Dragon Visage
The dragoon armor revealed itself in the moonlight.
Two meters tall, bristling with ornaments designed to intimidate anyone who faced it. Yet to Ferda, that armor—which he had seen far more often than her bare face—felt like a part of Baldrova herself, something he could love as an extension of her.
He had once thought it would be wonderful to run into her like this without warning. Reality, however, proved different. The shock outweighed any joy of reunion.
Have I already gone mad with desire and started seeing things?
The thought had barely formed when she came to a stop before him.
“…….”
“…….”
Silence stretched between them as they simply stared. After a long stillness, it was Baldrova who finally forced the words out.
“S-so, um… that is… well…”
She dredged each syllable up as though plucking pearls from deep sand.
“I… wanted to take a little walk… so I came out.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes! Exactly that!”
Ferda knew it was a lie. It simply did not matter much to him.
Having answered, Baldrova fidgeted with her neatly clasped hands. Clank. Clank. The steel of her gauntlets ground together, filling the quiet with noise. She looked thoroughly restless. Was she uncomfortable simply because she had run into him so suddenly?
At last she spoke again.
“Th-that’s not true at all!”
“Pardon?”
“I knew… that you would come out, Ferda… so I came out too!”
“Is… that so?”
“Yes.”
She pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled, as though she had just confessed some hidden sin. Ferda paid it no mind. She had known he was alone in the corridor and had sought him out. That was all that mattered.
Which meant she had wanted to see him.
She wanted to meet me.
The realization made him oddly nervous. Had he brushed his teeth? Did his clothes smell? He had been shut in a room with only a single candle; smoke might have clung to him.
The worry lasted only a moment. Belatedly he remembered the most important thing and bowed his head.
“I greet Her Grace, Grand Duchess Baldrova.”
“Ah—yes, welcome, um… Ferda… Ferda…”
She trailed off while saying his name. Whether because of the voice modulator built into the helm or not, the unfinished words rang like a mournful sob.
“Were you trying to call me Regent?”
“Ah—yes! That! Regent!”
She clapped her hands together; color brightened her voice.
“Yes. Regent Ferda. I’ve been dying to use that title. That’s what one calls a king’s betrothed, isn’t it?”
“Actually, that isn’t quite—no. Yes. You’re right.”
He stopped himself from correcting her. Touching that pure, sparkling innocence too often would only smudge it.
“Then may I call myself Regent as well?”
“There’s no need. It’s a formal term used only in public. When we’re alone, please just call me Ferda.”
“Ah… I’ll do that, then. Ferda… sir.”
Ferda… Ferda…
Inside the helmet she repeated the name over and over, practicing. It felt as if she were whispering directly into his ear, and the sensation made it itch.
“I wanted to see you again, Ferda, but somehow… I just couldn’t find the courage.”
“I understand.”
He quietly agreed. Perhaps her heart had been racing too.
“I… came out like this because of Ruri.”
So that was not it.
“Ruri?”
Baldrova nodded.
“She’s seemed very troubled lately.”
Ferda remembered refusing Ruri’s request to attend the Grand Council. The last time he had seen her face, she had been furious.
“I’m not especially good at reading feelings, but I know that child’s sad face well. She’s… definitely hurting right now.”
The helm turned toward Ferda.
“If anyone might know why she’s suffering… I thought it would be you, Ferda…”
His lips moved, but no sound came. How could he speak when he knew he himself was the cause? Would she hate him if he told the truth?
In the end he told her.
“That change is probably my fault.”
“Your fault, Ferda?”
“Ruri asked me to let her attend the Grand Council, and I refused. That’s the only reason I know of.”
“Why would she want to go there…?”
“She said she wanted to speak with Silverwind’s side.”
Baldrova’s armored form flinched. Then she nodded lightly, as though understanding at last.
“If it’s only conversation… couldn’t you take her?”
“Because it’s a false hope.”
“A false hope?”
“What that attendant wants to do is no different from scratching a scab. Dig at something that hasn’t healed and the flesh tears again, the wound reopens. Exactly like that.”
“Ah… that… hurts a great deal.”
“Yes. It hurts very much.”
Baldrova nodded in quiet sympathy and wrapped one hand around her own forearm.
“But… what if that false hope… wasn’t false after all?”
She ended the question with a hesitant, uncertain lilt.
“Silverwind still holds a grudge.”
“I know that too. But… maybe not toward Ruri?”
“Do you believe talking will fix everything?”
“At the very least, she would have somewhere to return to.”
“Return?”
At Ferda’s question she seemed to realize her slip and spoke more firmly.
“Ah… you wouldn’t know, Ferda. That child isn’t my spawn. She’s a Silver Dragon’s spawn.”
“Ah…”
“She’s been so loyal to me that people sometimes make that mistake.”
“Yes…”
He had already known all of it. What had startled him was the word return.
“Dragon Spawn are family bound by blood. Ruri’s family is Silverwind’s other spawn.”
“You’re saying Ruri should return to her family’s embrace?”
“Isn’t family the most precious thing of all?”
Precious family.
The subject felt impossibly distant to Ferda. He had been tormented by his own family, then abandoned. The root of his vengeance had been family itself; he had repaid every cruelty in full. Now that every emotion had been laid to rest, he simply no longer cared.
