The Wheel of Fate Turns Once More
Roman...
Nefetia hesitantly opened her mouth. “Mother still guards that book with the utmost care. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten it for a single moment.”
Nefetia continued carefully. “And… Mother always speaks of her favorite flower as the ‘moonflower.’ But moonflowers don’t bloom in Kepet, so I’ve always been curious. Now that I’ve heard your story, I feel I understand the depths of Mother’s heart when she spoke of it. She must have mourned this place with a heart full of longing for the rest of her life.”
Roman’s eyes grew bloodshot as he listened. He forced a weary smile to steady the surge of emotion. “Yes… that’s right.”
He touched the hem of his robe with his fingers and let out a long, heavy sigh. His expression was one of deep pain mixed with some strange relief. After a long silence, the priest murmured softly toward Nefetia. “Thank you. It… it does comfort me.”
The dark underground cavern had briefly grown warm. Roman blinked his swollen eyes repeatedly before wiping the corners with his sleeve and offering a faint smile. “Let’s set the past aside… and I have something to tell you.”
He was just about to speak when—
Pabat, bababat…
A silver thread began to flash and shimmer from the floor like someone urgently knocking on a door. Arkin looked at Nefetia with alarm. “Seneca seems to be calling us.”
“Oh dear, there’s no time. Let’s hurry.”
Roman quickly moved to a corner. He produced a piece of leather from somewhere and held it out with trembling hands. “The original is undoubtedly with Valdemar. This is what I recorded to make sure I never forget.”
Nefetia and Arkin huddled together and studied the leather. Roman’s voice overlaid the faded ink markings. “On the day the ten guests arrive, the wheel of fate that has been halted will begin to turn again. The new master of Credo Island is among them.”
Only the priest’s quiet voice echoed through the cave. “‘It will begin to turn again’ means it stopped once before. Tens of years ago, when Mother and I couldn’t cross the wall of reality, this wheel of fate was halted. I only realized that now.”
Tears welled in his hazy eyes. “But now the wheel has started turning again. Through the two of you.”
Roman looked at Arkin and Nefetia with absolute conviction. “The sudden changes on the island, the miracle of blooming flowers and ripening fruit, and the door to this unopenable maze opening only for the two of you—all of it speaks. You are the true masters of this island.”
“We… are the masters of the island?”
Nefetia and Arkin exchanged bewildered glances. They understood the island’s mysterious reaction, but to be the master itself…
“Well… I don’t know what to say.”
“Roman. If we are the masters of the island, what must we do?”
Looking at the two of them, Roman gave a bitter smile. He was just as bewildered. Up until today he had never connected the prophecies he had witnessed with the fate of the Hetasept. He had always considered them completely separate concepts. “From now on, the two of you…”
Even now, Roman gently studied the hand Arkin had placed on Nefetia’s waist. “You must not let go of each other no matter what difficulties arise, and you must protect that love. Mother and I couldn’t do it.”
The two of them looked even more bewildered, but Roman’s gaze deepened. As if the boundary of time had shattered, he saw himself and Mother in their faces—the Mother who had come to seek him in the dead of night, their quiet conversation while walking under the cold stars, the nights they never gave up on each other, the flowers that bloomed delicately every time they shared love. “Right after I saw this prophecy, Valdemar pushed me off the cliff. He had always only dreamed of becoming High Priest of this island, so he must have felt great danger at the thought of a master appearing. He attacked the only witness to the prophecy…”
“He’ll try to eliminate any suspicious trainee among us.”
Arkin took Nefetia’s hand. Pabat—the thread’s light surged violently once more, but neither of them could move a step. “From now on, you must be especially careful for your safety. Valdemar will undoubtedly target you, Your Highness. But he won’t act directly.”
“Why?” Nefetia tilted her head. “If he directly harms or kills the bearer of the oracle, the bearer will be cursed.”
Instantly, Nefetia and Arkin exchanged a look. If Valdemar can’t harm or kill us directly…
“Roman.” Arkin spoke urgently. “Valdemar might be trying to draw in others. There’s something we suspect.”
“Who? Does he have anyone he intends to draw in?”
“Igninof and Lakelium are planning to join forces and invade Stonegard. They probably intend to take you, the prince and princess, hostage and then deal with the other nations while they’re distracted.”
“…an invasion?!” Roman’s eyes widened. “Please help us, Roman.”
Arkin took a step forward and grabbed Roman’s arm. “There’s no time, and I don’t know much yet. I haven’t been able to share this with the other trainees, and it’s urgent that we warn the outside world about the invasion from Igninof and Lakelium. Whatever happens next, it won’t be strange.”
A heavy silence settled over the cave. Roman, who had been clutching his throbbing temple, lifted his head. “I was going to stop Valdemar’s rampage anyway. I was prepared to risk my life and get out of here. I just wasn’t sure when or how I should go.”
Roman’s gaze grew heavy. “The fact that the two of you broke through my barrier is no coincidence. The scattered pieces of fate are finally returning to their proper places.”
The priest turned his head and gazed at the priestly robes hanging over the bed. The robe he had been wearing the day he fell into the sea years ago. Roman suddenly said, “See you at midnight. Come here.”
Midnight… Nefetia frowned slightly at the words. “But Roman, will we even be able to come back into this maze?”
Roman pressed his lips firmly together and fell into thought. His dry fingers tapped the leather piece on which the prophecy was written—tap, tap—twice. After a while he slowly raised his eyes. “Tell Seneca that I am here. He will help you open the maze.”
***
Roman sat against a rock and listened to the sound of Arkin and Nefetia leaving the maze. As they disappeared into the darkness and the faint remnants of the silver thread finally faded, the cave grew deathly quiet once more, like a vast tomb. Tap… tap…
The sound of falling water droplets pierced Roman’s eardrums, like the patter of tears. Roman closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Hot heat seeped through the gaps between his fingers. Behind his closed eyelids, his lover’s face shone like the sun. Mahati. An uncontrollable moan finally escaped him. The tremor that had traveled up his spine every time their fingertips touched. The way the world’s color grew vivid when they breathed together, the miraculous moments when the dying forest came to life and stirred. They had tried to deny that miracle. They had dismissed it as a ridiculous old legend and fled, believing it an unbearable fate. If only at that time, you and I had found the courage to cross that line. If only we had broken the chains binding us and somehow embraced each other. Would we have been together? Would we have finally been able to find peace? “…Mahati.”
Thick tears flowed down his wrist, which had covered his face. Regret sliced into his heart like a blade. It was fate, yet he should have refused to give up. He had missed the opportunity while he was afraid and hesitant. Maybe… maybe things would have turned out well… Roman sat motionless for a long time, his face still covered. The heat and moist warmth pooled in his palms. Tap… tap… Another water droplet fell from the ceiling and struck his shoulder. Roman suddenly came to his senses, lifted his head, and looked around. “Hah…”
Roman sniffed, scrubbed his wet eyes with his sleeve, and pulled himself together. Yes, the past was past. There was no time to be buried in the past; the future was far too dangerous. He had to move. Roman suddenly looked down at his own body. The once-smiling coat had rotted into rags with a musty mold smell. His beard, long untrimmed, had grown unkempt like an animal’s. Filthy grime clung to his emaciated wrists and would not wash away. He looked like nothing more than a beggar. A hollow laugh slipped out between his dry lips. Roman rose from where he had been sitting. He braced himself against the unsteady floor with his trembling legs. He had to get out of this tomb-like place and prepare to return to his proper place. It was time.