The Flame of the Heart (Part I)
The Flame of the Heart (Part I)
The heavy drapes hung in the room would only be pulled apart in the early morning and evening, to let in some fresh air. At other times they were down for warmth and shade.
The only source of light came from the two candle stands at the end of the bed. The candles burned in silence and projected two crossing shadows on the objects in the room.
He walked to the bed and watched the still unconscious girl buried in soft pillows and quilts. He let out a little sigh.
"Everything is okay at the border front line?" Nightingale came to hand him a glass of warm water.
"Everything has gone on well." Roland took a sip and handed the glass back to her. "After that day we didn't encounter any more large groups of demonic beasts. When the injured Militia members returned to the army, they were... inspired."
"What about the opening in the city wall?"
"Karl moved the shell of that hybrid demonic beast to the damaged spot by rolling logs, and attached it to the city wall with hangers and winches." Roland knew that Nightingale was trying to divert his attention to keep him from worrying too much. But ever since he stepped into the room, all his attention could not help but be on the girl in slumber.
The person who contributed the most to the last victory against the demonic beasts was Anna. If she had not blocked the damaged spot on the city wall with her flames, what would become of the battle was hardly imaginable.
But she collapsed in his arms and had not woken up since.
"It's been a week," Roland said softly.
Theoretically speaking, if someone was in a coma and did not eat, drink or get nutrition through other means (for example, by injection) in more than a week, the body function would then deteriorate until the brain died gradually in the process. But Anna did not show any signs of serious illness or even weakness—her look was at least much better than when she fainted off. Her cheeks were rosy. Her breath was smooth. The temperature one felt by touching her forehead was normal. All indicated that Anna was healthy, yet... unable to wake up.
"It's also the first time that I'm faced with such a situation." Nightingale, who stood aside, shook her head and said, "The magic in her has been emptied during the battle. But now it's almost saturated and even thicker than before. If my estimation is right, she'll have her Day of Adulthood this middle night.
"Do you mean that she'll come to adulthood in the coma?"
"No, she might die in the coma." Nightingale spoke frankly, "One has to undergo the pain on the Day of Adulthood with the utmost willpower. As soon as one gives up resisting the pain, the magic power will bite a witch's body and destroy it irreversibly."
Roland took a chair and sat beside the bed. "However, I remember you told me that when Demonic Torture happens, no matter how painful it is, one will retain clear consciousness until one either overcomes this crisis or dies."
"Yes, indeed. In the Witch Cooperation Association, some witch had hoped to pass the Demonic Torture in a coma. It was not even Day of Adulthood pains... but less severe pains that happened once a year." Nightingale hesitated for a moment, and then said, "She sank into unconsciousness with the aid of alchemical potion, but that attempt was meaningless... The magic power bit her body and made her awake yet defenseless."
"Does the pain increase gradually?"
"No. When the time comes, the pain strikes like a thunder. But as for how long the pain lasts, it varies from one person to another. My sister was not weak. It was only..." Her voice lowered.
Roland understood what she meant. The uncertainty was a trial in itself as one did not know how long one had persisted, and how much longer one would still have to persist—this felt like a lonely boat in the stormy sea, thereby making one lose hope even more quickly.
In the silence, he felt a hand upon his shoulder.
"I've seen too many deaths in my many years of vagrancy. The witches have been treated like animals—hanged, burned or tortured to death by the noble who take pleasure in their pains. The fortunate witches that survived could only distance themselves from the crowd and live in isolation, while Holy Mountain, a place that is nowhere to be found, serves as a feeble hope for them." Nightingale's voice became softer than usual. "But Anna is different. It's the first time that I've seen someone outside the Witch Cooperation Association who cares so much for the witches. She's needed, respected and treated like a normal person... Your Highness, even if Anna doesn't come to adulthood successfully, she has found her own Holy Mountain."
But this would not be the ending that he wanted. Roland closed his eyes and recalled the first time he met her.
Her feet were bare and her clothes were ragged, but yet she did not show any fear in a prisoner's cage. Her eyes were like unsullied lakes, serene and clear.
She was the flame, yet not so flippant like the flames.
Pictures flashed quickly in his mind.
"Now that I've satisfied your curiosity, Sir, could you kill me now?"
"I've never used my power to hurt anyone."
"I only hope to stay by your side, Your Highness. That's all."
"The demonic torture won't kill me. I'll beat it."
"What are you thinking of? I'm not going anywhere."
...
Roland suppressed his emotions and said softly, "I'll be at her side until the last moment."
"Me, too, and... thank you."
After dinner, Nana came as well. When she heard that Anna would come to adulthood, she insisted on staying. Roland had to arrange a room on the second floor for Tigui Pine who had accompanied her.
So just like that, Roland and the other two witches sat by the bed and waited quietly for midnight to arrive.
Nightingale and Nana had to undergo the demonic torture in this winter as well. Fortunately, the awakening time was different for every witch. Otherwise, Roland thought he could not have acted so calmly if the three witches had to undergo their trials of life and death all at the same time.
There was no belfry in the little town. The passing of time became unnoticeable in the dimly lit room. From time to time there was a shrieking sound of the wind current that passed through the window gap. Just when Roland began to feel drowsy, Nightingale observed. "It's started."
Only she could see the magic in Anna that then became active. The green flame became thicker and thicker, and its center turned from bright to dark. The restless magic gradually converged to the center, as if dragged by something. It struggled and seethed, but yet its effort was in vain.
Roland did not see this change, but he still felt that something was different.
The flames of the candles flickered, though there was no wind in the room at the time. The flames became darker and darker as if devoured by the shadows around. Then the color of the flame changed from red to green.
He turned his gaze to the girl in bed. Anna was still in slumber without the slightest change of expression on her face, as if nothing in the room that happened was relevant to her.
Then the candlelight became almost invisible—the flame was not out, but the green part of the flame was nibbling away at the red part until all light vanished and darkness prevailed.
But soon light returned to the room, while the flames of the candles remained pure green. In the green light, the three looked at one another in confusion.
Then Anna's groan pulled their attention back to her.
She slowly opened her eyes.
"Anna..." Roland was in a daze and thought, [Is she waking up?]
The girl blinked and smiled, and then reached out her right palm to the prince.
Green flame leaped from her palm and burned quietly.
Roland understood her intuitively. He placed his finger into the flame after a second's hesitation, but the expected burning pain did not come. Instead, what he felt was only gentleness and warmth, as if he had placed his finger in lukewarm water.