A Wrathful God's Revenge

Three years ago.

The hike to Minumna took much longer than Silvio expected. It was a particularly harsh winter that year, and it snowed endlessly. Eleora must be screwing with him, he thought, pulling himself out of a sink pit back onto the trail. In the olden days, before she ascended, the winters were even rougher and more unpredictable without a Goddess to organize it. After all, the Gods were nothing more than managers, tending to what the Outer One already created. So maybe he ought to be grateful, even though he didn't really want to.

Her brutal training methods worked, though. He was still alive, and at last he stepped foot in Minumna Valley, navigating over rough terrain and making his way to the thick forest where Mica lived on a little homestead. No human was meant to survive outside for so long. He fantasized about actually being in a warm house for once (he didn't count Eleora's palace as a house), not having to huddle behind a lean-to for protection from the biting frost. Funny how he used to take things for granted, and how his standards changed so fast. The human body was a huge pain in the behind to maintain when removed from the cozy comforts of suburbia.

Pulling his foot out of another deep pocket of snow, Silvio wrapped his cloak more tightly around him and continued through the dark forest. He sniffled and coughed, mopping the sweat from his brow. He could train his muscles, but not his immune system. Eleora was right—Silvio WAS predisposed to illness. His bones ached terribly, but still, he pressed onward.

--Ah, where was Mica's house again?

Silvio slumped against a frigid boulder, his surroundings spinning around him. This was bad. He probably had the flu, but if he stopped to rest, he would freeze to death. And not to mention his less… sanitary symptoms, causing him to become thin and dehydrated. He remembered, from school, some of the medicinal herbs he was taught about, but most of them were dead at this time of year. A few days ago, he took some dried herbs from a random person's storehouse, and he used those to treat himself. Even an Unforgivable could use them, although only Sorcerers could draw out their full potential. Silvio felt bad about it, but there was no way the owner would give them to him willingly.

What an inconvenient, bothersome life the Unforgivable led.

The plants helped somewhat, but he didn't feel any bit closer to on the mend. Maybe Mica had better medicine.

Silvio's legs buckled, and he clenched his teeth, using what waning strength he had left to stay on his own two feet. He wanted to curl up and fade into nothingness. A coughing fit brought him back to the real world, and still he trudged on.

He clung to a walking stick, dragging it across the harsh terrain. It was the only thing keeping him from collapsing, but it hit a patch of ice and flew out of his grasp, causing him to fall. Silvio struggled to get back up, but it was no use. His energy was spent. Another round of violent chills passing over his body, he curled up like a wounded animal and fell asleep.

--

He didn't even get twenty minutes to nap.

Silvio awoke with a jolt. He still felt tired and weak, but a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins gave him the strength to sit up and look around, alarmed. What was wrong? Why did he feel this way?

And then he noticed it—the forest was silent.

Even in the winter, the forest burst with a medley of sounds. This wasn't right. But when he heard a guttural bray, he suddenly longed for the return of the silence. Silvio scrambled to his feet, adrenaline spiking as he found the will to run for his life. Behind him, a loud crash and the snapping of twigs underneath hooved feet.

A moose!

He must be in its territory!

Silvio glanced behind him, confirming his fears were true. Moose defending their territory were dangerous… and it was closing ground on him. He panicked. There was no way he could outrun it.

He dashed through the trees, not caring if he got cut up. A few splinters were much more preferable than being stomped to a paste.

Luckily, the animal soon gave up the chase. It was only bluffing, but Silvio had no intention to tempt fate. He was so frightened he just kept on running, even though it was difficult to breathe.

But for the first time in a while, providence smiled upon him, and Mica's homestead came into view. He crossed into the yard, awakening the dogs, which started barking their heads off. He ignored them and sprinted right up to the door, knocking on it like mad. He sure hoped Mica was home. Either him, or his father.

After a minute, the door creaked open, then it almost swung off its hinge. Mica stood in the doorway, a large frying pan wound up over his head and ready to strike. But as soon as they made eye contact, Mica lowered the pan, gasping in disbelief.

"Silvio?" he asked. "Is that you? What happened?"

"Th-there's a moose," he stammered, but that was all he managed to get out before he collapsed again, shivering and coughing.

"Ah!" Mica caught him before he fell, dragging him inside. "You're sick! C'mon, let's get you inside."

