Myths and truth (3)

Misunderstandings are often born from the slightest twists.

Whether they are big or small, if caught early, they can be laughed off and patched up. But what happens when a small crack grows until it becomes impossible to bridge?

For instance, realizing that the act you thought was abandonment was actually meant to save you.

Or that the target of your lifelong revenge had already died after enduring horrific torture.

Or that they had bitten their lips, desperately trying to hold on to consciousness, just to buy a little more time for you.

And what if that person was family?

By then, the small crack would have become an abyss, a pit so deep that, once you fall in, you may never be able to climb out again.

And you would regret it.

You'd wish you had never known.

"A-Ah… Ah…"

Mirabel's lips trembled as broken sounds escaped her. Tears streamed down her face.

"We don't have much time. Please, take Mirabel and leave Praxu. I'm begging you."

Before her stood Harold, kneeling before Karamir, pleading.

Even though he had died such a horrible death because of her.

Even though, in his own timeline, he had just awoken from torture.

Even though he hadn't had enough time to process the reality of the situation.

Pushing all of that aside as trivial, he begged, just to save his daughter.

This was far from the actions of a heartless man who would abandon his daughter.

It was the exact opposite.

It was the behavior of a father who deeply loved his child. It was the same Harold she had buried deep in her memories, the one she had refused to recall.

"Ugh…"

Suddenly, her legs gave out, and Mirabel collapsed to the ground, retching. She couldn't stand the thought of having seen Harold as nothing but a target for revenge when she had known nothing of the truth.

"M-Mirabel! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Harold rushed over to check on her, but Mirabel couldn't bear to look him in the eyes and kept her head down.

Karamir had said the soul of the slave girl had likely disappeared because too much time had passed or because she no longer had any regrets.

But Harold's soul, who had died on the same day, remained intact. Which could only mean he had unfinished business, lingering attachments.

And Mirabel, naïve as she might be, wasn't so oblivious that she didn't know what that was.

"Harold, you don't need to beg like that. I take excellent care of my slaves, and Mirabel is no longer the powerless child she once was."

"Powerless? What do you mean?"

"She's now a full-fledged witch. A grand witch, capable of leveling an entire kingdom. Even if dozens of knights attacked, she wouldn't flinch."

Harold's eyes widened in shock as he turned to look at Mirabel.

"Is that true?"

Mirabel hesitated before slowly nodding.

"You weren't hurt? You weren't suffering?"

She shook her head.

Harold let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness. When Narady awakened, lightning struck from all directions. It was chaos."

At the mention of her mother, Mirabel's head snapped up.

"Mother… too?"

"Yes. When witches first awaken, they can't control their powers. We couldn't even hold hands without her shocking me. But she always insisted on holding my hand, and if I refused, she'd sulk. It was quite the ordeal."

"Really?"

Harold smiled as he nodded.

"Yes, really. So, was it the same for you when you awakened, Mirabel?"

"I… there was thunder and lightning…."

"Haha, thunder and lightning! That's impressive. Well, I always knew you would become a great witch. It's no surprise."

"Really…? You're not lying?"

"It's true. Even when you were still in your mother's womb, your magic was strong. It even leaked out a few times. A friend of ours who was a witch said you would grow up to be a grand witch someday. Back then, I told your mother something."

Harold's voice softened as he recalled the memory.

"I told her, 'This child will create a world where we no longer have to live in hiding. She will bring a miracle to our family.' That's why we named you Mirabel—after the word miracle. What do you think, Mirabel? Don't you think I did a good job naming you?"

Mirabel's eyes welled up with tears, her vision blurring until she couldn't see anything.

"…Yes."

In a small voice, she finally agreed, as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Harold continued to smile, speaking gently as Mirabel listened, taking in his words like a child being told a bedtime story.

Under the softly glowing stars, the moment felt serene.

But the living and the dead can't remain together forever. Harold's form began to fade, growing dimmer. His presence had lasted longer than usual, thanks to Mirabel's powerful magic.

"It seems our time is up."

"What? No!"

"It's sad that we have to say goodbye, but now that I've seen you safe, I'm at peace. I know you'll be just fine from here on out."

"I… I…."

