It came as a small Fire Fly, barely the size of the tip of his fingers, glowing in a dim red light within the Whitebud man’s chest. Right where his Heart was supposed to be. Or was it the strange crystal that originally housed the miracle?

  Alnea did not know. And neither did he care. His eye lids were getting a little too heavy. And there was a warm sensation burning within his chest. The only thing that was helping him fight the lure of sleep, other than his will, and the thoughts of his teammates, was the smell of Decay on his wounds. He could understand why his wounds were not scabbing. Mysteries of Decay tended to have that effect. But who in their right might mind would make Glyph Weapons that would leave behind such a horrid smell? Were they trying to kill him?

  On second thought, that was not a bad idea. Since neither physical nor elemental attacks worked on him, they could just use the power of bad smells to deal with him. Though they had already worked a way around his seemingly invulnerable robe. Maybe its thorns needed an overhaul. At the very least, it needed to have a Glyph Array to heal his wounds. Should he ask his master to design a new set of robes?

  “…Hold on a little longer, Tresting…”

  Was the Whitebud man saying something? Singing a lullaby? Such a nice man. If only he could kill himself while he was at it… And give him all the information about their plans, of course. Maybe even the information about his clan. That would make him perfect. But the man did not seem to want to be perfect. He preferred being a lunatic. Like the rest of the Wanderers around him. Mumbling some incomprehensible words…

  “…The miracle is just beginning…”

  Right, the miracle. Stupid man, still believing in childish things like that. How old was he anyway? Twenty? Thirty? Even children knew that miracles were called as such because they were impossible. Only with the intervention of Gods—

  Was the lunatic summoning a God? Goddess Quona? Probably not. The Goddess should not answer his summons. And even if she did, once she got a look at his ugly face, she would go back right away. Even Origin Beasts would not look at him. Or his clansmen. They had such ugly Hearts. And the one thing that Origin Beasts required of their followers was a pure Heart. There was a reason why Heterodox Wanderers tended to be so crazy.

  Then again, the Wanderers around him were lunatics in their own right. Just not the kind of lunatics that Heterodoxies looked for in their followers. But that did not make them any more amiable. Those arrogant pricks… If there was one thing he could wish for, then it would be to never have met those bastards in the first place. Unfortunately, that was not possible. So, he could only go for the next best option, and wish for—

  Alnea tore his eyes open, and stared at the Whitebud man’s grinning face, just a foot away from his, looking right back into his eyes.

  “Did you feel it?”

  He did. But he was not going to let the man have the satisfaction. Or so he thought. His face, on the other hand, had other plans. Maybe they should have communicated beforehand. Or he could just go back to relying on his Aspects to hide his emotions. There was just one problem with that plan. He did not have enough Spirit Power. And the headache…

  “You should understand it now…”

  He did not. But this time, he was prepared. This time, he was absolutely not going to let the man—On second thought, this time, answering the man seemed to be the better option.

  “…Wish?”

  “Wish?” the Whitebud man said, his eyes widening for a moment. Even the others around them looked at him in a daze. It was not until the sounds of gasps and exclamation rang out in the crowd that the Whitebud man came back to his senses and let out a loud laugh.

  “I knew I was right!”

  …Alright, maybe answering the man was not the better option. Since he had already lost the advantage though, he reckoned that it would be best if he could wring some answers out of the lunatic while he was still happy, and in the mood to talk.

  “…You seem to be excited after hearing my answer.”

  “Of course, I am excited,” the Whitebud man said, toning down his laughter to a chuckle, while adding a bit more strength to the hand pressing on Alnea’s chest. “You would be too, if you knew the implications of what you just said.”

  “…And that is?”

  “It means that you…” the Whitebud man said, trailing off towards the end, and paused for a few moments, widening his grin, before finishing his words. “—have never really met any Wanderer worth his name. How stupid did you think I was that I would divulge my secrets with just one question?”

  “…Should I ask a few more?”

  “…It looks like you still have not lost your humour.”

  “It is the only thing keeping me from fainting after seeing your ugly face.”

  That, and the warm sensation burning within his chest returning some of his strength. Not enough to jump back on his feet, of course. But enough to let him talk. Though it did not do anything about the pain coursing through his veins. On the contrary, as a strange sensation passed from the Whitebud man’s hand to his chest, fanning the fire burning within him, everything began turning more vivid. Including the pain.

  “…But that is good. The more you struggle, the better the effect of the miracle will be.”

  “…Have you thought that maybe the miracle’s effect would be even better if you tell me what it was, and let me cooperate with you?”

  “Will you?”

  “Will I what?” Alnea said, trying to ignore the smell of Decay painting a strange picture in his head.

  “…Cooperate.”

  “…Who knows? Maybe I will, maybe I will not. You will have to try to find out.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “…And that,” the Whitebud man said, licking his lips, “is the miracle.”

  “What?”

  “…Do you remember what I first said when I introduced the miracle?”

  Who would remember that nonsense? Maybe if he did not have a fire coursing through his veins, he might have tried spending some effort to recall the Whitebud man’s words. But at the moment…

  “…My memory has been a little hazy lately. Especially with the headache, and all the blood I lost… Would you mind reminding me?”

  “…Do you know the secret of the forest?”

  “…It is living?”

  “Not exactly, but you are close,” the Whitebud man said, glancing at the forest around them. “This forest is indeed alive. Has been for quite a long time. Even longer than my clan has been around for.”

  “…What?”

  “Surprised?” the Whitebud man said, turning back towards Alnea with a grin. “I was too. Especially since just from its appearance alone, at most, the forest seems to be only a few millennia old. Even the Oren Beasts here does not seem to be what a forest from the Age of Gods should have. Though that could be explained by the city purging all the beasts in the city. And the occasional Spatial Storms stemming from the disturbance in the boundaries of the world.