"W-Wait… I don't want to spread it to you."

"It doesn't matter," Mica lectured. "I'll be fine." Silvio didn't have the strength to protest. He let Mica drag him on over to the couch, and he lay down, trying to catch his breath. He melted into it. Compared to the ground and literal slabs of ice he'd been sleeping on, it was like resting on a cloud. In reality, of course, the couch was old and lumpy, but to him, it felt like heaven.

"I thought you were the tax collector!" said Mica, rifling through the cupboard. He retrieved a glass thermometer and brought it over to Silvio, sticking it under his tongue. "I nearly beaned you over the head!" He took the thermometer out and read it, frowning. "Thirty-nine degrees… it's a miracle you made it here, honestly."

Silvio let out a pained moan, sweating profusely.

"I guess I should cool you down," said Mica, and unceremoniously, he grabbed his

cloak, throwing it aside. He unbuttoned his shirt and also discarded it. If he were well, Silvio would've protested the indignity of it all, but as he was, he had no fight left in him.

Mica went silent, looking down at the burn-like markings on his skin. "Silvio…" he said. "Are you… an Unforgivable?"

"Please don't throw me out," he mumbled. "It's a long story…"

"You can tell it to me later." Mica shook his head and sighed. "Silvio, of course I wouldn't kick you out. You're my friend, and that's what matters more than what caste you are. You're safe here. Ahhh… what should I do?" He looked around and fetched a rag, dipping it in the washbasin. He slapped the wet cloth on Silvio's forehead. The boy curled up like a boiled shrimp, gasping in surprise. "Hmm… sick people need to eat somethin' nutritious. When was the last time you ate?"

Silvio gave him a vague, noncommittal answer, because he didn't know, either.

"I'll make you my famous garlic nettle soup!" said Mica. "Perfect for a winter sickness."

That sounded… disgusting. Garlic was the last thing he wanted to eat with his stomach twisting and turning, but he supposed the word "famous" could apply in many different contexts. And Silvio was too polite to protest, anyway. Nutrients were nutrients, Eleora's cold and passionless words echoed in his head. He wasn't in any position to be picky.

"Papa is preparin' the sauna," said Mica, throwing a bunch of assorted plants into a pot of water. "That'll help clear your sinuses up. Oh! Wait! You probably want to rest. Don't mind me." Mica didn't even last a minute with his silence. "Have you ever been in a sauna before?" he asked.

"It's 'bastu' in Western Gesmauran," Silvio corrected his language. "Yes…" he trailed off. Was Mica going into the sauna, too? He blushed, flustered at the thought of it. Mica took notice, but came to the wrong conclusion of why his cheeks were pink.

"Oh, no, you're burnin' up." He shook his head. "Sip on this. Hopefully it'll break your fever." He brought a mug of garlic nettle soup to him. Silvio took it and stared into the… concoction, watching it swirl around ominously. He gulped, and steeling his nerves, tasted it.

Huh.

It didn't taste like anything.

He wasn't sure how anyone could manage to make something with garlic and nettles in it boring, but Mica accomplished it. The young man, apparently, had an almost supernatural ability to remove the flavor from everything he cooked. This was one of the occasions he was grateful for something bland, though. He drank more.

"Good, isn't it?" Mica chirped. "Have as much as you want."

Silvio felt a bit better already. He sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wasn't about to run a half-marathon, but at least his head was clear enough to think. "Jan died," he said after a bit, croaking out the words. "And it was all my fault."

Mica raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that," he said softly.

"I played with fire, and he paid the price. I tried to save him… but apparently that went against the Laws of Impossibility…"

"Ah." Mica nodded. "I see."

And with that, Silvio filled him in on the story the best he could. Mica listened carefully, his expression inscrutable as ever.

"So you're tryin' to find Rirasiru?" he asked.

"He's my only hope," said Silvio.

"You're mad."

Silvio forced a chuckle. "I know."

"Well," said Mica, folding his arms, "I think you'll succeed."

Silvio smiled. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so." He gave him another cup of soup. "The question is; what do you plan to do if Rirasiru doesn't grant your wish?"

Silvio blanched. "What?" he asked.

"He's under no obligation to do so," said Mica. "Now that he's been freed from his seal, he's beholden only to himself. How would you convince him your wish is worth it?"

