Chapter 45

The child’s name was Flowers. Initially, the child had no name.

From the beginning of the child’s memory, there was no mother. There was also no father. There was no brother or sister. The child didn’t even know when she lost them. The child was alone from the beginning. The child was an orphan, and the war with the demons had made many orphans. The child was ignorant, for she did not even know about the war. The child was illiterate and didn’t learn to speak properly. The child didn’t know her age. The child was only capable of eating and sleeping, eating and sleeping. She was no different from an animal.

The child was always alone. Of course, she met some people while she lived in the mountains. She only learned a few words. They always left her as if they were not interested.

It was rare that snow did not fall. It was a very cold and careless country.

The child traveled around the snowy mountains. Her soles were cold, but her senses were getting duller. The child dug up and ate grassroots and drank water from the stream. The child gathered a bunch of leaves and laid them on the floor of a cave to sleep. When she heard the sound of a wild beast from deep in the cave, she was so scared that she ran out and slept against a distant tree. Because of the way she lived, it was impossible to satisfy her hunger.

So, on a hungry day, the child went down to the village and asked for some food. However, it was originally a poor town. Moreover, the war against the demons had left a terrible wound throughout the country, and that village was no exception. The famine was so severe that many children were thrown out of their homes. Even crying became something exhausting. Then, she heard the news.

A war with the neighboring country would start soon. She didn’t know why it would start or what the war was, but the mood in the air was very bad. She had met mountain climbers from time to time, but now she did not see any. The child hid in her cave. The child was scared.

She usually did not think much, but one day something occurred to her. She was going to die. She didn’t know what death was and didn’t know why she was living. She just felt hungry, and it was the strongest feeling.

One day, the child trudged through the snow and went down to the village in desperation. She managed to enter. She was sweating, but she was too hard to want to cry. “Who will be sad if I die like this? Nobody.” She could not even afford to feel sad over that thought.

The village was pretty gloomy. The child looked around like a hungry cat as she tried to find a smoking chimney. Finally, she found one. She could smell something savory coming from it. She sprinted. Her toes were frozen so she could not feel anything, but she still ran.

At that moment, the child bumped into someone.

If she could pass through that alley, she could reach the house with the chimney. The child was hungry and her cheeks were bony. It would not seem strange if she died soon.

“Hey, kid. Be careful,” someone said.

It was a soft voice. She had never heard such words before.

The child looked up at the man. She was opening her mouth and drooling as if she was hungry. His face quickly became worried.

“Oh, are you hungry?” he asked.

He was a neatly dressed man. How old could he be? A feeling of curiosity popped into her head.

“Age… how old?” she asked.

It has been a while since she had last spoken with someone. The child barely remembered the words. She spoke with pauses.

The man waited for the slow words to come. He bent his knees to meet her eyes. His dark pink hair was curly. He looked very gentle.

The child never washed properly, so she was filthy. Her clothes were ragged and torn. She was a mottled child with worn-out garments. Nevertheless, the man smiled and stroked her head. He wiped her mouth with a sleeve.

“I am seventeen years old. Look, ten and seven. How about you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

It was a sullen answer, but the man laughed again. He had already passed the coming-of-age ceremony, so he looked pretty mature. He was an adult. He was different from the people in the village who had always turned away and ignored her. He looked soft, gentle, and mature. The child’s eyes lit up.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

The man laughed again. He tapped his chest.

“My name is Hetiron,” the man told the child.

“He…ty-i-roun?” she repeated.

“Hetiron,” he said.

The child rolled her tongue. It seemed like she had difficulty pronouncing the man’s name. It was the name of the person who left an impression on her for the first time. Her eyes shined as she looked at Hetiron. His pink hair swayed. His eyes were a little dark but seemed like yellow flowers. Hetiron. She reached out her hands and touched his cheek. It was a dirty hand, but he didn’t avoid her.

“Hetyiron,” she said.

“Yes, that is right,” he said.

Hetiron smiled.

“Hetiron! I said this way,” someone called.

In the distance, a person beckoned. It was a woman wearing ivory clothes. She approached Hetiron with a long stride. She was beautiful. The child stared at her open-mouthed. She was a very beautiful person. She shined brighter than the sun.

“Seriously, you are a directionally challenged― uh? Who is the child?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“What?”

“I mean, she doesn’t know her name,” Hetiron told the woman.

“What?” she repeated.

The woman looked at Hetiron and then at the child. She bent her knees so she was eye level with the girl.

“Wow. You…” the woman began to speak.

“Silvia,” Hetiron called her name.

“You have a gorgeous hair color. I mean, you have to wash it a lot,” Silvia said.

