Every Change Requires a Spark.
Emilia positions herself before me, rising from the ground as I observe her from the stage. Although she is impeccably groomed as always, with her distinctive hairstyle and impeccable attire, I discern a transformation. Her eyes. Her eyes no longer reflect a growing melancholy.
Onlookers are taken aback, further intensifying the atmosphere. Perhaps they believe, in some indirect way, she bears responsibility for this tragedy. Many lost their lives, but nothing befell her.
Nevertheless, Emilia's gaze seems oblivious to these judgments. Her eyes are fixed on something else, something I cannot comprehend. With her back straightened, she casts me a determined look, disregarding the expectations surrounding her. Then, with a tone filled with emotion and anticipation, Emilia inquires:
"May I ascend?" Emilia graces me with a slight smile, conveying the assurance that there is nothing to worry about. Something has happened, something has changed within her. I'm uncertain whether it was my words, my actions, or a twist of fate, but I can perceive a transformation in her being.
"They are your people, after all; at the end of the day, it's you who makes the decision," I reply in a serene and reflective tone. I make my way to the steps of the stage, and she ascends them in turn. In that moment, our hands meet, and our gazes intertwine, brimming with complicity. We smile at each other.
To behold her in this manner makes me believe that not everything has been in vain, that if I can help, then every effort has been worthwhile.
"I'm glad you've arrived," I sincerely tell her. Emilia's presence here demonstrates that she too desires to move forward, to overcome adversity.
"Yes, though I'm still saddened, though I feel an incessant urge to cry. I must do it for the people I want to protect, right?" Emilia smiles at me with determination, revealing her inner strength.
"Yes," I respond firmly. Emilia ascends the stage, presenting her back to me, preparing to confront her first great challenge. Though she has made mistakes and paid a steep price for them, she is now here, facing herself and seeking redemption.
From my vantage point, I can observe her legs trembling, her body tensing, yearning to flee. Nevertheless, she remains resolute, without retreat. At that precise moment, Puck materializes out of thin air and alights on my shoulder, joining me in this pivotal scene.
"I advised her to take it easy," Puck comments with a tone of camaraderie.
"On the contrary, I believe this is exactly what she must do," I respond as I shift my gaze toward Emilia, who has turned her head to watch us.
Emilia regards both of us with a subtly apprehensive countenance. Puck and I exchange glances before smiling and, with a shared impulse, we cry out in unison, releasing our voices brimming with encouragement and support.
"You can do it!" we exclaim with fervor and determination in our voices. Emilia, upon hearing our words, illuminates her visage with a radiant smile and turns her head toward the expectant crowd of townsfolk.
They eagerly await her words, a mixture of annoyance and gratitude pulsating in the air. I am unsure whether it was my words or what I previously conveyed, but they have not acted rashly thus far. Emilia, then, prepares to speak, her voice resonating with strength and conviction.
"I hail from the Elior forest. I remained trapped beneath the ice for countless years, surviving in solitude. My entire village was frozen in the ice, and there I stood, utterly alone," Emilia declares, pausing in her discourse to turn toward me.
"I'm sorry, Marco, I hadn't told you," She whispers to me with complicity, winking and painting a smile on her lips.
She returns her gaze to the town and continues her narrative.
"After surviving for so long, I realized that my mere appearance terrified the locals of that area," Emilia continues with a quavering voice, briefly lowering her head. "No matter what I did, they always looked at me with terror."
The audience immediately identifies with her words, although fear is not evident on their faces at this moment. It's as if something has changed.
"When I discovered why, I disavowed everything I am. My own appearance became a curse," she declares vehemently. "But I am not that monster; no one has seen its face, although they know it shares my features. Is this how everyone despises me?"
The crowd lowers their heads, immersed in a mix of conflicting emotions. Emilia, noticing their reaction, begins to shed tears from her eyes, attempting in vain to restrain them. Puck tries to approach her, but I halt him with a gesture.
"Let her be, observe as your daughter begins to forge her own path," I whisper to Puck. He says nothing, merely standing there, staring intently at Emilia.
"I... I didn't ask to be born this way," Emilia utters as she wipes her tears with her sleeve. "Believe me, it's extremely difficult to be judged by the prejudices that I'm a monster. I've endured it countless times."
