Nathan Modernson slept through a dreamless night. Shaking the drowsiness off his head, a thought suddenly struck him.
Eric Runaria is the presumed king of Runalond, Viviana Modernson is the First Seat of the Rune Arts Federation, and he is their son. Though this possibility had appeared in his thoughts before, whether he was ready to accept it or not, it was already a reality. That is, if what The Indescribable said was all factual.
He belonged to both sides of the kingdom, just like his Harmonised Elemental Duality suggested. He was both black and white at the same time.
As he drifted down the stairs, thinking about what this meant for his future, a crackling noise in the living room fully woke him up.
Ignoring the likelihood of him still being in a dream, Nathan was certain that he saw the back view of a muscular man sitting on the sofa in his house, and an oddly familiar one. If he were the person he was a year ago, he would probably escape from the window of his house to avoid getting into immediate trouble. However, the current Nathan Modernson knew how to cast simple Rune Arts; though not effectively, it would probably be somewhat of an intimidation even to gangsters of Lostburg.
"Who the hell are you?" he called out in seriousness. "What are you doing in my house?"
The man turned around, clearly not expecting someone to be present. "Hah? This isn't your—"
Then both his voice and his body froze, and Nathan managed to unearth the man's identity from his memories the moment he saw his face.
"Robert?" He swallowed in disbelief. Isn't that the leader of the Metal Wolf Gang? Why is he here?
"Nathan Modernson?" Robert's facial expression writhed a little. "You came back?"
"I am, yeah," Nathan answered on instinct, only realising how weird Robert's question was the next second. How did he know this was his house? And how did he know he left Lostburg?
The two fell into a bizarre silence; both were trying to find some words to say.
"Why are you back?" Robert asked.
"How did you know I left?" Nathan asked at the exact same moment.
Nothing seemed to make sense for either of them. Another silence followed until Robert broke it abruptly.
"Ehh… how do I even start this… Your father permitted me to stay at your house, fair?"
"What?" Nathan was even more confused now. "How do you know my father? Who even are you, really?"
Robert hesitated slightly, then gave up with a quiet sigh. "How did this line up so absurdly perfectly…"
"Long story short: just like you and your father, I'm not a native. To be more exact, my true name is Fynn, and Robert is my last name. And… you've surely heard of the Paradox Clan. I can't be wrong on that one," he explained, still slightly dazed.
"Yeah?" Nathan croaked. "Don't tell me you are a part of it."
"Yeah, you can't be wrong on that one as well," Robert joked. "I'm like… someone who's in charge of protecting the peace of Lostburg, a guardian of some kind."
Nathan snorted at his words, knowing from his past experiences with Arthur Paradox that his words were definitely not true. If anything, he was probably a spy sent by the clan to gather information in Lostburg on their behalf.
"Yeah, sorry, I know what the Paradox Clan is all about as well, mind you."
"Yeah, you realise we've been saying 'yeah' this whole time?" Fynn tried to switch the topic.
"Yeah, I did. Now get to the point, Mister Robert."
Robert sighed again. "As unlikely as it seems, your father and my master are friends of some sort."
His father was friends with Arthur Paradox's mother? Nathan now reevaluated the chances of him still being trapped in a dream, but if so, how Arthur was not able to discover his father's identity could be explained to an extent.
"So that's why Arthur Paradox didn't know who my father was," he mumbled out loud for Fynn to hear.
"Yep!" Fynn patted his shoulders proudly. "That's credit on me!"
Nathan broke out laughing, both at how ridiculous things turned out and at how close he was to getting doomed by Arthur. Fynn didn't exactly know why Nathan was laughing, but he decided to join him for the atmosphere. It was indeed an effective method to extract the tension between the two, and their conversation suddenly became much easier.
"I owe you for that one, mate." Nathan squeezed out some words amid his laughter. "I'll pay you back some other day if I can."
"You will?" Fynn lashed out. "You are studying at the Imperial Rune Arts Academy of Runalond right now, right?"
Nathan nodded energetically, signalling him to continue.
"My son is actually enrolled in that academy too," Robert explained. "I get tons of benefits from being assigned to Lostburg; that's one of them. If you can, look out for him, eh? Won't be that difficult for someone like you. His name is—"
Nathan's guffaw halted midway through Fynn's sentence, realising something that added even more comedy to the situation.
"Nah, it can't be Ash Robert, right?" Nathan denied, though something was telling him his denial was wrong.
"You know him?" Fynn exclaimed.
The two began bursting out in laughter again, this time more thunderous than ever. "How? Just how?" they repeated to each other while their hands met in the middle, one of the most heartfelt handshakes Nathan had ever had in his life. What really amused Nathan was how different it felt compared to the first time they met.
"The moment I knew it was you who hid my father's identity from Arthur, I, Nathan Modernson, saw you as my brother," Nathan promised genuinely. "Leave your son to me! Anything that belongs to me belongs to him also!"
Fynn didn't seem to care especially about whether Nathan's promise was truthful or not. If it were, then he would get the benefits. If it weren't, then he wouldn't lose anything anyway.
Nathan and Fynn's casual exchange lasted for a short while, though Nathan managed to learn a thing or two about the Paradox Clan's surveillance system across the kingdom.
"Parasites, ay?" Nathan murmured thoughtfully. "Not a very bright name, is it?"
"Wasn't supposed to be either," Fynn grunted. "It's there to remind us of our positions: parasites that feed on parts that Runalond doesn't need."
Right when Nathan began to feel that the conversation was about to reach its end, he remembered the plans he had for today.
