"Does this... resemble the Heinal family crest?"
The woman with green hair squinted her eyes under the sunset light.
The tiny glasses on the bridge of her nose rose along with her furrowed brow.
Glancing at the book handed to her by the maid, Oksana turned her head once again and touched the fabric with the needle.
"I've never done something like this. In fact, I only saw my mother do them when I was a child."
"Isn't it equally beautiful?"
"It is."
The corners of Oksana's lips twisted, unlike the bridge of her nose, which wrinkled in concentration.
One of those precious traditions now fading from people's memories.
Now returning to the world through a noblewoman's hands.
"Is this enough?"
The white wood slowly took shape in Oksana's fingertips.
A white tree planted on a barren hillside, the image of a luxurious embroidery on black fabric.
"Now, then, I'd like you to engrave the next phrase."
"Here..."
"Very well, it's etched in your memory."
Preventing the maid from opening the family crest book, Oksana threaded a new thread through the needle.
Oksana would be right.
The embroidery she was working on was the crest of an unfamiliar family.
The needle's tip swung back and forth as she furrowed her brow again.
From above, Oksana's fingertips built a strong wall.
And a sword floating above it.
It was the Bayezid family crest.
Oksana's hall was so quiet that not even her breathing could be heard, and everything seemed to come to a halt.
In the center of the room stood a single flag, where the sunlight only revealed small specks of dust marking the passage of time.
A flag with nothing inscribed on it, just a white background.
The white background of the flag reflected the colors of the boy's root world.
A sword given by an old man to a child.
An identification badge from the priest.
A handkerchief inscribed with his name by a noblewoman.
And a white banner with the family crest.
These were all the things that would make up the boy's roots.
They were all the things he had achieved.
***
A night in the meadow where the sun has set.
No matter how close summer was, it remained cold at night in the open meadow.
So, the knights built a wall of carriages and carts and prepared to camp within it.
Once the hustle of camp setup subsided and a brief rest period arrived, the knights began to gather as knights do, and the priests as priests, to have their own time.
"....."
Delighted to see them all but unable to identify with any of them, the boy settled quietly in the middle of nowhere and lit a small fire.
Crackling.
Listening in the distance to the chants of the priests, Vlad unsheathed his sword.
In the firelight, the surface of the blade was tinted red.
Although wounds had distorted the reflections of the fire here and there.
"You've been through a lot too."
Staring at the red color that reminded him of someone he missed, Vlad took out a whetstone and brought it close to his sword.
Swish-swish-swish.
The care with which the boy handled the sword resembled that of the priests praying before him.
Perhaps the boy was praying with the sword.
For those who still remain where the boy and the sword stayed.
The sound of the whetstone on the sword blade mingled with the crackling of the fire.
The warmth of the fire and the peace of being alone for the first time in a long time softened the boy's expression.
"Why are you here alone instead of at the camp?"
"Ah, Sir Rutiger."
A young man approached Vlad's side, carrying a bottle of wine.
Rutiger sat down in front of the small fire Vlad had lit.
"Why are you alone?"
"Everyone else is busy."
Feeling warm talking to Rutiger, much like the warmth of the fire in front of him.
"Where's the chubby one?"
"Dorothea took him, to work."
"And Father Andreas?"
"He's praying."
Shrugging at the boy's response, Rutiger handed him a bottle he carried in his hand.
"Do you want a sip?"
"No, I'm working on my sword right now."
"You're refusing again."
"......"
We were in a good mood, and I didn't want to interrupt it, but I didn't know what would come flying into Joseph's office if I refused this time.
"Whisky."
"It's a nobleman's drink."
Feeling the strong aroma pass through his throat, Vlad looked at Rutiger with a puzzled expression.
The liquor's aroma on the boy's tongue now was similar to what Joseph had given him.
It seemed that no matter how much they fought over the same thing, there was no escaping the taste that the same blood emanated.
"You'll have to take care of that sword when you get back."
"...Yes, I will."
In response to Rutiger's words, Vlad brought the sword back to the fire.
A sword forged in an alley by an inexperienced blacksmith.
A sword that someone had invested a lifetime of work into, a sword that had slashed countless enemies and still stood firm, protecting its owner.
"But they said I couldn't."
"Eh?"
Rutiger's question was answered with indifference, and Vlad picked up the whetstone again, starting to sharpen the blade of his sword.
