The morning came as it was wont to do: gradually easing in and rousing all things with it.
Like many others of a diligent nature, Busa had anticipated the sun and was now enjoying tea in his study as he waited for his secretary to come in. He liked working on the serious tasks that required his well-polished handwriting and signature, while the mechanical clicking and clacking of her typewriter served as the ambience.
He heard a knock on the door and easily gave the guest permission to walk in, barely paying attention.
"Good morning, master Busa."
"Yachit, you're meant to be recovering."
He didn't look up from his cup.
"I'm feeling much better, master… thank you."
"That's good to hear. Well, sit down already; you don't need my permission for that."
She did as he said and accepted a cup with gratitude, sipping silently and letting the young scion alone to his thoughts.
It was bitter.
She had forgotten he took his tea like that.
Her face contorted slightly at the astringent flavour, and she noticed that he smiled a little at this, though he still looked past her.
He was always distant.
Whether it was work or just meditation, there was an air of dreaminess that never left this ever-busy young master.
That was why his tea was always bitter.
His mind would ascend to the clouds, or his hands would be mired in work, and he'd let the tea leaves steep for too long.
He's ruined way too many good batches of tea, she thought with a small smile.
He seemed not to mind, though and drank it as it was.
She wondered why she was meditating on this mostly insignificant quirk – it was hardly the strangest in his house of habits… though it might have been the most permanent.
"I won't give you any new missions, you know."
He broke the silence.
"I know," she said mildly.
"That's good," he said with a smile. "So, what is it you want?"
She looked at him hesitatingly.
"Master…"
"Yes?"
He was in good spirits today.
She was glad.
If it was the last—
He was content; that was what was important.
"I wanted to ask a favour."
His eyes narrowed.
"And, if not that, then a promise."
She could almost see the gears in his head turn at this.
"You're not one to ask things," he said simply.
"I'm afraid that I must insist this time, master."
He cocked his brow at this.
"So you want me to do something for you… and if that's impossible, to do you a favour."
"Yes, and you have to pick one."
The "have tos" and "musts" in this conversation seemed to surprise him, but he kept his easy manner and thought for a while.
"Sure."
Her eyebrows jumped up at this.
"I… It's not my place to say."
"Don't be shy now." He chastised. "Extracting oaths from me like some suitor – speak up."
"I… want you to reconsider, master."
"… Reconsider?"
"Young master Danjuma told me."
She decided that blurting it out was the best way.
"That rascal… I suspected he'd pull you into this."
She took in a deep breath and made her request again.
"How can I reconsider? It's a decision basically finalised."
"Young master Danjuma said you could still turn back."
He stood up suddenly.
"What would you know of these things?" he asked testily, pacing up and down in stifled rage.
"Young master Danjuma s–"
"Danjuma said!" he interrupted. "Danjuma. Said… Last I checked, you were my servant. You're not meant to heed the words of my second brother like some sacred text."
"You're right, master."
He sighed and took a seat, massaging his brow in an attempt to banish the stress.
"You can't do this, master."
"I didn't ask your permission," he said tiredly.
"I know, and still I can't let you."
He scoffed with some amusement.
"If you take this deal, master… you'll lose everything."
He didn't say anything.
"You cannot become a bawa."
"It seems like he really did tell you everything."
She nodded.
"Well, there are worse things."
"There's nothing worse than being a slave."
He looked at her inquisitively at this, thinking for a long time.
"I'm not literally becoming a slave, you know? That's just the literal translation of the word… at most it's a reduced position."
"You're forfeiting your right to contest for the seat of clan lord and form a branch family."
That bastard really did tell her everything!
"I had no chance for the seat, and forming a branch family… well, no plan is perfect."
"I don't accept this."
"I know you don't."
"Don't do it."
"It can't be helped."
"It can! If you ally with your second brother, Master Garo could never–"
"The idea wasn't conceived by my eldest brother… it was mine."
Silence.
Master Busa?
What in the world could have possessed him to… take a deal of that nature?
To… willingly?
"Why?"
The question was asked after a long time.
"Because there's no other choice – Danjuma's meteoric rise…"
"I don't understand… the second young master growing stronger is a good thing; you can both stand against the first."
He waved her away annoyedly.
She wouldn't understand.
"So, you won't reconsider."
"There's nothing to reconsider; it's a choice I've made on my own. I won't be manipulated into some other decision by that snake Danjuma."
"He's not asking, I am."
"You don't know anything."
His tone was decisive.
"He's using you to exercise his will over me – he's always done things like this."
"How are the first's actions any different?"
"Garo's no saint and has no pretences of it; I know what I'm getting into with him… I will not reconsider, and that's the end of it."
He meant to speak but halted as his lips parted.
He saw her heart break.
It was an amazing phenomenon.
She didn't speak, but from her eyes it was clear that something snapped.
Worse, he could tell that he had snapped it.
It took a while for the girl to gather herself, but he did not rush her.
"Then you must give me your word on something."
Her tone was mild, but it made him uncomfortable; he felt there was something difficult to pin down about it.
"Promise me you won't interfere."
She produced a parchment at this and presented it respectfully, though her hand shook.
"You're not the only madman around here!"
Snow.
It fell down slowly but voluminously in a black foggy town.
Snow?
No, it couldn't be snow.
Reigina was a tropical land, and Elijah had therefore never felt snow before.
Furthermore, the powder was black.
It fell like the pollution from the great factories in industrial areas he had seen.
No, it wasn't snow.
And the fog… it wasn't fog either.
There was something about it, something... in it.
He saw men, women and children move in that fog.
Not parting it or emerging like a regular population, but somehow proceeding and returning to it. If there was any analogy, then it would be like waves rising out from the surface of a great sea and falling back down or clouds splitting themselves into interesting shapes before rejoining.
He had never seen clouds that animate, though.
He didn't have to squint and tilt his head to say this or that cloud looked like a hare or a smiling babe; he saw the baby in the mist, and clearly too, though it did not smile.
Where was he?
The darkness was overpowering even to his great sight.
He could barely recognise the forms of what he took to be once-great buildings now burned black by some unspeakable catastrophe.
Like the twisted black corpses of trees in a dessicated, dead forest, these spires stretched above in some attempt to crowd out the leaden heavens above, their silhouettes felt, if not seen, through the mists.
In this atmosphere, he caught something moving in his peripheral.
That's impossible!
He gave chase.
Pushing through the spectral crowd and stirring the black powder with each footfall, he chased after what he saw… what he couldn't have seen.
"Elijah."
Navigating the environment was like moving through solid smoke; sometimes feeling resistance and sometimes being able to move freely through it. The people weren't inanimate either.
He saw children running around gleefully, squealing in exquisite delight, in complete contrast to the gloom of the atmosphere.
The very next moment, there was a piteous scream of a mother which turned his blood to rime.
None of those things mattered, though.
No, through the darkness and mist, his yellow eyes glowed and never strayed from their target.
"Elijah."
He grabbed someone and turned them to face him. It was–
"Elijah!"
He stirred from his slumber.
"Elijah!"
He looked up from his bed to see the familiar face of his friend.
It wasn't familiar, though.
Not completely.
Her face was contorted with something like fright or… concern?
He was surprised. He had never known her to be overly dramatic about anything.
"Elijah, you're bleeding!"