letter today.”
Nothing can stand forever, but even knowing that, is struggling to delay it just the fate of a finite human?
The phrase from Luma’s letter passed through Yuder’s mind.
“It made wonder. Dragons, fairies, spirits—they all perished. Are humans really so special? The spirit that beca my soul... it tried to preserve itself in this way while its entire race was dying out. Isn’t that a kind of struggle too?”
“......”
“I don’t know. Maybe I only think this way because I’m not a complete human—a made thing. But the way I see it, humans aren’t the only finite ones. Everything that disappeared before us probably clawed at the edges of their fate too, and only left traces behind. ...Just a thought. Damn it, Luma’s ssages are never easy to interpret.”
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