By the way, if you're wondering where I am, or what I've been doing here—
Today was the holiday festival.
We were here to celebrate heroes who once protected us.
Or at least, the ones said to have existed in those myths.
Although many—if not almost all—believed those tales to be true, doesn't that just make it an empty kind of faith?
I couldn't help but think about it like this:
It's like worshipping something beyond the reach of your own perception. Something so divine that you could barely touch it, yet still bow before it.
Ain't that strange? I know right.
Silvia and I joined this mess, doing whatever everyone else was doing.
How pathetic.
After the storytelling ended, children filled the square, playing pretend—taking on roles as heroes, villains, or whatever else they wanted to be.
They were children, after all.
"They look joyful," Silvia said, her eyes filled with a glimmering hope—unlike mine.
The dead-eyed one.
"Well… I guess so."
I didn't know how to continue the conversation.
"Anyway," she asked, "do you believe in that thing?"
"Of course!" she replied without hesitation.
"I mean, there must be something magical beyond what we know right now, you know. Maybe there's no magic here—but I'm sure we'll see it someday. Sooner or later."
How hopeful…
Then her gaze sharpened—thin and piercing, like a needle.
Yes. Thin.
But sharp enough to falter you in an instant.
"What is it?" she asked.
"You don't like it?"
Her voice softened.
"Me being cheerful?"
A chill ran through me, and I shuddered.
"No, not at all."
I answered as efficiently as possible, making sure there were no misunderstandings.
Ever.
Anyway, nothing really happened here.
We Spirits can't do much with our bodies, after all.
And besides—none of this was magical.
Maybe if I thought of myself as one of those "heroes," wand in hand, I could do anything.
Or… let's say this instead.
If I think of myself as a fictional character living in a fictional world—doesn't that make you one too?
Yes. You.
The one reading this.
I couldn't help but wonder.
Because reality exists within the boundary of fiction, one way or another.
Stories reach their audience.
They call out to be observed.
Just like this festival.
Just like magic.
So no—it's not that I don't want it.
I just think it's too far out of reach.
Like trying to grasp a star with both hands.
And I—ignorant, arrogant—can't afford that.
But if it truly exists…
Then maybe I'd use it.
Even if I don't believe in it.
Yes. Hypocrisy, that is.
"Daniel," Silvia said, "let's go back to the dorm, shall we?"
A tempting offer, I must admit.
"Don't think of something pervy, you weirdo."
…She read my mind again.
"Yeah, yeah. Sure."
I replied in the affirmative as then we—me and Silvia—walked through the steep path side by side.
Anyway, if you ever wonder about the buildings in this world, let's say each Spirit lives inside a mini-castle.
Yes, you didn't hear it wrong.
We built castles out of marble, thinking it was the safest way for us to live instead of houses.
Houses, meanwhile, are built for much more formal institutions—like the academy, for example.
In the academy, we were taught how to control our being through spiritual means.
And no, it's not magic.
Just an annual meditation to be one with nature, held as a ceremony of peace.
We call it "Serenity."
This ritual exists to control our existence.
If we don't do this, we will explode.
Yes. Literally torn into pieces.
And I have seen one myself.
All I could say was that it was a Spirit losing its control, no longer able to live for the purpose of such worship.
Or else, they just can't resist the truth.
Well, in my case, my parents apparently couldn't.
It also happened during the festival.
No, it always happens once… every year.
So today, maybe you are going to witness it.
Just watch and observe.
"Daniel!"
It was Silvia's scream.
Sharp, rather too all of a sudden for a cheerful festival.
There you go… told ya.
It exploded.
There was no fire.
No sound loud enough to match the word.
Just a sudden pressure in the air—like something collapsing inward.
Then it dissipated.
Gone into the air.
Silvia stood frozen beside me, her breath uneven.
Her hand clenched around my sleeve without realizing it.
Around us, people stopped.
Well… only for a moment.
Someone whispered a prayer to that Spirit.
Someone else looked away.
A child started crying—then was quickly hushed.
The music resumed.
Not immediately.
But soon enough, perhaps out of fear.
I kept watching.
Silvia didn't, facing the street's corridor instead.
"Why are you still looking at that?" she asked.
"Don't you feel any remorse at all?"
She hid her face from me as she spoke.
I shrugged and nodded.
Honestly, the fact that I had gotten used to this was terrifying in itself.
Maybe I cried too loudly when my parents passed away. Or maybe I was glad.
Who knows.
Yet there was this sense of relief washing over my thoughts, my emotions, my bodily perception—my mind.
It felt as if I was no longer burdened by having to follow what others wanted me to do.
Anyway, Silvia was holding my hand now, not wanting to let go.
She's an orphan too.
Just like me.
For real.
We walked through the dorm's alleyway, trees everywhere—surrounding us.
"Don't you love this place?" she said, humming as if muttering to herself.
I sighed.
"I mean, who doesn't."
"You really don't end that with a question mark."
Of course I didn't. Ain't that obvious?
It might be that we had stalled in time.
But the sight and scenery here were just perfect.
Outlandish, even.
The tree leaves shimmered faintly, as if breathing—
as if whispering prayers not meant for us, but about us.
Prayers for safety.
Or maybe for containment.
Among all those trees, Silvia stopped.
She stared at one in particular.
"Maybe we could go there,"
she said quietly, while pointing towards it.
I followed her gaze.
"Kabbalah?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
The affirmation became heavier than it should have.
Kabbalah Tree...
It stood taller than the rest, its branches twisting unnaturally, roots partially exposed as if clawing at the ground rather than resting in it.
Symbols were carved into its bark—old ones.
Faded.
Rewritten over themselves so many times they no longer meant a single thing.
But rather, layers of meaning.
Sadly, it had no "magical" properties.
Or perhaps, luckily, because these whimsical delusions would be engraved into anyone's mind.
We drifted slowly until reaching the Kabbalah Tree.
But then… what did we do next?
It was simple.
We simply didn't.
Perhaps we were just taking a rest, or lying down.
Silvia, meanwhile, muttered words of prayer.
"What are you going to wish for this time?"
Silvia leaned toward me and smiled.
"Magic, of course."
I couldn't help but sigh, shrugging my shoulders.
"There are no such things as—"
"Shut up!"
Her emotions shattered.
"Daniel… don't you feel it enough? The suffering of spirits getting blown up like that? With magic, we could do anything to stop it!"
The silence was broken by her coherent, strong blabbering, its voice echoing through the wind.
I genuinely understood what she was trying to say.
But just because you have magic doesn't mean it will solve everything instantly.
Still, I didn't know how to reciprocate her feelings other than by sharing her sadness.
I moved closer and gently patted her head.
"I know. It's okay… I understand."
She shed her tears, leaning into my warmth.
We sat there together, the burden on our shoulders slowly lifted by the breeze.
"Let's leave this behind… just for now, okay?"
"You're not alone. I'm here—always by your side."
She nodded, then rested her head on my shoulder.
The echo of festival sounds grew loud, fading into the background as we shared this quiet tranquility—an aftershock of relief lingering in the air.
...