Epilogue: A Spring Storm
Felix’s Quarters at Fort Astora
It was the middle of the night when the candle on the table flickered. All the windows were shut tight, so there was nowhere for a draft to sneak in. Felix slowly closed the book he was reading and, without turning, called out to the person behind him.
“What can you possibly need from me at this hour? And don’t sneak in whenever you feel like it. I’ll have nothing to do with it if the guards catch you.”
“As if I’d do something so boorish. Anyway, I have news for you of the utmost urgency.”
Felix sighed, turning his chair around. “You all do everything your way, don’t you? Have you ever stopped to think what an inconvenience that is on everyone else?”
A middle-aged man stood in front of the door. The lower half of his face was covered by a cowl, and he was dressed entirely in black. At a glance, he looked a lot like a shimmer, but he exuded an entirely different aura. It was both thick and suffocating, and sharp as a knife—the aura particular to those who made their living as assassins.
“This is the news. We thought we had eradicated the Deep Folk, but we have recently learned of a survivor. We, the Asura, cannot allow them to live. And so I am here. You will be assisting us with this.” The man said this like it was already decided.
Felix knew that, since ancient times, the fates of the Deep Folk and the Asura had been tightly entwined, but no more than that.
“How long are you going to keep going with this?” He asked. “The contract you made with that so-called True King was hundreds of years ago. Or is this king an immortal still living out there somewhere?” Felix joked. The man’s face didn’t even twitch.
“Whether the king is alive or dead is none of our concern. For the Asura, a contract is absolute. An eternity may pass, but that will never change.”
The Asura ghosts. Privately, that was what Felix called them. They were a bunch of fanatics, passing down this obsession with killing the Deep Folk from generation to generation, all in the name of a contract.
“Well, that’s nothing to do with me,” Felix said. “In which case, if that’s all, it’s time for you to leave.” He held out a hand toward the door, but the man didn’t leave. Instead, he advanced on Felix, looking incensed.
“The blood of the proud Asura flows in your veins too,” he said. “It is very much to do with you. What is more, you are heir to our clan. Your blood is the purest of any of us. Do not think you will be allowed to do as you please, not in your position.”
“That’s just what you people decided. I don’t see any reason I should obey you. It’s hardly as if I inherited the blood of assassins because I wanted to.”
The House of Sieger was renowned for its service to the emperor across generations. That they were also descended from the league of peerless assassins known as the Asura was a fact known only by Felix, the current head of the family. His younger sister, Luna, and butler, Klau, were not aware, of course. Not even the emperor knew the truth.
“Still this conversation? We wouldn’t be asking you for help either if we could avoid it, but our target, though young, appears to possess considerable skill. You will stop whining and help us.”
“I refuse. My duties as one of the empire’s Three Generals don’t leave me time to play silly assassin games.”
“You will refuse no matter what?” the man said, his voice lowering.
“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time,” Felix snapped back, hitting his armrest in irritation.
The man’s mouth twisted. “Your only living sister’s name is Luna, I believe? She’s very beautiful, just like you, from what I—”
“Be silent. If you say one more word, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
The candle flickered violently. As Felix’s rage rose to the surface, the man leapt back, one hand on the dagger at his waist as he stared warily at him. Felix usually had a placid temperament, but it wasn’t in his nature to remain calm after hearing such words about someone close to him.
“Let me make this abundantly clear,” he said. “You Asura may do as you please. I have no intention of getting in your way. But if you raise a hand to my family or friends, I will kill every last one of you.”
The blood drained from the man’s face. He knew that Felix wasn’t bluffing. He put his hand on the door. “U-Understood,” he said through clenched teeth. “We don’t need you. But don’t interfere with us.” Then, seeming to remember something, he turned.
“Was there something else?”
“Pass this on to the rest of the Three Generals. Part of this concerns them too.”
“I don’t want to ask, but—”
“The name of the Deep Folk survivor is Olivia Valedstorm. She’s a major in Fernest’s Royal Army.”
Felix almost cried out in shock but forced his mouth shut. The man looked at him searchingly. “That reaction. Do you know something?”
Felix didn’t just know something. After playing no small part in the downfall of the Crimson and Helios Knights, the girl they called the Death God was, without question, the Imperial Army’s greatest source of anxiety.
“I have some idea,” he said at length.
“Do you now...” the man said shortly, then silently slipped from the room. The Asura were totally indifferent to the fate of the empire. All they cared about was the execution of their contracts. The extent of the threat Olivia posed to the Imperial Army would be of no interest to them.
Felix heaved a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair. So she’s a descendant of the Deep Folk... he thought. Now I see why she’s so strong. The Seventh Legion don’t look like they’re going to attack Fort Astora right now, but there’s no question I’ll run into her one day. I don’t want to help the Asura, but perhaps this is fate...
The Deep Folk and the Asura.
Olivia and Felix.
As though following an inevitable path, so too did their threads become intertwined.
Felix stood up from his chair and slowly pushed a window open. Just as he did so, a bolt of lightning pierced the earth and the whole room turned white. A lukewarm breeze swept through his hair.
“A spring storm...” he murmured to himself. The words melted away along with the light of the candle into ebony darkness.
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