"Oh." Silvio shook his head. "I hadn't thought of that… but I'm glad you brought it up. That's definitely a good thing to consider." He set down the cup and intertwined his fingers. "When you look at it, it does seem selfish. I mean; I wouldn't be an Unforgivable anymore. And… it's tough. I'm not gonna lie. This really sucks. I knew Unforgivables were treated unfairly… but I had no idea people were this cruel." He sighed. "I was with Jan when he died. He said he wasn't ready to. You know what it's like when you see someone who's always acted so tough and cool break down like that?" He rubbed a tear away. "I just want Jan to be alive and happy. As long as he's okay, I'd be all right with staying an Unforgivable."

"I see." Mica patted his arm and smiled. His eyes were always so soft, but unreadable. "You're a nice kid, Silvio. But niceness can't treat the flu. Rest up, and we'll talk about this some more once your fever's broken."

--

"So why did you keep that from me?" Hana yelled. She wasn't mad. She was yelling because of the commotion the wagon made as it pounded over uneven roads. Those dogs of Mica's, they had boundless energy, and she reckoned they'd break the sound barrier with how fast they ran.

"I would've told you!" Mica yelled back, cracking the reins, "but that was three years ago! I didn't want to give you false hope!"

"At this point, anything would've helped!"

"I didn't even know you were lookin' for him," Mica answered, and apparently this was the closest he got to being cross. "I thought you were just hidin' from the Unforgivables, so don't pin this on me!"

Ah… he had a point there. Silvio adored Mica. It made sense he would go to him first. She should've just asked.

"Okay," she said, "you got me there. Do you remember what he did before he left?"

Mica gripped the reins tighter. "Yes," he answered.

--

"What do you think, Papa?"

Father and adopted son crowded over Silvio, delirious and struggling for air. Pops listened to the sound of his exhalations, frowning.

"No doubt about it," he said, "it's turned into pneumonia."

"I tried treatin' him with medicinal herbs, but he took a turn for the worse anyway…"

"Don't blame yourself, Mica," said Pops, "usually the flu ain't that big a deal, but he was so thin and weak when he got here, there's no way he could've fought it off with what we have. He needs to see a Sorcerer doctor."

"To treat an Unforgivable?" Mica pursed his lips. "The only one who'd do it is in the…"

"I'll bring him to the Temple," said Pops, "you sit an' watch the homestead."

"But your arthritis!" said Mica. "And if you catch the bug, it'd be dangerous for you too."

"So you think I'm really that old?"

"Ah—um!" Mica backpedaled.

Pops laughed. "I'm just jokin' with you, boy. I know I'm gettin' up there in years. But are you okay with going to that place?"

Mica picked up Silvio, holding him princess-style (oh, how embarrassed Silvio would be if he were aware right now). "Silvio's health is more important. I won't linger long. Nothin' will happen, Papa. I promise."

Mica ran out the door, sprinting into town. There was no time to take the sled. Silvio was getting worse by the second. But he never got tired or ran out of breath. "Please!" he begged the Sorcerer gondola operator. "There's no time to wait for other people. He needs help right away!"

The man took one look at him and agreed, ferrying them inside the car. As they rode up, Silvio regained consciousness.

"Where am I?" he mumbled, a bit dazed.

"Thank goodness you're awake," said Mica. "We're goin' to the Temple."

"Eh? But I don't like that place…"

"I know." Mica patted his head. "But there's only so much I can do. I'm not a real doctor. They'll take good care of you, I promise… and you'll have job prospects there."

"I don't need a job, I need Rirasiru." Silvio broke out into another coughing fit.

"Well, you don't have to stay there. You're always welcome with us."

The gondola reached the Temple and opened. Mica placed his sleeve over Silvio's face to protect his ailing lungs from the frigid mountain air. A few priests greeted them, and one, assessing Silvio's condition, sent for a wheelchair.

Mica was silent as they waited.

"… Hey, Silvio?" he asked after a bit. "Before you leave, I have to tell you something."

"What?" he said.

"I…"

"My, you're just in the nick of time."

Mica froze the moment he saw Rina, High Priestess of Rirasiru. She walked out with the wheelchair. He fumbled for his words, eyes growing wide, and muscles getting taut.

"What is it?" said Silvio. "You've got a few seconds before I'm gone. What did you want to tell me?"

"… I wish you a speedy recovery," said Mica, and as soon as they disappeared inside, he got back on the gondola as fast as he could.