The crowd clenches their fists, their countenances reflecting a complex amalgamation of emotions. I am uncertain of their thoughts, and whether they harbor guilt deep within their hearts remains a mystery. Yet, one thing is certain: Emilia is laying bare her emotions with unreserved sincerity.
If prejudice prevails over feelings of empathy toward Emilia, she will suffer an irreparable blow.
"However, I did not come here solely to speak of myself," Emilia proclaims with a quivering voice, inclining herself slightly in a gesture of apology. The tension in the air becomes palpable, and people brace themselves to hear what she is about to say. "The attack occurred because we did not adequately verify the functioning of the crystals. Furthermore, it was my fault that the last person lost their life."
The crowd is stunned. Normally, they would have reacted with anger and accusations, but upon seeing genuine remorse in Emilia's eyes, their attitude shifts. They realize that the blame does not rest solely on her shoulders, but they also share the responsibility for not paying heed to their own safety.
"I cannot bring the dead back to life," Emilia continues with a resolute voice, extending her hand toward them. "I do not know if you trust me, but please, allow me to help you. If you have even a modicum of faith in me, let me stand by your side."
People begin to look at each other, whisper among themselves, and share hushed impressions. Meanwhile, Emilia remains motionless, her gaze fixed on those expectant faces. The silence lingers for a few minutes fraught with tension.
Finally, an elderly man with weary eyes approaches Emilia hesitantly. He avoids direct eye contact and directs his words to the ground.
"Excuse me, miss, could you lower your gaze? For an old man like me, lifting it requires considerable effort."
Emilia nods understandingly and, with a graceful leap, descends to stand before the elderly man, who takes her trembling hand.
"We find it difficult to accept you entirely," the elderly man confesses with a quavering voice. "We cannot help but think that all of this was your fault."
Emilia simply nods, saying no more. Her ears gradually droop, revealing her resignation. The elderly man continues, gazing at the horizon.
"However, if it were not for you, many more people would have lost their lives. Not only did you heal us, but you did so until you collapsed. Yes, you made a mistake, but at the same time, you saved countless lives. All the while, you fought to protect those who continued to show you disdain."
Several individuals approach Emilia slowly, seeking to share a moment with her, expressing their sincere gratitude.
"Thank you for sharing your story with us. Learning about all you've had to endure causes us to reflect on our own malevolence," says the woman from the first house, Petra's mother, with deep emotion.
Emilia, her eyes once again moistened, lets tiny tears escape. However, I am certain that these are not tears of sorrow.
"Thank you for healing my father!" exclaims a child as he presents Emilia with a bouquet of flowers.
Multiple people overwhelm Emilia with their gratitude, in an outpouring of emotions conveyed through expressions of appreciation for her selfless protection. It is the nobility emanating from Emilia that has prompted her actions, and now she is reaping the fruits of that virtue.
Meanwhile, my gaze meets Puck's, sharing an indescribable happiness on our faces.
"I told you so, look at how your daughter proudly begins," I say to Puck, raising my hand in a fist.
Puck instantly bumps his fist against mine, infected by the emotion.
"I couldn't be prouder of my daughter," Puck responds, his eyes brimming with happiness as they turn toward Emilia.
The belief that people change over time is a base lie that stories sell us. Personalities are spontaneous; they do not wait for time to pass to manifest themselves. Those who cease to be as they were do so due to a moment of reflection, due to a specific situation.
Sometimes, we all need that little nudge. It doesn't matter who it is, as long as they are jolted from their current state. It is an immutable truth: we all long to be well, but sometimes it is easier to continue failing than to strive for improvement.
As we navigate the path amid a multitude of possibilities, it is only when we follow a faint light that we can glimpse something more, something someone shows us from a unique perspective.
People continue to express their gratitude to Emilia until finally, all of them collectively bow before her.
Emilia involuntarily veils her mouth with her hands, taken aback by what she is witnessing. I step down from the platform and place my hand on her shoulder, attempting to convey reassurance.
"You see, we all make mistakes. The difference lies in how we confront them," I whisper to Emilia.
Emilia turns her gaze toward the multitude, and smiles begin to form on all faces. Although tears of joy still trace down her cheeks, she pays them no heed, focused on the love and gratitude unfolding before her.
"Thank you very much! Truly!" exclaims Emilia, attempting to sway the elderly man to change his stance. "I promise to double my efforts for all of you, truly. Thank you so much!"
