People say, that when you're about to die, you see your life passes before your eyes.

At that narrow duration, you know you're going to part with the World, and suddenly everything becomes clear.

But if all you've ever seen is darkness, I wonder what kind of life might pass you by?

--

"My Lady, come on! You ought to stop moping. It is disrespectful to your late father, and to the Duke of Camomille!" Allowell whines. Never in his life he thoughthe would be the one to cheer the young lady when she was feeling down. "Is it not the dream of your life? To venture into the unknown, the thrill of a heroic quest, the journey to the end of the World?"

Naon huffs. She drops her belongings on the ground and sits beside it. She has discarded her frilly, flowery dress in favor of tunic, pleated skirt, and leather jacket, and is more than just feeling liberated about it, but it isn't enough to make her springing on her feet like she used to do. She even doubts there's any spring strong enough to bounce her off the ground with such a gloomy air about her.

"I don't remember ever dreaming about not being the Duke's daughter and having my real father dead when I was a baby," she mutters so darkly the wind suddenly changes direction. And temperature.

Allowell almost flinches in fear.

"And I've never dreamt about walking a destinationless journey. What am I even going to do? Fa—the Duke spoke about powers and destinies, but what kind of power am I going to have? What kind of destiny am I destined to get? Am I going to be sacrificed to appease the hunger of some spoilt, tax-mongering God? Or am I going to slay a monster that threatens the survival of humanity? What?!!!"

Allowell shakes his index finger. "Tut, tut, Lady... we haven't even begun! It's not past midnight yet, so there's still a few hours before your powers awaken."

"If I have any, at all," Naon rebuffs irritatedly. "Do you think Fa—I mean, the Duke wasn't messing with our heads?"

Allowell frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Naon says in exasperated tone, "doesn't it sound ridiculous that the Duke suddenly tells me I'm not his daughter right before my fifteenth birthday? And to chase me out right after. I mean, isn't it more natural to tell me little by little about my past and parentage? This whole scenario sounds like taken right out of a very bad fantasy drama whose writer lacks the taste of character development and the director the imagination to build an important atmosphere!"

"And, you're trying to say...?" Allowell also puts down his backpack and sits cross-legged across Naon.

"That Fa—the Duke has had enough of me rampaging the market and causing him problems!"

Allowell narrows his eyes. "So you realize that you've been making troubles. Anyway, you think this is his bad idea of a fitting punishment?"

"What else?!"

"That theory might work," Allowell says slowly, "if only we haven't checked the family registry and found out that your name wasn't listed as his daughter."

"I've never known my mother," Naon says simply. "Isn't it what everyone has been saying? That I'm an illegitimate child of his."

"And somehow now you're favoring that piece of information, as if the dented edge of the palace's guard post against which you punched the life out of someone who started that rumour is all but a realistic nightmare."

"Psh. Don't get hung up on the past! Move forward, and new possibilities will appear!"

"I don't want to be told that by you!"

"Anyway. I don't think we need to go that far. Father's messenger will come around now and tell me that Father is no longer mad at me and wants me home. Yeah."

Allowell almost sweatdrops. "You and your misplaced positivity," he mutters to himself. "My Lady, when is your birthday?"

"Hm? What are you talking about? It's today! Will be yesterday in three to four hours," Naon says, glancing at the night where the Moon shines silvery. A grey cloud crawls, approaching the moon, in a sedate pace.

"I doubt that," Allowell says.

Naon glares at him. "You have more theory to disprove my being Duke of Camomille's daughter?" she seethes. This time, Allowell really flinches. He knows that tone. It is the foreboding of a volcano eruption that is the Lady's wrath.

"I would love to say no, but I am sworn to honesty during my come-of-age ceremony," Allowell sighs. "Listen, you are not listed as the Duke's daughter. No one knows who your mother is. Even when you asked, no one gave you a definite answer. And now that you're supposed to be awaken to some supernatural power, you haven't. Why is that? Because today is not even your birthday! You don't have birth certificate. No one knows exactly when you were born. And that is more proof that you are not the Duke's daughter. It is unthinkable for a parent to misremember his own child's birthday, after all."

After saying all that, Allowell puts his backpack—which contains change of clothes, instant food, and valuables—between him and the Lady, hoping to the Moon it will be enough to dampen the Lady's punches. Seriously, for an adolescent girl, and one who was brought up as heir to the Dukedom to boot, she has unnatural tendency to violence.

Something flicks in the back of Allowell's mind.

That's it!

"Lady!!" he jumps to his feet, a smile forms on his youthful face.

However, there is no lady. Only the backpack sitting lonely on the ground.

"Lady?" Allowell shouts. He didn't even hear footsteps. Where might the Lady go off to?

He looks around.

"My Lady? This is not funny."

Only the rustles of the leaves as the wind caresses them gently come to his call.

"LAAAADYYYYYY!!!"

And this time, silence.

--

At the same time, in a spacious cave in the Forest of Knights, sits a bespectacled man. The cave has a vertical hole, through which the Moon's soft light shines upon the man's silver tresses, giving him a celestial glow. Time seems to flow at a different pace in that place, as the air stands still and sounds are quietened down.

When it is time, the man moves. His hand gathers his hair, tying it using a piece of cloth in a simple braid. Then, he adjusts his spectacles, which gleam under the moonlight, hiding the emotions beyond them.

Finally, the man rises, his face tilts upward, as if looking at a far off memory.

"The wheels of Fate have begun to turn."