"He said the connection between the hilt and the blade was too arbitrary, and unless I could find the maker, I'd have to break the hilt before I could touch the blade."
"A selfish sword, just like its master."
Rutiger looked at the rough-looking sword and raised his bottle.
The Bayezid House blacksmith had offered favorably to maintain it, but he had refused and ultimately wreaked havoc, except for the hilt.
But maybe that was for the best from the old blacksmith.
"So, we'll have to find who made it and have it fixed."
"Where is he?"
Vlad held the sword vertically to check the sharpness of the blade.
The red reflection of the blade stung the boy's eyes.
It reminded him of the red hair he must never forget.
"Soara."
"Yes, well, you're always shouting that you're Vlad Of Soara."
It was an appropriate title, Rutiger said, taking a sip of his whisky, but the boy just looked at the sword.
An expert blacksmith had offered to restore it, but the boy had refused.
He didn't want to lose anything this sword contained.
Every engraving on this sword was a part of the boy's history and origin.
"......"
Rutiger stared at the boy fixedly on the sword.
The boy's blue eyes shone slightly as he looked at the sword with so much emotion.
So, this is it.
That's why my brother ran around so excitedly.
Nodding in understanding, Rutiger nodded and took a long drink from his bottle.
"Do you think you'll be able to fix it sooner or later...?"
"What?"
The boy repeated, but Rutiger didn't answer, he just got up.
"If you ask insistently enough, someone will give it to you."
".....?"
"It means you've done well in life so far."
Vlad looked puzzled at Rutiger as he uttered those unintelligible words, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was the familiar aroma of whisky.
"I must prepare for tomorrow's work."
Vlad watched Rutiger walk away, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
"....."
Once Rutiger left and he was alone by the fire again, Vlad began to give the final touches to the worn blade with oil.
He felt sorry for the wounds that his sword had that he couldn't fix with just a whetstone and oil, but someday he would fix them.
A sword and a boy had places to go.
It was a night in the meadow, and the boy made a silent decision.
On the hill above him, a horse as dark as the night sky watched the boy sitting by the fire.
It was a small light, but the horse loved the colors the boy was creating.
***
The next morning.
The carriages were moving across a green meadow.
And a herd of wild horses running alongside the carriage procession.
It must be rare to see a herd of wild horses running in harmony with man and nature.
The priests in the carriages and the knights escorting them were very aware of this.
For the first time, and possibly the last, they all watched a herd of wild horses running together.
"….."
The blond boy also observed the outside scene, arms crossed on the carriage window frame.
Vlad's lips involuntarily curled at the strange feeling rising in his chest.
Vlad knew.
That the time to part had come.
Just as he had his own work to do, the dark horse had the duty to lead the herd.
Neigh-.
The dark horse, which had been running ahead of the herd, neighed and slowly came to a stop.
The herd of wild horses stopped when the leader stopped.
It's done.
We can no longer be together.
Vlad's head naturally turned sideways as he stopped at the fading black horse.
The wild horses climbed the hill as if to greet us, watching the group running below.
Their eyes, darker than the night sky, locked onto the boy's blue ones.
"…Goodbye."
Not accustomed to saying goodbye, the boy raised his hand casually and waved.
It was a small greeting, as if he were embarrassed to be seen, but the dark horse could see it.
Hiiii-ing-.
The dark horse, while waving to the knights and priests, lifted its front hooves.
Vlad peeked his head out of the carriage with a questioning look as he watched it lift its front hooves in time with the waving hand.
It was a brief but profound moment.
The depth of a relationship is not determined by the time we spend together.
"Don't regret saying goodbye."
The priest sitting in front of the boy nodded in understanding.
"It's... just a word."
"Haha. It's so hard for people to be sincere."
Andreas smiled and opened the Bible he held.
"Our lives are a series of partings and meetings, and the seeds we sow in the tears of separation will one day return in the joy of reunion."
"….."
The boy didn't exactly understand what the priest meant by the verse he recited, but at least he knew it was meant to comfort him.
"I'm sure you'll meet again someday, as I'm sure you'll have a wonderful life."
"You'll have to find something more to say before it's too late."
"That would also be fate."
Vlad turned his head again and looked out the window.
As his eyes beheld the breathtaking scenery, he recalled yesterday.
The feeling of running across the green plains with the Worm of Death chasing behind him.
It had been the most exhilarating experience of his life, full of the most vibrant colors.
The vacation had come to an end.
It was time to go home.