Undoubtedly, a deeply moving moment. The townsfolk still harbor doubts, but despite everything, they managed to contain their emotions and help the little girl who saved them. They are people genuinely worth caring for.
After a moment, Emilia ascends the platform once more. This time, she has no fear; her smile is uncontrollable, radiant as if the day were dawning anew.
The darkness of the night envelops the town of Irlam, but Emilia's radiant smile shines as the most resplendent light in this moment.
"People of Irlam town, I can feel your sorrow. I know that many misfortunes have befallen you, but I also understand that there is much to be done," says Emilia, placing her hand on her chest, allowing her voice to resonate in the silence of the night. "To all those who have lost their homes, we will welcome you into the mansion. To the family of the man who perished due to my fault, I will yield my room and provide the necessary funds to cope with your loss."
At that moment, Ram interjects.
"The words of Miss Emilia echo those of our lord Roswaal," Ram declares solemnly.
Emilia nods in Ram's direction and continues.
"That is why, as we work on resolving all the issues, I request the cooperation of each and every one of you. Donate garments you no longer wear for those in need and extend assistance to others to help them survive," she implores. Extending her hand with the palm turned upward, as if invoking the spirit of solidarity. "My name is Emilia, and I am a half-elf from the Elior Forest. Now that you know me better, I ask that you trust in me. Allow me to demonstrate the difference between myself and the monster no one wants to speak of."
With these words, Emilia concludes her speech, and a whirlwind of applause erupts, showering down upon her. The townspeople are moved by Emilia's sincerity and determination. Even though her presence has generated more work for everyone, I cannot reproach her. After all, it is precisely what I had planned to do.
Once everything is concluded, Ram, Emilia, and I attend to the requests of the affected individuals. Using carriages, we begin to transport people to the mansion. Some decide to stay in their relatives' homes, thereby offering opportunities to others. Everyone collaborates with one another to overcome this crisis, a tangible testament to the inherent kindness in the human heart.
As night fell, we arranged families with children in rooms on the first and second floors. The mansion filled to the brim with people seeking refuge and solace.
I made my way to the kitchen, where I encountered Rem. I felt compelled to provide her with a detailed explanation of the situation.
"Did Miss Emilia do all this?" Rem inquired, taken aback by the magnitude of Emilia's actions.
"You speak as though it were an impossibility for her," I replied.
Rem shook her head, acknowledging that underestimating Emilia would be an unforgivable mistake.
"No, no. It's just that I never saw her as that kind of person, not until you arrived," Rem said, timidly intertwining her hands and smiling. "Yes, not until you arrived..."
"It was merely a gentle nudge; sometimes, we all require it," I responded to Rem as I placed a large cauldron before us.
The mansion's quarters filled rapidly, accommodating the eighty-seven displaced individuals. A total of twenty-two rooms were occupied, filling the first and second floors, but we managed to provide shelter for everyone.
This mansion is truly immense; hosting half the town posed no issue.
Rem and I began to feel overwhelmed as we prepared so much food, but fortunately, we were saved by a group of compassionate mothers who volunteered to assist us in the kitchen. Tears threatened to well up in our eyes, moved by their kindness and the speed at which they began to cook.
As time passed, the night was well advanced, and we decided to postpone detailed discussions about the damages suffered by everyone, whether in their businesses or farms. It is crucial to understand how the town's economy will be affected.
Luckily, I have a key plan to generate income. I just need to await Roswaal's arrival.
Due to the scarcity of time, Emilia and I didn't have the opportunity to converse in depth. We bid farewell with a meaningful gaze.
"Until tomorrow. May the blessings of the spirits be with you," Emilia said with a smile.
"Your smile is my greatest blessing," I replied to Emilia, seeking her reaction, but her response genuinely surprised me.
"When there's a better opportunity, let's talk alone," Emilia replied as she ascended the stairs.
As for myself, I make my way to my own chamber. Upon arrival, I pause before the door without entering.
"Beatrice, with so many people here, it has become rather uncomfortable. If possible, please allow me to enter," I murmur as I slowly open the door, uncertain of what awaits me beyond the threshold.
The sweet aroma of books permeates my senses, indicating that I am about to step into the library. As I pass through its doors, my eyes fall upon the young lady who once took my hand, now fixing me with an intense gaze from her bed. I watch her for a few moments without uttering a word, which instantly irritates her.