Hetiron touched his forehead.

“Silvia. I told you to break that habit,” he said.

“What? You know what I mean. So, what is your name again?” she asked the child.

“I don’t know.”

The child replied sullenly again. She had never had a proper conversation, so she had trouble making eye contact and spat out her words. Silvia giggled and pointed at the child with her hand.

“Are you alone?” Silvia asked.

The child nodded. Silvia made some exaggerated gestures.

“What about your parents?” she continued.

The child shook her head. Silvia made a moaning sound. The child looked like an orphan. Her clothes were messy and she looked as if she had skipped meals for a few days.

Soon, Silvia rose up. She tapped her skirt gently and said, “Good. Come with us.”

“Silvia,” Hetiron said.

“What? Father would like it, too,” she answered.

Hetiron laughed in embarrassment and ran his hand through his hair.

“Well… okay. Hey, kid, do you want to go with us?” he asked.

The child nodded.

“Hetiron? Silviaah?” the girl said.

Then, she pointed to the man and the woman with her finger. Silvia smiled.

“Right. Your name…” Silvia said.

“I said I don’t know,” the child said again.

“We can choose,” she said.

“Eh?”

“Umm… purple… because it’s purple…” Silvia began to say as she thought.

Hetiron sighed lightly. He was used to the fact that Silvia behaved as she pleased. He checked the child as if he gave up. She had purple hair. There was no shine and it looked stiff, but it was probably because she never washed it properly.

“Plocana,” Silvia said.

It was the most common wildflower on the mountain. The wildflowers, with their impressive purple petals, often covered the foothills of Bro Sanderre. One life that bloomed in purple.

“Oh, that is good.

“Plocana. Hey, kid, repeat after me.

“Plocana, like this,” Sylvia continued.

“Plo…ka-a-nah?” the child said.

“Cana,” Sylvia said, correcting her.

“Plo…ca…na-ah,” the child attempted again.

“Maybe it’s not good?

“Plo, cah, nah,” Sylvia said, sounding it out for the child.

The child twitched her lips several times as if struggling with her pronunciation. Silvia nodded and spoke as if she were talking herself.

“I wonder, what if it was shorter? Ploca.

“That suits you. Good. Ploca.”

Hetiron stroked the child’s head again.

“Plo, caa…”

The child touched the ceiling of the mouth with the tip of her tongue. She gathered her lips and released her breath.

“Ploca…”

She could feel the blushed breath. She liked it.

“Oh? She is smiling.”

“She is cute.”

Ploca had a big smile. Hetiron and Silvia, they were the first. It was a warm voice, a word, and a gentle smile. She had received a name. She grabbed their hands.

It was the moment that Ploca started her new life.

***

Dawn was the darkness where no one would notice if someone disappeared.

Ploca rose from the bed. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway. She would not be eaten up by sleep. It was the last day, so she wanted to stay awake until the end.

The empty space was warm as if someone had just been there. Next to the space, the lovely child was sleeping. She would watch her until the last moment. “This is my best effort. I am done now. I will die. I don’t have a reason to live anymore.”

This was the last love of a mother.

The skinny woman walked toward the window. There was dense darkness outside.

She just needed to finish everything. No, it had to have ended a long time ago.

From the beginning of her memory, there was suffering. She faced challenges every day. Later, she learned that it was called the Wall of the Moon. Sometimes when the world cracked, the moon would tear like a crumbling wall, and all kinds of demons would pour down through it. All over the Latrice area, rough and weird creatures swung their arms. They slaughtered countless people and burned down many villages. They were monsters with no human emotion. It became more severe and it was called the Mons war. No matter how other wars had been, people had lost their lives so easily to the monsters that considered humans to be animals. The common people were the most abundant victims.

So were Ploca’s parents. When the fourth Wall of the Moon arose, they quickly packed emergency rations and went into the mountain caves. They somehow managed to survive at first. But eventually, some monsters killed them. Only Ploca had been left. Being an orphan was common during the Wall of the Moon. The country could not afford to take care of the common people.

Even in that situation, the reason why Ploca, who hadn’t yet learned to speak, could survive alone at such a young age was that she had lived in the cave.

One day, Ploca gathered her courage and left the cave. The surrounding area was covered in trees and grass. It was calm. She could hear the sound of water. She left the cave again and again after that day. Sometimes she met groups of people who came to pick up herbs or to climb the mountain. They sometimes offered her favors, which helped her learn to recognize edible fruits and mushrooms, and also helped her learn a few words. After growing familiar with the surrounding environment, she was able to go down the mountain road and reach the village. If she were lucky, she would have a meal there. Of course, she had more memories of her being thrown out and turned away from the door. It was a ruthless and harsh environment, a cold country, and a foothill that sometimes had the growling sound of beasts.

