In those rare, crimson crystal-like eyes reflected the blue sky, the spring-drenched earth, and a silver-haired human.
"Your parents?"
"That's right. They left me here right after I was born and went to Wales. They've never returned since. So I want to know what happened to them."
The half-Nightmare gazed at Avia, her petite frame exuding a surprisingly serious demeanor.
As a wanderer of paradise, she was the immature form of the court magician, mentor, and prophet from Arthurian legend. Her mother was a maiden from Wales; her father, a supernatural Nightmare born between the moon and the earth.
Typically, love between ordinary humans and inhuman—or humanoid—creatures ends in tragedy.
Take witches, for example—creatures fundamentally akin to fairies. There was once a witch from the Department of Botany in the Clock Tower who bore a child for love. Her body and appearance rapidly withered, and she was ultimately abandoned. Her child, raised and educated by her, didn't kill her when she begged for death, but instead blinded her. That child was named Beryl.
Still, a few exceptions exist. For instance, Arcueid Brunestud's mother was also a witch, but her father stayed by her side and cared for her throughout her life.
Judging from how this half-Nightmare was sent here for protection, her parents' love must have been the latter kind—a rare case of genuine affection.
Honestly, Avia hadn't expected this emotionless half-Nightmare to make a request like this—to ask him to search for her parents. He had assumed she'd want to toy with him for amusement.
But on second thought, it made sense. After all, they were her parents. Perhaps they were the only ones she truly cared about. And when they die, she'll likely lose all remaining emotional attachment to the world. In such human-inhuman pairings, their children typically inherit one parent's responsibility and power, and soon after, one of the parents dies.
As Avia silently pondered this, Merry continued:
"My parents told me not to leave here. So I have to rely on others to look for them. But all these years, you're the only human who's come here. You're the only one I can ask."
Peering through the strands of her white hair, the young half-Nightmare looked up into Avia's blue eyes. He met her gaze.
After a long moment of silence, Avia finally spoke.
"You don't want to leave because… you're afraid that if your parents come back, they won't find you. Is that it?"
Merry didn't laugh, didn't get angry. She just gave a faint smile, as if answering something obvious.
"That's right. I'm waiting for them here."
Now this version of Merry matched Avia's original impression. But the girl who had earnestly asked him to find news of her parents—that wasn't fake either.
It was like day and night—both have their purpose. Different expressions, but neither one was false. The feelings hidden deep in her heart may never be blatantly expressed, but they certainly existed.
As for the "Wales" she mentioned, Avia had heard of it on his way here. Supposedly, it was the Holy Church's main base in Britain, overseeing faith and the regulation of magical creatures across the island. But rumor had it that it was more like ruthless exploitation. After all, the Church doesn't acknowledge anything non-human—if they're not outright slaughtering them like Dead Apostles, that's already considered lenient.
So those magical beings who couldn't flee to the Reverse Side of the World lived in constant fear, always afraid they'd be killed by humans any day.
Given that Merry's parents went to Wales and never returned, Avia figured they'd probably been imprisoned by the Church.
"If you help me find out what happened to my parents, I'll return the favor…"
Merry had thought she phrased that pretty well. But the silver-haired human didn't respond right away. Instead, with that familiar—yet somehow subtly different—smile, he looked past her.
Was that… a rejection? Well, it couldn't be helped. Time to wait for the next one… however long that might take.
She understood that most humans these days followed the Church's teachings, so refusing a request that could antagonize them was expected.
Merry didn't show any visible change in mood, but she sighed instinctively. She was just about to turn around and calm the fairies she had deceived. If they complained to the Great Mother, she'd be in serious trouble—
"A child searching for their parents… that's a favor I can grant."
That voice—his voice—came from behind.
The young Nightmare girl quickly turned around.
Across the shimmering lake, leaving the swaying grass and trees behind him, the man stood there.
With a calm, resolute expression, he closed his eyes and responded simply.
And in the once silent island, perhaps because of his voice, birds suddenly began to chirp, and the wind rustled through the flowers and leaves.
---
Half a month later – Britain, Wales region
Sharp cries of birds pierced the air.
Although this was the regional base of the Holy Church in Britain, the closer one got, the more treacherous the terrain became. Twisting trails, bumps and slopes seemed almost designed to break human legs efficiently.
Avia was baffled. Roads were something the Roman Empire always took seriously. Even before its split, the Empire wouldn't have let this happen. Why would the Church pick such a place?
The smells of soil, blood, feces, and rotting fruit had all mingled into the very land of Wales itself.
Faced with scenery that remained perpetually grim, most people would've already broken down emotionally. It wasn't so much a region as it was a maze—a path where every step brought you closer to death. Or perhaps more like being slowly swallowed by a monster's stomach. There had to be some kind of massive magic at work here…
Just as that thought crossed his mind—
Avia took a deep breath.
Because at that moment, a sound echoed through the air. Flapping wings—flap flap flap—nearly ten crows rose into the sky and flew toward a peak in the distance.
He naturally followed their flight—
And there, atop a sheer, jagged cliff, he saw it.
A creature with the head of a crow and the body of a man, impaled by a sword, hanging as if lifeless.
It looked like a grave. And beside it stood a wooden board, on which a line of words had been carved:
"Ancestor of the Dead Apostles, Gransorg Blackmore, has been executed."