"If you're going to enter, at least say something, I suppose," she remarks with an annoyed tone.
Beatrice's gaze contradicts her words. At first glance, her expression exudes serenity and warmth upon seeing me. However, beneath that façade lies profound sadness.
I approach her. Papers continue to flutter around her, and she seems absorbed in the design of the steam engine. I suppose she is still striving to perfect it.
"Thank you for saving me," I express sincerely.
In response, Beatrice grimaces, turns her head, and furrows her brow.
"Hmpf! It was a bet, after all, I suppose."
Attempting to maintain a resolute posture, Beatrice does not anticipate what I am about to say.
"But I never said I won, so I still feel I owe you, Thanks." I recline on her bed.
Beatrice gives a small start, turns her back to me, and mutters:
"That's because you almost died, in fact." She clasps her hands against her legs. "Not that I care, I suppose, but you brought this and said you'd give me more, in fact."
As I gaze at the magnificent ceiling of this vast library, I try to comprehend the four hundred years of solitude she had to endure. She feels trapped, not knowing the course of her future and uncertain about what she wishes to achieve in this life.
Imprisoned by a contract made by her own mother.
I wonder what Beatrice must have on her mind at this moment.
"I'm sorry; I suppose I made you worry," I apologize, feeling the need to clarify my feelings.
Beatrice turns toward me, kneeling on her bed while I lie nearby, close but in different postures. With an irritated gesture, Beatrice points her finger at me.
"You shouldn't be so conceited, indeed! You're just a human, to me, you're nobody."
I disregard her words and pose a question.
"Do you believe it's possible to return to my world? I have been preoccupied and have gone through many things. Yet, I still can't seem to adapt, as if everything around me were an illusion."
I raise my hand, pointing at the ceiling.
"I feel an immense sense of solitude, as if the world is excluding me."
Beatrice lowers her hand, her expression becoming difficult to describe. Clearly, my words have struck a chord with her, but there is something more. Then, she says:
"The only way for you to return is through the one who brought you here."
The Witch of Envy, I suppose. But I doubt she would want to return me. Besides, I don't truly want to go back. To return to a place where I must hide, not knowing if I can eat the next day, distrusting everyone, and watching everything I care about perish.
"It doesn't matter, anyway. That world no longer accepts me." I shift my gaze toward Beatrice. "Beatrice, if you had the chance to choose to go to another world, without any consequences, leaving everything behind, would you do it?"
It is a complex question to answer. After all, it is related to her situation. Imprisoned by her own will and responsibility. In the end, it is her decision to be trapped in this place.
It is not really a bad thing; the problem lies in her being here despite not wanting to.
Beatrice takes a few seconds before speaking.
"I don't want to talk about that, I suppose," she mutters in a low tone.
A firm refusal. Fortunately, I expected this kind of response. We still don't know each other well enough; letting these moments flow will make her ponder it more.
"It doesn't matter; let's talk about the bet."
I brush it off casually, as if it were of no significance.
"You never gave the answer, indeed," Beatrice tries to change her tone, but her sadness is still evident.
It seems I'm adept at making others feel down. Perhaps I should stop overthinking and act more extroverted and cheerful. After all, in novels, everyone seemed to be happy in their own way.
At this juncture, the protagonist would be relishing a fulfilling life, engaging in work and lively conversations with everyone. However, I find myself contending with numerous predicaments.
In addition to ensuring my own survival, I must guide Emilia to the throne, though I do not recall that being the central theme in the novel. It would be straightforward to follow the same course if it were not for everything changing at an absurd pace.
"Almost there," I remark to Beatrice. "Indeed, it's a machine capable of generating power, but you haven't deciphered how it accomplishes this."
In that moment, Beatrice's face lights up as if you've given candy to a child. She draws closer to me, positioning herself at my side. It's peculiar to observe butterfly-shaped eyes up close. In fact, upon closer examination, there are certain aspects that don't appear human.
Her skin seems flawless, devoid of pores or imperfections, her eyes are larger than normal, and the shape of her pupils is unquestionably peculiar. Her hair doesn't appear as real as one might expect, appearing fixed and static up close. Perhaps it's magic. I wonder if it's possible.