She should have died at that time.

But in fact, she was glad that she did not die, she had thought so far. That day, she met him, and that was how she was able to live. She could not die. She received her name, saw warm smiles, and heard a soft voice. That was how she had survived so far. It was all because of him.

“Ploca.”

The tears filled her heart. She could not help it.

“Whenever you called my name like that, my heart pounded. Only your voice hovered in my ears.” As the child grew into a girl, and the girl into a lady, her plaintive feelings grew deeper and deeper.

When she realized what was in her heart, it was too late to turn around.

“Hetiron.”

“His face is still so vivid to me. I can draw it with my eyes closed. His gentle face, the pretty pink hair like a spring flower that rustled softly in the wind, his eyes that were as yellow as the sunshine, the soft shape of his mouth, his warm hands. My love. My adoptive father. My adoptive brother. My teacher. My companion. My…”

She could not put it all into words. The human language was not enough. She tried to remember all of him, but she was choked with emotions. She felt stifled.

“You died, but you kept me alive. You drive me crazy even though you’ve died. You died, but I miss you so much. Missing somebody can make someone insane just like this.”

Ploca knew herself well. “I’m already crazy. I am not sane.”

Hetiron was a free spirit. The people of his group were of various origins; Khan, Limne, the Han race, Skara, Monterobis. All were commoners, and there were many orphans. In fact, all of their group were. They wandered around Latrice, making a small fortune. There were few dances that Skara allowed, but that was for the noble and wealthy people. Commoners were different. Many common people enjoyed the lively dance of their group. Monterobis allowed more dances than Skara, and continent Cruse was an overall free atmosphere, so the area that they could work was quite large. They were people who danced, sang, played all kinds of musical instruments, talked about love, and painted happiness.

That day, the war started, so they had to go north from the capital. They arrived in a village near Bro Sanderre. Their group was initially based near Bro Sanderre. They used to go to distant lands and often came back there.

The child that he had met had torn clothes and her body was dirty, but her eyes were so bright that he automatically reached out his hand. That was what Hetiron had said. Like a whisper, he told her with warm breath.

All the memories were so vivid. There was nothing stained. She remembered every word, smile, and touch of Hetiron’s. Without him, that orphan would have died. Hetiron.

Ploca also belonged to that group. The man who was called the father of the crowd used to laugh and stroke her head. “Come on, kid. Let’s dance and sing together.”

She moved her feet clumsily and sang songs with a tender voice. When they dropped by a big city, she learned the piano. She could play the lyre, too. She learned various traditional dances.

‘You dance well.’

‘Okay, like that. One-two, one-two. ‘

‘You have talent, Ploca.’

‘Your voice is good too.’

“I worked harder because you told me so. I danced and sang all night to become good.”

The little child used to sweat a lot, dying her skinny cheeks with blush. Every time the child danced, Hetiron spared no applause. There was no hesitation when he held her small hand, and he encouraged her to do well with his big warm hands.

“I did it because you laughed. I met you and learned emotions.

“When you laughed, my heart tickled, and my hands and feet tingled. When you called my name, my cheeks were flushed. When you hold my hand, my heart would be filled with soft winds. I just didn’t know when I was young.”

It was love, or rather, it was a feeling that even the word love could not fully express.

The women, including Silvia, helped Ploca grow as a woman. Ploca always thanked them, too. If Hetiron was life itself, the free people showed her happiness.

“You can have a coming-of-age ceremony at 15.”

They cared for the child. In fact, it was not an exaggeration to say that the group had gathered only those who truly cared for and cherished each other. It happened because most of them were orphans. Love, affection, a heart that was caring and cherished others; Ploca, who was like a white paper, could be a brilliant and energetic child because she grew up with those positive emotions. She learned to believe in others more than she doubted them.

She grew up more and more, learning how to speak properly and learning basic culture. She enjoyed a normal life.

“The coming-of-age ceremony?”

Because Silvia didn’t know exactly how old the child was, she just guessed. Since the child looked like someone from Skara, it would be good to have the ceremony at 15.

“Yes. That means you are grown up.”

“Grown-up?” Ploca said right away without mumbling.

“I want to do it when I am 17.”

She decided on that age because Hetiron was 17 when she saw him first. He showed a mature smile and friendly consideration. She thought at that age, she naturally could be an adult like that. That much she knew about him.

She became a free spirit and wandered around all sorts of places. She gathered all the happy memories. Sometimes, they went back to Bro Sanderre if they had a break.