A massive wildfire is born from a spark as small as a speck of dust.
Flames. Black smoke. The smell of blood.
Screams breaking out everywhere. Everything was a total mess.
〔The clown begins its eighth rotation.〕
“Silver!”
Black Weasel shouted beside Wolf. The two of them were hanging from a cliff, side by side. Under their feet was nothing but endless darkness dropping away.
One of Black Weasel’s arms hung limp. His shoulder had come out. His big left hand, drenched in blood, was the only iron nail keeping that bison-like bulk pinned to the cliff.
Another boom. The smoke thickened. Now even the screams had thinned out.
“Silver! Silver!”
Black Weasel called again. No answer came back this time, either. Was Silver dead?
No. Or maybe… Silver had—
Wolf’s fingers suddenly lost their strength. At this rate, he would fall before long. He didn’t even feel scared anymore.
Even if he struggled, he’d drop anyway. It wouldn’t matter if he just brought the final moment a little closer.
Let go.
Close his eyes.
“Ice-Armored Beast! Wolf! Where are you!”
In the next instant, Wolf snapped his head up. A voice flew in from beyond the smoke.
It was Silver.
He’s not dead!
“Ice-Armored Beast!”
Silver’s voice was closer now. And all at once, something faint and strange gripped Wolf.
Why?
Why did that have to come back to him right now?
It was a summer afternoon. In front of the window, wrapped in white sunlight, his mother sat in a chair doing embroidery. She wore a gray dress buttoned tight to the throat, not a gap showing. It was the kind of look even a picky court lady would praise, but to Wolf it felt stale—like an old portrait left to rot in the corner of an antique shop.
‘Mom, do you like the prince that much?’
Wolf blurted it out, resting his arms on his mother’s knee.
‘Mom. If me and the prince both fell into the water, who would you save first?’
At her little son’s question, his mother kept stitching and said nothing. In that heavy silence, Wolf dragged the answer up on his own.
‘You’d save the prince first?’
‘He’s the prince.’
Only then did she answer, sticking her needle into the embroidery frame. Wolf’s breathing turned rough. When he came to, he was already standing, fists clenched tight, glaring at his mother.
‘I’m your son. And you’re saying you’d save the prince first? You like him more than me?’
‘Before I’m your mother, I’m the prince’s subject. Of course I love you more, Wolf.’
〔The clown’s eighth rotation ends.〕
Without realizing it, Wolf screamed in silence.
You’ll save me first, right, Silver?
We’re friends. So grab my hand first.
Me first.
Silver!
A crack as thin as a thread can bring down a fortress wall. Extreme malice sometimes grows out of a nothing, everyday life.
—Mom. If me and the prince both fell into the water, who would you save first?