--

"I don't like Rina," said Mica.

Hana sympathized with that. Nobody did.

"Did you see him afterwards?"

He nodded. "Yes, I can confirm he pulled through. The last time I saw him, he came back to my place to say goodbye. He was goin' out to find Rirasiru."

"Finding Rirasiru…" Hana massaged her forehead. "Silvio really is an idiot." She thought. "What was it you wanted to tell Silvio?"

"Hmm…" Mica shrugged. "I forget!"

Hana frowned in irritation. But it was very typical of Mica. He was dubiously reliable at best, an airhead at worst.

"Look sharp!" cried Mica. "We're here!"

And then Hana remembered the very important thing she forgot to mention, so maybe that also made her an airhead.

"Wait!" she yelled. "The Sealing System! We can't get in!"

"Sealin' System?" He chuckled, upping his speed. "A few flimsy talismans ain't nothin' against three dogs that destroy everythin'! Juniper! Cherry! Donut! Now's your time to shine! GO GET IT!"

And with that, he unhooked the dogs from the reins, and they descended upon the magical talismans creating a barrier to the capital city. They tore them to shreds like they were nothing more than a squeaky toy, and the barrier fizzled out.

This was all well and good, except Mica in his infinite wisdom forgot to account for the laws of physics. He lost control of the wagon, it swerving wildly at top speed, crashing it right through the city gate.

Wood splintered and flew around them, before the wagon's reign of terror was cut short by a crash into another (thankfully unoccupied) cart. As the dust cleared, Hana let down the protective shield spell that saved their lives.

"Maybe there was a better way to do this?" she snapped.

They didn't have time to argue. City guards and Unforgivables alike swarmed them.

"Run!" shouted Mica. "Find Zagiha! I'll hold them off!"

"Can you even defend yourself???"

"Don't worry; I know judo!"

"You don't bring judo to a gun fight!"

Too late. Mica's sacrifice was necessary. Hana knew he'd find a way out of it. Probably. She had to find Zagiha and save the city.

She didn't have to look far, as a blast of light came from the heavens, leaving a smoldering crater in its wake.

--

"Where is he?" Zagiha snarled, flying high in the air. He was in his true form, so he meant it. He really was going to attack. He dangled an Unforgivable a hundred meters in the air.

"I told you," the man hyperventilated. "Leader isn't here. He's not in Modrica."

"Where is he, then?" Zagiha narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip.

"I-I don't know. I really don't!"

"Ugh!" Zagiha tossed him aside, letting him fall.

Hana sprang into action, catching him with the levitation spell and gently letting him to the ground. She didn't know why she helped him. He was the enemy. Oh, but she couldn't wax philosophical on her values.

"Listen up!" Zagiha shouted, his voice booming. "You people think your God is weak? I'll show you how strong I really am! Give up your Leader and release the Prime Minister immediately, or I raze this city to the ground!"

"You wouldn't…" cried someone far below.

Zagiha's face twisted up with rage and he blasted the ground with another laser, just in front of him. Hana looked up. A cloud of light swirled above him. She recognized that light… and it was much bigger than the one he tried using against Isaana. He was charging up something gigantic.

"Any questions?" he hissed. "Sorcerers, Workers, Unforgivables! I don't care who dies as long as it brings an end to you humans' stupid conflict! I mean, if you organize any sort of militia, you'll all die anyway. And to the Sorcerer who hit a woman over the head last night, come here. I'll let you live, because for you, I want to do much worse."

"Zagiha!" Hana shouted, pushing through the throngs of people below. "Zagiha! Come down and talk to me!" He didn't hear her. How could she grab his attention? Pulling out her Message Crystal, with a spell and a quick flick of her staff, she sent it rocketing at him, beaning him right in the gut.

"Ow… what the…?" He looked down. "Hana? What are you doing here? I told you not to come!"

"You don't want to do this!" she cried. "You love the people! I know you're sad and angry, but this isn't the way to end the riots! Please come down and talk it out with us!"

"Don't put words in my mouth." He gnashed his teeth. "You don't really know what I want."

"I do! I know you!"

"No, you don't. You really don't."

"But…"

"You're a fool if you think you've figured me out already! Because you're dead wrong. You know how Isaana thinks I'm the False One? She was right."

A beam surged toward her.