With a swift motion, I direct my hand towards her head. My target is the ribbon of her right pigtail, but just as I am about to reach it, I halt. Thankfully, I manage to stop myself in time, avoiding a potentially fatal outcome. My hand falls from the surprise of what I almost did unconsciously, and I gently touch her head.
"Well done, despite my lack of understanding and vague responses. You are truly remarkable, Beatrice."
In an instant, Beatrice removes my hand from her head.
"What do you think you're doing while saying that, indeed?" Beatrice complains but remains steadfast in her position.
"A reward, I suppose," I calmly respond, sensing my patience wearing thin.
"What kind of rubbish reward is that I suppose?"
I'm growing accustomed to her repetitive quirks.
"Oh, then tell me what the great spirit desires."
I gaze upon Beatrice with curiosity, though within me, I can already anticipate a response akin to, "Depart from my chamber and return not," but only if the situation warrants it.
"I grant you any desire at my disposal," I declare solemnly.
"What could a great spirit want from a failure like you?" she retorts.
In that moment, I rise abruptly from the bed. Without uttering a word, I proceed towards the exit, resolute in my departure.
"Then there is nothing more to be done," I state as I open the door, attempting to leave, but Beatrice cries out.
"Wait!"
I swiftly turn to regard her. Her countenance reflects surprise at my assertive demeanor. I am uncertain whether it is part of her personality design or if she is genuinely taken aback, but I am not inclined to allow her to treat me thus constantly, especially now, when my mind is plagued by so many concerns.
"You have said it yourself, haven't you? If you desire nothing, then I may as well retire to slumber. If it holds no interest for you, why should it for me? After all, it is you who stands to benefit here."
Beatrice appears stunned by my final words. From her perspective, people often take advantage of her, turning to her for aid and expecting her to fulfill their wishes. Even the protagonist in the novel seeks her out for conversation and catharsis.
However, I have never done so. Until recently, our conversations have been formal, revolving around topics such as the steam engine and everyday anecdotes. I have carefully omitted all my troubles and worries, until now.
It is only natural; I shall not divulge my problems to a stranger. Although I am willing to help and listen to the best of my ability, it does not imply that I must do the same in return.
My problems are mine alone, and I have no reason to burden others with them.
Beatrice, remaining on her bed and in a barely audible tone, whispers, "Tell me... World."
Incapable of comprehending her words, I approach her slowly. She appears regretful for what she has said yet struggles to articulate her true desires.
"Speak up and be clear. After all, this is for you and because of you," I urge.
My words seem to prompt Beatrice to stir slightly. Her gaze, somewhere between anger and sadness, reveals how difficult it is for her to express her true wishes. It is as if there are shackles on her lips, preventing her from speaking freely.
Do all the individuals in this place carry traumas so profound? Emilia, Rem, Roswaal, Beatrice. With the exception of Ram, they all seem burdened by traumas that have shaped their personalities.
It is disquieting.
"I wish for you to enlighten me further about your world, I suppose" Beatrice manages to say at last, extracting the words from within her with effort.
I draw near to her and intentionally place my hand on her head, gently caressing it. She does not reject my gesture, indicating that it does not displease her.
"I'm delighted you've told me. I will gladly expound upon my world for you."
I lift her into my arms, surprising her. She attempts to free herself from my grasp, but I do not give her a chance, and we tumble onto the bed together. Beatrice falls to one end, and I beside her.
"What do you think you're doing, indeed!?" exclaims Beatrice, taken aback by the unexpected fall.
"Settling in for a conversation," I reply with laughter.
From that moment, I commence recounting things about my world. Time passes as we passionately debate and discuss the steam engine, with me explaining its workings.
"High-pressure steam can be harnessed as a mechanism to produce power. The utilization of the speed it generates and its conversion into force is what renders the steam engine a versatile tool for all manner of situations. "
It was the first of its kind.
I speak of scientific discoveries, casual anecdotes, and historical moments. I tell her about art and music, about architecture and engineering, about life itself and the changes that have transpired in my world.
Unbeknownst to me, weariness from the day begins to overtake me, and I gradually drift into slumber as I continue to speak.
Slowly, the murmur of my words fades in the room, making way for silence and dreams.
"Discovering happiness is no simple task for anyone, but those few who achieve it find joy in life's simplest pleasures," I say before falling asleep.