Mirabel wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. She could only open and close her mouth, lost in her thoughts.

Harold reached out to place his hand on Mirabel's head, as if to pat her. Of course, his hand didn't actually make contact, but he moved as though it had, gently brushing her hair.

"You've been through so much on your own. I'm sorry I put you through such terrible things."

"I… I…."

"Life as a witch will be hard. But I know you'll get through it, Mirabel. You're strong. You're my daughter."

His voice was filled with certainty.

Harold's soft gaze reminded Mirabel of something buried deep in her memories.

It was the same look he had given her on the day she was taken away in the carriage, as he watched her leave.

There is a cliff so deep that light can't reach it.

Once someone falls in, no one can climb out, and no one will come to save them. After all, the risk of falling is too high.

And so, the person who falls gives up on escaping.

And what follows is endless despair.

But sometimes, there are those who defy the odds. People who, without regard for their own safety, throw themselves into the darkness to reach someone else.

And pull them back into the light.

"I love you, my daughter. No matter what anyone says, I'll always be on your side."

His name was Harold.

But to Mirabel, he had another name.

Father.

And that's what we call family.

"You'll be okay, won't you?"

"Mhm."

Her response was like a child's whimper.

Harold smiled with satisfaction.

He then turned his attention to Karamir.

"Please take care of my daughter."

"You're certainly a unique one, entrusting your child to a slave trader. Then again, I suppose you did marry a witch."

Karamir shrugged nonchalantly.

Harold's form was nearly gone now, fading completely from sight. Mirabel reached out desperately, but her hand passed through the air, grasping nothing. His spirit dissipated into the night, scattering like smoke.

I'll always be watching over you, Mirabel.

Those were his final words before his soul disappeared completely. Even when Mirabel tried to summon him again, he didn't return.

As if he no longer had any unfinished business.

In the now-empty square where Harold had disappeared, Mirabel sat with her back against the pillar, hugging her father's skull tightly. Her eyes were distant, staring at the ground.

Everything was a mess in her mind, and she didn't know what to do.

The driving force behind her life had been revenge.

Revenge on her father.

But now, it turned out that her father had loved her, not abandoned her. He had sacrificed himself to save her.

He hadn't been her enemy at all.

So what was she supposed to do now?

…She had no idea.

"Why do you look so down? Your father just told you he'll always be watching over you."

"M-My lord…."

Karamir, who had been pacing nearby, approached. In his hand was another skull, that of the slave girl.

"What's wrong?"

"I came for revenge, but now everything is different. I don't know what to do…."

Mirabel admitted, her voice small and confused.

Karamir gave her a curious look, as if he didn't understand her reaction.

"Then you should still get your revenge."

"But… but my father…"

"Does it have to be your father?"

"…What?"

Karamir's smile was almost predatory as he leaned closer, speaking in a low, enticing voice.

"You saw it, didn't you? In his memories. The people who tortured Harold. The ones who did this to him."

She had seen them.

The people who had dragged her father to the dungeon and subjected him to unspeakable pain.

Who had laughed as they burned and stabbed him.

"Don't you want revenge on them?"

She did.

She wanted to make those who had hurt her father suffer the same agony he had endured.

"Then do it. You have the right. And you have the power."

Karamir's words sank into Mirabel's mind, taking root in her weakened state.

...

Mirabel slowly rose to her feet, gripping her staff as her thoughts swirled.

Wuuuuung.

The air grew heavy.

The skull floated into the air.

The wind howled in fear.

The stars, once twinkling in the dawn sky, hid behind thick clouds.

Whoosh.

Dark mist gathered in Mirabel's hand, coalescing into a book that had been burned to ashes long ago—the Goblin Shaman's Grimoire.

When Mirabel opened her eyes again, they glowed with an eerie light. The same glow radiated from the skull's eye sockets, flooding the square with its ominous hue.

Thud.

Mirabel struck the ground with her staff, and a dark wind swirled around the skull. When the wind subsided, standing there was a reaper, cloaked in magical robes and wielding a massive scythe.

Mirabel, the Witch of Judgment.

The reaper's envoy.

"To those who hurt my father. To those who forgot their debt."

The witch passed her judgment.

"Erase them all."