"Does this... resemble the Heinal family crest?"
The woman with green hair squinted her eyes under the sunset light.
The tiny glasses on the bridge of her nose rose along with her furrowed brow.
Glancing at the book handed to her by the maid, Oksana turned her head once again and touched the fabric with the needle.
"I've never done something like this. In fact, I only saw my mother do them when I was a child."
"Isn't it equally beautiful?"
"It is."
The corners of Oksana's lips twisted, unlike the bridge of her nose, which wrinkled in concentration.
One of those precious traditions now fading from people's memories.
Now returning to the world through a noblewoman's hands.
"Is this enough?"
The white wood slowly took shape in Oksana's fingertips.
A white tree planted on a barren hillside, the image of a luxurious embroidery on black fabric.
"Now, then, I'd like you to engrave the next phrase."
"Here..."
"Very well, it's etched in your memory."
Preventing the maid from opening the family crest book, Oksana threaded a new thread through the needle.
Oksana would be right.
The embroidery she was working on was the crest of an unfamiliar family.
The needle's tip swung back and forth as she furrowed her brow again.
From above, Oksana's fingertips built a strong wall.
And a sword floating above it.
It was the Bayezid family crest.
Oksana's hall was so quiet that not even her breathing could be heard, and everything seemed to come to a halt.
In the center of the room stood a single flag, where the sunlight only revealed small specks of dust marking the passage of time.
A flag with nothing inscribed on it, just a white background.
The white background of the flag reflected the colors of the boy's root world.
A sword given by an old man to a child.
An identification badge from the priest.
A handkerchief inscribed with his name by a noblewoman.
And a white banner with the family crest.
These were all the things that would make up the boy's roots.
They were all the things he had achieved.
***
A night in the meadow where the sun has set.
No matter how close summer was, it remained cold at night in the open meadow.
So, the knights built a wall of carriages and carts and prepared to camp within it.
Once the hustle of camp setup subsided and a brief rest period arrived, the knights began to gather as knights do, and the priests as priests, to have their own time.
"....."
Delighted to see them all but unable to identify with any of them, the boy settled quietly in the middle of nowhere and lit a small fire.
Crackling.
Listening in the distance to the chants of the priests, Vlad unsheathed his sword.
In the firelight, the surface of the blade was tinted red.
Although wounds had distorted the reflections of the fire here and there.
"You've been through a lot too."
Staring at the red color that reminded him of someone he missed, Vlad took out a whetstone and brought it close to his sword.
Swish-swish-swish.
The care with which the boy handled the sword resembled that of the priests praying before him.
Perhaps the boy was praying with the sword.
For those who still remain where the boy and the sword stayed.
The sound of the whetstone on the sword blade mingled with the crackling of the fire.
The warmth of the fire and the peace of being alone for the first time in a long time softened the boy's expression.
"Why are you here alone instead of at the camp?"
"Ah, Sir Rutiger."
A young man approached Vlad's side, carrying a bottle of wine.
Rutiger sat down in front of the small fire Vlad had lit.
"Why are you alone?"
"Everyone else is busy."
Feeling warm talking to Rutiger, much like the warmth of the fire in front of him.
"Where's the chubby one?"
"Dorothea took him, to work."
"And Father Andreas?"
"He's praying."
Shrugging at the boy's response, Rutiger handed him a bottle he carried in his hand.
"Do you want a sip?"
"No, I'm working on my sword right now."
"You're refusing again."
"......"
We were in a good mood, and I didn't want to interrupt it, but I didn't know what would come flying into Joseph's office if I refused this time.
"Whisky."
"It's a nobleman's drink."
Feeling the strong aroma pass through his throat, Vlad looked at Rutiger with a puzzled expression.
The liquor's aroma on the boy's tongue now was similar to what Joseph had given him.
It seemed that no matter how much they fought over the same thing, there was no escaping the taste that the same blood emanated.
"You'll have to take care of that sword when you get back."
"...Yes, I will."
In response to Rutiger's words, Vlad brought the sword back to the fire.
A sword forged in an alley by an inexperienced blacksmith.
A sword that someone had invested a lifetime of work into, a sword that had slashed countless enemies and still stood firm, protecting its owner.
"But they said I couldn't."
"Eh?"
Rutiger's question was answered with indifference, and Vlad picked up the whetstone again, starting to sharpen the blade of his sword.