  “Still, when entering this forest, no one would guess that it is from the Age of Gods. Not even Mystic Wanderers. At best, they would just think that it is a bit different from other forest. Because even if they used Mysteries to check its age, they would find that it is indeed, as its appearance, just a few millennia old. Maybe that is why they let False Wanderers like us in. Otherwise, a chance like this would never fall on our head.”

  “…Your words do not make any sense.”

  “Nothing does,” the Whitebud man said, raising his head to let out a hysterical laugh, while adding more fuel into the fire burning within Alnea’s chest. Only when he reigned in his laughter a little, did he look down on Alnea once again. “Still, from what I just told you, you should be able to figure out something.”

  “…From that nonsense?”

  “It may seem nonsensical at first, but it hides the truth that even the Mystic Wanderers of the Lost City’s council failed to find.”

  “…And you expect me to find it?”

  “Why not take a guess? It is not as if you have anything else to do anyway.”

  “On the contrary, I have many things lined up in my schedule. Like tending to my wounds. And regrouping with my teammates. But I have a hunch that you might not let me do those things.”

  “…I thought you wanted to know more about the miracle I am summoning.”

  “I mean, I would not mind if you insisted on sharing it with me.”

  “Then try a little harder.”

  “…The forest is bound in an illusion?”

  “…Let me give you a hint. In what case would a forest from the Age of Gods appear to be only a few millennia old?”

  “…If it is trapped in Time.”

  “Was, not is, but you get it,” the Whitebud man said, with his grin growing wider, just as the fire within Alnea grew fiercer. “For millions of years, from even before the Dusk of the Age of Gods, this forest, no, this entire world has been trapped in Time, waiting for the right moment, waiting for a miracle to happen. And we are that miracle, Tresting. You and me. We are the ones this world has been waiting for.”

  “…How did you—

  “—Know that we are that miracle? Of course, it is what the world told me. It reached out to me. Just as the trees reached out to you. It told us that part too. That the forest reached out to you to become its guardian. And if you had, you might have triggered another miracle. But you did not. So, now, you will become a part of the miracle I am going to trigger. You will become the miracle that we have all been waiting for…”

  …The accursed fire! Why was it burning so much? And why was his robe not reacting to it? Why was it not protecting him? Was it being taken advantage of once again? It was decided. He had to get his broken robes fixed as soon as possible. It would be even better if he could get his master to make new robes altogether. But first, he had to deal with the lunatics…

  “…Did the forest also tell you that it was trapped in Time?”

  “Of course not,” the Whitebud man said. “For the forest—No, not just the forest. For this entire Final World, only a few millennia have passed since its formation. That is what it means to be trapped in Time. To be completely unaware, and unaffected by what is happening in the rest of the world. Literally.”

  “…Then how…”

  “…Did I infer that it was trapped in Time?” the Whitebud Wanderer said, his voice beginning to become a little distant, just as his face was beginning to become a little blurry. The only thing that was vivid to Alnea was Fire. Unquenchable Fire…

  “…It was easy, once I knew where to look for the clues… Remember the other thing I told you earlier? Though, even if you do, I do not think that you can answer me right now, so I will just tell this part to you. As I said before, there are few things in the world that can be considered as miracles. Especially after the Gods left our world. But there have been records of certain things… of certain beings, long lost in the Tides of Time, which, under some special circumstances, are said to be able to create miracles no less impressive than what Gods could make. Do you understand what I am trying to say, Tresting?”

  “…That being… the one… sealed… under this forest…”

  “Not exactly under this forest, but yes, you are right. The being sealed within this forest… the one that reached out to me to make a deal… is exactly the being I was talking about. An existence from a time so long past, that there are barely even any records of its records in existence in our current Age. Only a few Orthodoxies, those keen on keeping records of the old, and digging into the secrets of the Ages past, would know a thing or two about such beings. And it just so happens that my clan is exactly one of those Orthodoxies.”

  “…Stuck… in the… glories… of past…”

  “Glory, that will soon become our future.”

  “…Do you understand… what you… are doing…”

  “Of course. I am creating history. I am creating a miracle.”

  “…You are… crazy…”

  “…That may be so, but in the world of Wanderers, who is not?”

  …These lunatics… Mad! All of them! Even more so than he thought. To dare contact a being from the Age of God… There was no saving them. But he could not let their craziness implicate his teammates… He could not let them hurt the girls… He had to stop… He had to… Cretes’ beard! What was with the Fire? Why did it keep growing? How could it keep growing? Where was it even growing?

  “…It is time.”

  …Already? When? How? No… He… He had to… move… He…

  “Are you ready, Tresting?”

  Why could he not move? Why could he not feel his body? And why could he still feel himself burning? How could he even feel the fire without sensing his body?

  “I will take that as a yes,” the Whitebud man said, not bothering about the excitement leaking into his voice. “It is not like you can say no anyway.”

  Was it his Spirit? A fire that could burn his Spirit? What kind of fire was the lunatic burning him with? No, if this continued…

  “Whether you like it or not, you will welcome the miracle.”

  …What was happening? Where was his master? Why had she not saved him yet?

  “We will become the miracle.”

  …So, that was it. If it was an ancient sacrifice, bypassing the Origin Sea to send him directly to the being trapped within the Final World… to the being under his feet… It would make sense for his master to not know about his situation…

  “Together.”

  …Maybe it was the price he had to pay for his arrogance.

  “Welcome your fate, Tresting.”

  A price he never would have expected to pay…

  “And become the miracle that the world has been waiting for.”

  He was going to…

  “It is time for us to—

  —become the Origin of Fire!