Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking [54]
For all the books she'd read, and for all the stories she could empathize with, Pela had never shared this weighty past with anyone.
Whether it was burdening others with her troubles or receiving words of comfort that missed the mark, neither was what she sought.
This deeply held secret was tangled with lingering guilt and regret.
If she hadn't had such fervent hopes, would her mother have felt less pressured?
Had she been more perceptive, recognizing the exhaustion and disappointment in her mother's expressions, would she have realized that not every journey was as grand as her mother described?
Eating in the open, sleeping in the cold, enduring hunger and exhaustion—these were just part of the routine. The expedition team's limited resources had defined the boundaries of how far they could go from the very start.
Even after pushing the limits time and again, crossing boundaries and reaching humanity's peak—
What unchanging, icy landscape could endure all that without eventually breeding an endless sense of despair?
Young Pela had never considered any of this, though she often found herself reflecting on it whenever she read similar stories in Tales of Adventures in Snow Country.
And now, why did she feel like telling Venti…?
Maybe it was a selfish hope that he, being the special person he was, could give her an "answer."
Even though she already knew the answer deep down, and it had carried her forward for so long, she still wanted to pursue a different perspective.
Perhaps this was the guilt felt by the daughter of an explorer who hadn't continued her mother's legacy directly, choosing instead to carry it on in her own roundabout way.
"…Listening to you, I think I understand what kind of person Penia was."
Venti's gaze softened as he looked at the Cecilia flower now nestled in her hat.
"If you don't mind, let me tell you a story from my homeland. Don't worry—it's short, even a bit simple, but I think it bears some resemblance to Penia's story."
"...Your homeland, Venti? I'd love to hear what it's like."
Pela's eyes brightened with anticipation, while Venti's took on a faraway look, as if weaving together pieces of the past.
"Long ago, in my homeland Mondstadt, many set out to become adventurers. They dreamed of crossing mountains, sailing rivers, reaching the very ends of the world."
This sounded remarkably similar to the scientific expeditions of the past in Belobog, though one group bore a grand mission, while the other was freer, driven by pure wanderlust.
"One of them was a man named Leonard. By the time he was forty, his adventures had taken him to every known land. He could climb cliffs with only a rope, cross oceans in a wooden boat."
"As an adventurer, he'd gone farther than anyone else. He was just one place away from the perfect conclusion to his journeys."
With a touch of solemnity, Venti continued the story.
"That place was called Pinnacle Peak, a mountain so tall it was like the pointed hat of a witch, its summit cloaked in eternal snow and winds. It was a place that no one had ever managed to conquer."
"To Leonard, it became the endpoint of his journey. But tragically, Pinnacle Peak marked not only the end of his adventures but the loss of much more, things invisible to the eye."
"His past experiences didn't lead him to victory; instead, he felt a profound defeat."
"In his later years, he often stood at the mountain's base, lost in the vast white snow, staring at this insurmountable peak, thinking to himself—"
"It's like a beast without weakness."
"It's the world's unyielding side, the part that fills me with dread. And an adventurer without courage can't climb any mountain."
As the listener, Pela found Venti's voice perfectly suited for storytelling; there was a rhythm, a unique cadence that easily drew her in.
She could almost picture herself alongside Leonard, kneeling at the foot of Pinnacle Peak, staring up at this nightmare that loomed before every adventurer who dared to conquer it.
And still, the story went on:
"After that, Leonard stopped climbing, but his dreams only grew. Humans created tools, conquered nature, and when nature pushed back, they invented better tools."
"If the legs couldn't carry him, he'd rely on tools. If tools weren't enough, he imagined wings. He left behind a blueprint for wings that could one day allow humanity to face the unknown, believing with certainty—"
"As long as life went on, people would reach all places they could see."
"Even if he didn't have much time left. Even though the wind meant for him had yet to come. But among those who came after him—whether children, students, or friends—someone would make it."
It was a hopeful tale, so different from the somber story Pela had shared.
And yet, Pela's eyes remained on Venti. If it had been any other time, she might've thought the story was over, but now she sensed that—
The story wasn't done. Its true meaning had yet to be revealed…
"I imagine you're curious," Venti said, with a soft smile. "If someone ever reached the peak—"
In a gentle tone, he continued,
"Through countless centuries, as the world changed, people did make it to Pinnacle Peak. But by then, it was no longer a towering mountain, only a small island in the sea."
"All it took was a boat, and anyone could reach what once was an impossible summit."
His gaze held a profound wisdom, yet remained as clear and bright as emerald.
"Anyone can reach the summit…"
Pela clutched her book, her gaze drifting instinctively to the distant, towering walls and the snowbound world beyond them.
For some reason, a powerful urge swept over her.
She wanted to return home, to pull out her mother's unfinished journals and read them all over again.
Almost as soon as the thought entered her mind, she found herself running, much as she used to when she raced to welcome the expedition team's return.
The wind brushed past her face, lifting her hair, causing the petals of the Cecilia flower to quiver gently—
The round glasses on her face nearly slipped off as she ran, but she pushed them back up, her eyes filled with renewed determination.
Upon reaching her house, she unearthed a small, long-forgotten box.
She brushed away the dust, opened the lock with a soft click—
Inside lay her mother's adventure journals, quiet and waiting.
---
She opened the journal, reading by the precious, faint light of the geo-lamp, and, secluded from the wintry cold, began writing with careful, focused strokes.
"Perhaps, when we face the impasses in life, we feel helpless, but—"
She paused, the pen hovering as if pondering how to complete the next line.
The weight of her thoughts seemed to stretch time, casting everything in a thick, hazy shadow.
But just then, as a flap of the tent opened, snowflakes and refracted light poured in, and inspiration struck her.
Her expedition partner called out excitedly to set out, and she called back her agreement, hurriedly adding one final thought.
"But—even if the snow never ceases, we should still seek a turning point amidst the steepest slopes."
She stepped out of the tent, frost clinging to her glasses and fog from her breath briefly obscuring her view.
As she wiped her lenses, she looked out, wide-eyed, at the vast world spread out before her.
"—The scientific expedition team, ready to depart to the next site."
---
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(IN THE STORY)
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