"He said the connection between the hilt and the blade was too arbitrary, and unless I could find the maker, I'd have to break the hilt before I could touch the blade."
"A selfish sword, just like its master."
Rutiger looked at the rough-looking sword and raised his bottle.
The Bayezid House blacksmith had offered favorably to maintain it, but he had refused and ultimately wreaked havoc, except for the hilt.
But maybe that was for the best from the old blacksmith.
"So, we'll have to find who made it and have it fixed."
"Where is he?"
Vlad held the sword vertically to check the sharpness of the blade.
The red reflection of the blade stung the boy's eyes.
It reminded him of the red hair he must never forget.
"Soara."
"Yes, well, you're always shouting that you're Vlad Of Soara."
It was an appropriate title, Rutiger said, taking a sip of his whisky, but the boy just looked at the sword.
An expert blacksmith had offered to restore it, but the boy had refused.
He didn't want to lose anything this sword contained.
Every engraving on this sword was a part of the boy's history and origin.
"......"
Rutiger stared at the boy fixedly on the sword.
The boy's blue eyes shone slightly as he looked at the sword with so much emotion.
So, this is it.
That's why my brother ran around so excitedly.
Nodding in understanding, Rutiger nodded and took a long drink from his bottle.
"Do you think you'll be able to fix it sooner or later...?"
"What?"
The boy repeated, but Rutiger didn't answer, he just got up.
"If you ask insistently enough, someone will give it to you."
".....?"
"It means you've done well in life so far."
Vlad looked puzzled at Rutiger as he uttered those unintelligible words, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was the familiar aroma of whisky.
"I must prepare for tomorrow's work."
Vlad watched Rutiger walk away, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
"....."
Once Rutiger left and he was alone by the fire again, Vlad began to give the final touches to the worn blade with oil.
He felt sorry for the wounds that his sword had that he couldn't fix with just a whetstone and oil, but someday he would fix them.
A sword and a boy had places to go.
It was a night in the meadow, and the boy made a silent decision.
On the hill above him, a horse as dark as the night sky watched the boy sitting by the fire.
It was a small light, but the horse loved the colors the boy was creating.
***
The next morning.
The carriages were moving across a green meadow.
And a herd of wild horses running alongside the carriage procession.
It must be rare to see a herd of wild horses running in harmony with man and nature.
The priests in the carriages and the knights escorting them were very aware of this.
For the first time, and possibly the last, they all watched a herd of wild horses running together.
"….."
The blond boy also observed the outside scene, arms crossed on the carriage window frame.
Vlad's lips involuntarily curled at the strange feeling rising in his chest.
Vlad knew.
That the time to part had come.
Just as he had his own work to do, the dark horse had the duty to lead the herd.
Neigh-.
The dark horse, which had been running ahead of the herd, neighed and slowly came to a stop.
The herd of wild horses stopped when the leader stopped.
It's done.
We can no longer be together.
Vlad's head naturally turned sideways as he stopped at the fading black horse.
The wild horses climbed the hill as if to greet us, watching the group running below.
Their eyes, darker than the night sky, locked onto the boy's blue ones.
"…Goodbye."
Not accustomed to saying goodbye, the boy raised his hand casually and waved.
It was a small greeting, as if he were embarrassed to be seen, but the dark horse could see it.
Hiiii-ing-.
The dark horse, while waving to the knights and priests, lifted its front hooves.
Vlad peeked his head out of the carriage with a questioning look as he watched it lift its front hooves in time with the waving hand.
It was a brief but profound moment.
The depth of a relationship is not determined by the time we spend together.
"Don't regret saying goodbye."
The priest sitting in front of the boy nodded in understanding.
"It's... just a word."
"Haha. It's so hard for people to be sincere."
Andreas smiled and opened the Bible he held.
"Our lives are a series of partings and meetings, and the seeds we sow in the tears of separation will one day return in the joy of reunion."
"….."
The boy didn't exactly understand what the priest meant by the verse he recited, but at least he knew it was meant to comfort him.
"I'm sure you'll meet again someday, as I'm sure you'll have a wonderful life."
"You'll have to find something more to say before it's too late."
"That would also be fate."
Vlad turned his head again and looked out the window.
As his eyes beheld the breathtaking scenery, he recalled yesterday.
The feeling of running across the green plains with the Worm of Death chasing behind him.
It had been the most exhilarating experience of his life, full of the most vibrant colors.
The vacation had come to an end.
It was time to go home.
