Eidolon Earth: Candidate Author

“Don’t look down. Don’t look down,” I kept muttering under my breath as my eyes darted toward the torch-lit walls.

I felt Hayato-san’s grip on the edges of the blanket tighten as his warm breath hit the nape of my neck.

I quickened my steps as I felt the familiar surge of warmth flow through my body like a stream, while countless cells sucked in air from the surroundings.

The cold breeze touched me as I cut through it effortlessly. I couldn’t see clearly in front of me because I was wearing a deer mount like a mask, to give the impression of a big bird.

To conserve my energy, I imagined a platform made of emptiness using Null Craft and stepped onto it. The world around me slowed as I guided the stream toward my heel, pressing against the invisible platform, and...

BOOM...

With a low, muffled blast, I shot forward.

“Ugh.” Even with such an efficient method and such abundant energy, I found it extremely hard to manage the expenditure of my mental stamina.

My head throbbed and my eyes hurt each time I shot forward.

'No, not here.' I glanced back for a moment, watching the outer wall come and go. We had escaped the jaws of danger, but the danger itself had not decreased.

I knew we had at most half an hour to improve our chances of escape, as the puppets would not last more than an hour.

***

“Hmm?” Vazir peeked through the window of his carriage, following an erratic silhouette crossing the sky over the outer walls.

“Drills? At this hour?” he murmured to himself, pondering the possibility until the coachman’s voice reached his ears.

“We are about to arrive, Your Highness,” the coachman relayed respectfully. Vazir hummed to signal that he had heard.

He crossed his legs and leaned back slightly, resting his elbow on the edge of the window and his chin on his knuckles.

Moonlight spilled through the carriage’s only opening as it moved forward past countless lampposts. His eyes drifted over the flames, barely alive on the drops of oil.

'Such a waste.' That was his first thought whenever he considered this new practice, which had started two months ago. He had been very surprised to learn that Her Majesty had approved it.

It was a clear waste of resources and would do more harm than good.

“Just what is she thinking?” Vazir questioned Her Majesty’s strange decisions in recent times, though he never voiced it aloud.

He looked down at his left hand, which bore light ink stains. A warm smile emerged on his face at the sight, then reverted to a stern, frozen expression as he heard noises in the distance.

The carriage wheels halted in front of a thick iron gate. The soldier looked at the carriage and hurriedly signaled for the gate to be opened.

The familiar sound of water splashing at the edge of the fountain and the smell of wet grass made his lips curl up.

He straightened his spine and stretched his arms, producing a satisfying pop.

“They can’t have gone far!” he heard someone shout as wind hit his face and horses shot past his carriage.

He snapped to attention and saw five knights sprinting off somewhere. Suddenly, a bad premonition welled up within his heart.

He opened the door and jumped out just as the carriage was about to turn sideways toward the inner section.

As he jumped, an orange glow enveloped his figure, leaving a fiery trail behind.

'I hope everything is all right.' It was the only thing he could pray for.

……Smash!

Vazir headed straight for the upper floor of the inner castle, his surroundings smearing into streaks of color. Right, at the end of the lane to the stairway, up the... he recited the familiar map in his mind, and within a couple of seconds his legs had carried him in front of the double doors.

The door was open. He stepped inside. “Sis...ter?”

Heads turned toward him, yet he couldn’t recognize any of them. At first he thought he had entered the wrong room.

That was until he saw the woman on the bed.

The moment his eyes landed on her, it felt as if someone had forcibly pulled the breath from his lungs. His jaw went slack, his eyes widened, and he fell to his knees.

The blanket covering his sister had turned crimson. Her skin had paled like white cloth. There was no sound of breathing, only an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch forever.

His mind refused to accept the reality in front of him. Moments ago, he had been elated at the thought of reuniting with his elder sister, eager to tell her stories of the Academy campus. Now he had found her lifeless body in her own room.

That night, his sister Ezra Ul Nazarana, ruler of the Nazarana Kingdom, was murdered.

“...Who?” he asked, his words half a sob.

The unknown pale man answered without turning toward him. “...Envoys of the Parshara Kingdom.” His deep, chilling voice carried across the room as his hands moved to close the eyes of the now-deceased queen of Nazarana.

“...Why?” Vazir asked, half in rage and half in grief, tears flowing down his cheeks without his knowledge. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t find a reason solid enough to explain why a nation with which they’d had almost no interaction would resort to such actions.

The pale man looked into the prince’s eyes, causing him to go still, and then spoke. “Her Majesty rejected the trade alliance that Parshara offered.”

Vazir’s brows knit as the logic finally clicked into place. Even an amateur could work out why Parshara had done it.

Because of the war between Nazarana and Aurorian, the kingdoms of the western regions were facing extremely high taxes on imports and exports. It didn’t take a genius to see that...

'They want the war to end quickly.' As the final piece fell into place, Vazir took a deep breath.

“I think I know where we will find our culprits,” he muttered in a low voice, but the impact was like a tsunami.

“Oh?” For the first time, he drew a reaction from the pale man in the butler’s clothes. Vazir found the man disgusting, but more than that, he wanted to avenge his sister.

His gaze fell again on the light ink stains on his fingers, and a certain woman’s face appeared in his mind.

His brows relaxed a little at the thought of her before he asked himself:

"She must have received my letter by now, right?"