Story Reader / Main Story / 33 Wither to Shine / Story
33-1 The Hymn of Time
>In a corner of another world, humans sleep eternally.
Half a bottle left... Gotta be careful with this.
Underneath the ragged, holey cloak, his big frame shows no sign of importance.
He takes off his water bottle and gives it to the person next to him, who is making raspy noises.
T-thank you.
The pale young man takes the bottle, tapping it gently, listening to the water hit the metal.
Then he carefully unscrews the cap, tilts his head back, and lets a few drops of water trickle into his mouth.
Once we get through the canyon, we'll...
He's not wasting his breath on another word.
The aurora hangs overhead like blue flames, and the man at the front raises his lamp again.
Dirty, ragged refugees form a long line, trudging across the snowy wasteland and through broken rock canyons.
Panting reindeer are pushed forward with sticks, their saddlebags almost empty.
Rich and poor, educated and simple, famous and unknown—they all walk together. These refugees are an army without a home.
They've left behind their grapes, olives and figs, their useless tech, their altars, fireplaces, and graves.
This land was once theirs, but their homeland has been completely destroyed.
They refuse to board the spaceships, wanting only to stay here...
What's that sound?
Broken walls stand crooked at the canyon's end, like a statue pointing to the sky.
The worn echo wall stretches the sounds from their destination into long, echoing sounds.
～When we shed this mortal flesh...～
The music cuts through the cold wind, its slightly off-key sound making it seem like a dream.
～To awaken or sleep forever. Who can say...～
The faint sound in their ears gets clearer, giving the tired travelers hope.
The refugees finish their long journey, heading toward the camp.
The minstrel's fingers dance on the strings, humming a story. Around the fire, people remember the past, carried by the music.
A woman with pink hair sits among the others, listening quietly to the song.
Sing with joy—
～Though surrounded by grief, there was a place where joy once reigned.～
～Mountains stood tall and rivers were rushing there.～
～A pure land defended by brave people.～
～They lit the dark with candles...～
The first fusion reactor, the first permanent moon base, and the promise of reason and prosperity.
The Tycho telescope, the "Dawn-III" spaceship, and colony ships being built on the moon.
People go back to the universe they dream of, feeling the same sunlight as their ancestors.
Long ago, visitors from beyond gave life to our planet, which was covered in fire and lava.
And when the Golden Age came, those big questions in our genes seemed like we could finally answer them.
Ah... Those were the good old days...
The man in the cloak sips his hot soup, letting out a relieved sigh.
The campfire's bright flames reflect in his cloudy eyes, showing the world as it used to be.
That was a lifetime ago...
The young man seems to agree, but what he's mumbling sounds more like he's lost his mind.
After all, only the very old here actually lived in the world that song describes.
An old woman warms herself by the fire, dozing, not hearing them. The singer finishes the song and then is quiet for a moment.
My teacher taught me these lyrics.
The limits of language are the limits of the world.
Humans made miracles and then spread legends through time and space with their voices and ears.
Human songs go beyond the disaster, heard all over the world.
When will this ever end...
He frowns, sighing heavily in resignation.
Is this ever going to stop...
The young man stares blankly into the fire.
He's barely had any peaceful time his whole life. Always moving, chased by the Red Tide, and moving again...
He's never stayed in one place for more than a year.
This sad song arouses bitterness deep in their hearts, and for a moment, only painful sighs and desperate silence fill the air.
...
The strings make a jarring noise, cutting off the sad tune. The singer pauses, digging through her memories for hope.
Actually, this song... My teacher taught me another verse once...
She softly plucks the strings, and a new tune begins to rise.
～Faith burns like a guiding light... Look! The pioneers' tracks are everywhere, rising from the ashes.～
～A rusty blade bites into a palm.～
～Scars turn into trenches. We find rebirth in our breaking...～
The singer strums the strings harder.
This is a well-known legend, bright and clear like starlight and Empyrea.
The pink-haired woman, hood back, sits quietly, listening closely to the song.
The song fades out, and the crackling fire takes over again. Hot soup warms people up, but it can't dilute the thick silence.
Sing us a new song.
Sing about our lives now! I can even play something!
He pulls out a metal piece from his wet bag, unwrapping it carefully.
The frost hasn't damaged his treasure—a rusty harmonica.
The singer looks troubled.
I'm sorry, my teacher died in the ARU's last battle...
I'm not good at describing disasters, so I can't tell you about the world as it is...
I can't sing about the present.
No one mourns the sad but common remark. The young person quietly apologizes for asking.
It's okay...
After winter ends, maybe I'll sing new songs...
The refugees go silent, knowing that false hope is the worst thing on these snow plains.
She fiddles with a die in her hand in complete silence.
The gravedigger flips through the pages, where knowledge, reason, desire, and chaos are frozen in the printed words.
She once saw twin suns rise on the plains and rings in the sky that shone brighter than stars.
Cries lost in the vacuum, buried in a warship graveyard that glittered like stardust.
And on the tower, a wounded hero, whose scarred body rips open the "future" in time's curtain.
Time is neither kind nor malicious.
It's just fair.
And she has already made her choice.
Mercy is a quiet virtue.