But what about Ruri?
He did not know how she felt. Ruri cared for Baldrova. Yet that bond might be nothing compared to the blood she shared with Silverwind. Perhaps she meant to use this chance to sever her ties with Baldrova. After all, she had never appeared again until the future Ferda tore out Baldrova’s heart. It was possible.
“Even if Ruri might wish for that…”
Ferda looked up at Baldrova and asked,
“Do you want that?”
Instead of answering at once she turned her face to the sky. The hands resting on the railing curled into small fists. It was not an easy matter.
“I’m the one who kept her here. If there’s a road home… I have to let her go.”
“…….”
“And…”
Baldrova looked down at him.
“I have a proper fiancé now, don’t I?”
An indescribable tightness wrapped around Ferda’s chest. The question reopened a matter he thought settled. Should he truly take Ruri to the Grand Council?
In the end he decided.
“Understood.”
“You’ll take Ruri?”
“Yes. After you’ve said all that, how could I refuse?”
“Ah—yes. Thank you.”
She bobbed her head in a dazed little nod. With that subject finished, a heavy silence tried once more to settle between them.
“The Grand Council…”
Baldrova carefully kicked that silence aside.
“I’ve only ever heard that it convenes. I never even knew what actually happens there.”
“Are you curious?”
“Terribly curious! It’s the place where every race gathers to talk for the peace of this continent, isn’t it? Of course I’d want to know what sorts of things are said there!”
The helm whipped toward him.
“If you come back, Ferda… could you tell me the stories from there?”
Even though the helmet hid her face, he could feel exactly what she hoped for. She looked like a child waiting to hear a hero’s tale of light gathering to drive back the dark—like a field of pure, freshly fallen snow. The innocence was dazzling.
“The stories may not be pleasant to hear.”
“W-why not?”
Confusion colored her voice. Ferda realized he had made a mistake, but the water was already spilled. Silence or excuses would come too late. So he told her what he knew.
“They are not the sort who exchange uplifting tales. They’re too busy looking after their own interests.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. So please don’t set your hopes too high.”
He finished the words with difficulty. Baldrova simply looked down at him. What expression was she wearing? Mouth open in shock? Eyes already filling with tears she could not hold back?
“Ferda…”
The answer that returned was a woman’s voice, calm and free of any dampness.
“Do you know what it was like when Godwin rose to destroy this world?”
Of course he did not. The event had happened a hundred and fifty years ago—before even his grandfather’s time.
“When Godwin cast the world into chaos, the first ones to give up… were us.”
“The dragons?”
She nodded. To Ferda the revelation carried little weight. But had a scholar of Escoleia overheard it, the entire academic world would have been turned upside down. Baldrova seemed to realize the same thing; she covered her mouth, glanced about, and whispered carefully,
“Everything I’m saying now is a secret, all right?”
“I’ll take it to my grave.”
“Anyway… in that age the most ideal answer we could offer was to compromise with chaos. Even the long-lived races—the dwarves and elves—were ready to accept that compromise.”
But they had not. If that compromise had been struck, the far east would never have become a land that only spat miasma after the demons were driven there.
“Only one race refused.”
This part Ferda already knew.
“The humans rose first.”
She folded her hands neatly against her chest.
“Because they would not compromise, because their swords would not forgive the demons, we realized hope still remained on this continent. And so peace returned.”
Ferda understood, deep in his chest, what the Baldrova lost in that memory was thinking.
It was respect.
Dragon and human. Long-lived and short-lived. Immortal and mortal. Humans might revere dragons, but dragons did not revere humans. Yet Baldrova was different.
“Even if their eyes are clouded by greed now, in the most important moments they will still fight for us. So…”
The red armor under the moonlight shone with true nobility as her head inclined gently toward him.
“I will love them.”
In that instant a chemical storm erupted inside Ferda’s mind and dragged him into unknown territory. Beneath the dragon-headed helm he began to see the slender woman hidden there. Hope lived in her eyes—and that hope was smiling.
“Ah.”
He let out a foolish little sound. It felt as if he had soared high into the sky only to plummet. The impact of falling from that endless height was beyond measure.
“Ferda?”
“…….”
“Are you all right? You’re not saying anything…”
Baldrova fretted, peering at his face. Still staring at her, Ferda finally spoke.
“Just once.”
“What??”
“Could you show me that dragon visage… just once more?”
“D-dragon visage? Y-you mean my face…??”
“Yes. Your face.”
His hand reached unconsciously for her helmet. Baldrova recoiled in alarm and clutched the helm protectively.
“N-no! I-I can’t show my face yet!”
“Please. Just once more… let me see that visage…”
“I-I said no! Don’t come any closer!”
For every step he took forward, she took one back. The endless chase that seemed destined to continue forever was broken by Baldrova herself.
“I’m soooorryyy!!”
With that cry of apology she vanished into the darkness. All that remained was the faint warmth where she had stood. Flushed with fever from that lingering heat, Ferda stared blankly at the spot where he had last seen her.
Wind blew in through the open window. It was nowhere near enough to cool the heat in him. He looked up at the moon again—a full moon. Yet in his burning chest there was no longer any room for thoughts of his mother.
This time, though, there was nothing to worry about. The emotion that now spun inside Ferda’s heart was a vivid, living red.