"Wait, Fynn, can you do me one last favour?" he asked. "Again, it's honestly destiny's blessing that I got to meet you today. This would take me so long if you weren't here."
"At your disposal, sir." Fynn stood up and shook the dust off his shirt.
"Spread this information: Nathan Modernson is going to tell one last story to his fellow listeners in Lostburg."
It was probably because of the attraction of the last-ever story Nathan was going to tell, or because of the fear of the Metal Wolf Gang, but Nathan had never seen so many people gather before him, and for him, in his life.
The questions regarding his absence that Nathan expected never arrived, only gazes of anticipation and hospitality. All the faces were familiar to him: ones that he shared blissful times with, ones that brought him unfortunate trouble, ones that he'd known before he could remember, and ones that he had only caught traces of on the streets.
But when Nathan sat on his stage, a mere, unnoticeable crate that lifted him above the rest, every one of these faces looked the same to him.
"Fellow residents of Lostburg," he began, slightly shaking in both anxiety and excitement, "none of us is a stranger to suffering, but have you ever wondered about a question?"
"If suffering serves a purpose, is it ever truly right to soothe it?"
When the crowd heard this soft, yet suffocatingly painful question, chaos was immediately turned into silence, just like every other storytime Nathan had offered.
"The story I'm going to tell today is a brew of many things. See it as a fictional tale, a historical record, a personal outlook on reality, or a meaningless blabber that came out of a dream. What it is to you doesn't matter, but I want you to listen to it with this question in mind."
Nathan Modernson's final story in Lostburg did not carry his usual style. Emotions and movements didn't oscillate like rollercoasters; even his tone remained flat and peaceful.
He described the chronicle of a nameless kingdom, where there were two great bells at its centre. It was said that they were divine artefacts, gifts sent by deities, and their chime would be heard no matter where you were across the realms.
The first bell sang beautiful melodies that could cease the deepest pain, but the second blasted horrifying dissonance that could strip humans of their sanity. The king of the kingdom claimed ownership of the two bells and acted like a bellringer who decided which one to ring for his country.
At the beginning, the king only rang the bell that sang beautifully, because he knew that the other bell brought nothing but suffering and pain. The citizens praised and respected the king for his decision, and everyone lived the happiest lives they could live, surrounded by pleasing music.
However, everybody, including the bellringer himself, began to grow bored with the bell that brought nothing but plain, boring happiness. The king, who couldn't even remember what the other bell sounded like, decided one day that he would ring that one for a change.
Devastation overtook the kingdom at the moment the second bell was rung. The king heard nothing but news of tragedies: some people chopped their ears off, some people decided to end their own lives, but most of them grouped up and started a protest against the king, cursing him for ringing the second bell instead of the first.
The king apologised to his citizens sincerely and immediately began ringing the first bell to calm them down. As usual, it worked like a charm. Citizens immediately halted the protest and began praising the king again, telling him that they never realised how pleasant music truly was.
The king vowed never to ring the second bell again, but after a couple of months had flown by, a portion of the citizens demanded that he do so.
The king asked them why.
They answered, "Because the first bell had never sounded so well until you rang the second."
Nodding to their appeal, the king stood before the second bell, preparing to ring it once again, but before he did, another portion of citizens jumped out to protest, threatening to overthrow him if he dared.
The king fell to his knees, clueless about what he should do, and which bell he should ring to make his citizens happy.
Eventually, the two opposing sides began to fight, and war overtook the kingdom. The king, filled with sorrow and ambivalence, died silently in the bell tower among the chaotic cries of the citizens.
The war didn't last forever, and the two forces eventually formed a treaty of peace. They looked at each other in confusion, not knowing why they had fought in the first place.
"And up to this day, none of them knew how they should ring the two bells, but fewer believed that they had the right to decide." Nathan's voice faded as the story concluded.
"In this world, there's no right way to do things," he continued, as if he were talking to himself instead of the audience. "And similarly, there's no right answer to the question."
Nathan Modernson lifted his head. Raindrops began to fall from the sky, but they were much smaller, took much longer to descend to the ground, and he somehow couldn't feel them falling onto him.
He looked up, and the sky was covered in a giant globe; nothing was visible except for a calming, purifying whiteness.
"Is it snowing?" a voice called out from the crowd.
"Is this snow?"
"Dumbass, no way this is snow."
"It's beautiful."
"Come on, it never snows in Lostburg."
Nathan, who had planned an alternate ending to his fable, remained silent and watched snow fall from the sky with the rest of the Lostburg citizens. Runalond's religion stated that rain symbolised the Divine Being's punishment for someone's evildoing, but snow symbolised their forgiveness.
Knowing that they would never be forgiven, Lostburg citizens invented the famous saying: It never snows in Lostburg.
For the first time in history, forgiveness brought itself upon this hopeless town.
"I thought it only snows on cold days…" Nathan whispered, thinking back to what his father told him. The temperature, if he could comment, was even warmer than on ordinary days.
Nathan Modernson kept the other ending deep within himself and watched as the most scarce resource of Lostburg, happiness, filled its citizens' hearts.
He knew, just like the citizens in his fable, that whether suffering should be alleviated or not, it wasn't up to him to judge.
But at that moment, Nathan Modernson had made up his mind that, whether he was the rightful saviour in The New Prophecy or not, he would become the one who would liberate the citizens of Lostburg from their misery, once and for all.
Regardless of the methods.
Regardless of the obstacles.
Regardless of the cost.