"What's all this—when did you get so old?"
Watching Lightbringer come seeking him out once again, Du Yi felt a real pang.
In his impression, the man had been a strapping young fellow not long ago, yet after no great while he'd turned into this frail, withered shadow of age.
Looking at that wisp-light frame, a single gust of wind might well blow Lightbringer away.
"This 'no great while' business—that's only from where You stand."
The aged Lightbringer shook his head with a smile.
Perhaps for the Snake God before him little time had truly passed, but for Lightbringer, he had held the seat for more than fifty years. Search back through all eighteen generations of forebears, and not one chieftain had held it so long.
What was more, his body had never been all that healthy to begin with.
That clever-by-half poisoning of his, long ago, had after all left an irreversible hidden injury in his body; had he not received a little mending each time he came before the Snake God, he would surely have departed the world long since.
"I told you all along—retire and come live in the mountains while you're young, and your health would be the better for it...... that work of yours really does wear at the spirit too much. Far better to move up here, where every day there's nothing to fret over but hunting and eating."
Hearing Lightbringer say all this, Du Yi couldn't help a wistful sigh.
He had been in this world a fair while now, and had long grown used to the joys of solitude—but having someone to talk to now and again was a good thing too. And this savage named Lightbringer, apart from his occasional habit of overthinking, really was a most fitting partner in conversation.
"So you see, it's not too late to come to the mountains even now. The fact that you can still walk into them on your own says you've some foundation left. Just settle in—you'd live a good while longer for it, at least."
"This......"
Faced with the Snake God's invitation, Lightbringer swallowed instinctively.
He had faced such an invitation many times by now, yet each time he heard it, he couldn't help being carried away in longing—for the Snake God's sense of time was nothing at all like a mortal's, and "a good while longer" in His mouth, converted into mortal years......
A long life that never dims—this was a thing the people would not have dared so much as dream of.
What could a long life bring? Lightbringer did not know. But the survival instinct that springs from life itself was urging him to agree quickly—intuition told him that if he truly said yes in this moment, he really could prolong his life, really could go on living even now, at this guttering, oil-spent end.
Yet after drawing a deep breath, Lightbringer shook his head.
"I'd best not."
Lightbringer gave a small smile.
"If I went on living, then I'd have to go on being chieftain. Even if I lived up in the mountains, they'd come running up to ask me about this and that...... just as You said, that sort of thing really does wear at the heart too much."
Reaching this point, Lightbringer let out a sigh.
"As chieftain, I've worked for my people more than fifty years. Now I'm old, near to death, and I ought to live once, at last, for a wish of my own......"
"I ought to go and be reunited with my father, too."
As he said these words, a trace of longing had already risen in Lightbringer's eyes.
Which drew a sigh from Du Yi as well.
"Then have one good meal before you go."
Since Lightbringer's mind was set on leaving, Du Yi respected his decision—yet for this last meeting, he prepared a sumptuous feast all the same.
But the frail Lightbringer took only a little honey down.
Just as he had at their very first meeting.
And over the course of the meal, Lightbringer settled the matter of his affairs. After he passed, his child would inherit his seat—a young man as strong as he himself had once been, and even a touch cleverer than he'd been besides.
"I've taught him Your language as well. He'll do better than I have."
So Lightbringer said.
"By the next time, it'll be him who comes to speak with You...... and that thing we spoke of before, the one called a pot—he'll have it made for You as well."
"You could have brought him along, you know."
Du Yi couldn't help shaking his head.
"At least let me get to know his face...... you really do keep too much of a polite distance."
"That won't do. This is my own rest time—how could I drag that boy along?"
Lightbringer chuckled, and even took another big mouthful of honey.
And so this brief reunion came at last to its end, and the time had come for Lightbringer to leave—considering how very aged Lightbringer had become, Du Yi found him a piece of his own snakeslough.
These old skins shed from his body still carried his scent, and the fierce beasts had only to catch it to instinctively shrink back and give a wide berth.
It would let Lightbringer walk out of these deep mountains without having to face a single fight.
Yet even with the snakeslough's protection, the long trek so taxed Lightbringer that he collapsed the moment he made it back into the city.
"Don't grieve. I am only going to be reunited with my father."
With his son and a throng of mages gathered around the bed, the frail Lightbringer opened his eyes.
"In truth I should have died long ago; the Snake God only forced my life to continue...... everything we have now is because of that Snake God. It was He who brought us all of it, He who lets us reap a bountiful harvest every year."
"So you must all remember: even after I am gone, you must keep presenting the offerings, keep telling the Snake God of the world outside—telling that Lord of Abundance."
Reaching this point, Lightbringer's voice paused a moment.
Then he gripped his son's hand fast.
"Remember, child—don't overthink, and don't dream things up. This is the foundation of communing with the Snake God, and the best way of governing this city too...... do only what you ought to do, and our city will flourish of its own accord."
Watching the young man before him—stouter even than he himself had been in youth—nodding with an earnest face, Lightbringer closed his eyes at last, at ease.
His eyes were shut, yet he seemed to see his father once more.
Just as in his childhood, he took hold of that broad, generous hand.
In this moment, the Nineteenth chieftain of the Ignivas family, the Sage King hailed by all, departed the world.
And in this same moment, the Twentieth chieftain succeeded to the seat, taking the name Flamebearer.
To bear the flame—that is, to inherit the fire and the light. The name itself was a declaration to all in the city: that he would carry on Lightbringer's will, and let this city named for fire blaze on in glory.
The facts proved Lightbringer right. This Twentieth Flamebearer was indeed more hale and vigorous, and indeed cleverer than Lightbringer had been. The handover of the chieftainship went off without a hitch, and the whole city went on in steady growth, just as in Lightbringer's day.
But sometimes, being too clever isn't necessarily a good thing.