Aria of the Withered Branch
Chapter 5

I flopped onto the bed and stared blankly up at the tall, dark figure looming over me.

“I’m just an ordinary human. You’re saying I’ll become immortal just by becoming your declarer?”

What sort of race were they, anyway? I’d heard of Avatara, who were the children and representatives of the divine. But I’d never heard of the Binah. What are they, exactly?

“It’s because we’re demigods.”

“I see… I don’t see a halo around your head or anything.”

“Not even Avatara have those. Don’t be absurd.”

I was tired and not imaginative enough to deal with all this. It seemed I would just have to accept what I was being told. These were not the sort of people I could just run away from. I suspected that if I hid and somehow managed to end my life, they might even find me and try to bring me back. I could do nothing about the chaos that filled my brain, however, as I stared in a daze at the floor.

Hellicharde, who’d been listening quietly thus far, asked glumly, “More importantly, why did you shorten only his name?” Her chubby pink cheeks bulged as she pouted. I would have been taken in by how cute she was if I didn’t already know her real age. I hadn’t forgotten, however, that she was actually old enough to be my great-great-grandmother.

“Actually, I’m going to shorten all your names from now on. Please tell me what you’d like me to call you. Everyone but Mahorren. Tell me now if you don’t want a nickname.”

“I actually like that idea. Call me Chandy, will you? But why is Mahorren the exception?” Channe-Lodiharrah, the silver-haired beauty, cocked her head in puzzlement.

“Well, given how old he looks, it’s really not that easy to be anything but respectful toward him,” I said.

Everyone but Mahorren burst out laughing. Chandy informed me that they were actually all a similar age—an idea that scared me, despite the smile on her face.

“Just call me Ren and don’t be formal with me, either. You’ll make this old man feel lonely,” Mahorren insisted.

“All right, then…” I said.

“Me too! Call me Hellie.”

“I prefer this arrangement, but I’ve never had a nickname before. What should it be?” Phasion asked.

“I’ll call you Phay, then.”

That left only one person. Everyone turned to look at Jules, who suddenly said, “Hey, I’m not an easy man.”

“You’re the one who dropped the formalities with me since the first time we met,” I said.

He said nothing.

Did you think I was easy?

“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted you to call me.”

“I took the liberty of giving you a nickname myself. Think of it as a favor.”

I didn’t want you asking me to call you something weird.

“That’s not fair…”

It can’t be helped. I haven’t forgotten what you said about a fly lord.

“I’ll introduce myself, then. I’m Alcheris Lynn Voygianna. Just call me Al.”

***

Channe-Lodiharrah looked wistfully down at the young token, who seemed exhausted, even deeply asleep. Her life seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, two hundred years having already flown by. She enjoyed being alive. Simply living among the lively humans, watching their unfortunate lives play out, was plenty entertaining for her. She also enjoyed playing a role in all of it—it was like a game to her.

Some of her kind were tired of living and hoped their token would never appear. But she was different. She enjoyed being alive, and to her, living was a blessing. This was why her limited lifespan bothered her. She had been growing slowly anxious as her time limit approached when the token had appeared out of nowhere. She was so incredibly lucky.

More incredible still, the others of her race, whom she’d met for the first time at this inn because they shared the same wavelength, all had the same obsessive attachment to life. This meant they were able to persuade their token.

The token… She so wanted to live, but her token apparently did not value life at all. The token was tired of life, finding no fun in it and desiring to end it all, but the Binah had interrupted the last slumber. If everything worked out for her and the others, the token was set to live an extremely long and pointless existence.

Channe-Lodiharrah had only intended to say hello and then leave as soon as she learned this, but she’d been watching the token secretly at the inn and had changed her mind. She couldn’t allow her precious token to feel like life was a punishment. That was unacceptable to her.

“I’m sorry, honey, but your life will become more enjoyable soon enough.”

I’m going to make sure it does, no matter what it takes. She smiled to herself in satisfaction, then turned her attention to the token’s chest, suddenly reminded of something.

“Why don’t I quickly check while I’m here?”

What if he’s a she? Her sleeping token seemed to be a peculiar sort of human, and she wanted to check if the person she thought was a man was indeed just that.

He looks just over the age of twenty… But that’s all I can tell… He’s curiously impassive for his age and completely unreadable. But his features… The light brown, straight hair in a braid over one shoulder, and his completely emotionless light blue eyes. He’s good-looking, and the air of indifference gives him a certain charm… But he has no feminine charm about him at all. As far as appearances go, he has to be a man.

But the scent was too sweet to judge purely on look. She didn’t mean just the smell coming from his body, either. People often carried with them a deeper scent that depended on their gender as well as their race. No matter how much one tried to hide one’s gender, it was impossible to fool the eyes of a higher being such as hers—she could see right to the core of a person. That was what had everyone puzzled.

It was impossible to tell if the token was a man or a woman. The token looked like a man but had the sweet scent of a woman. There was something quite odd about their charming androgynous human. As ambiguous as their gender was, the token’s energy was also unique.

There was an air of hollowness or emptiness that seemed to fill the token’s entire being. Those affected by depression or those who had no desire to live generally faded into the background of life as a result. There were very rare cases in which such a quality only made them stand out all the more, and the token was one of them. Earlier, during their meal, the innkeeper had been mesmerized, not by Phasion’s extremely good looks, but by the token’s instead.

The way he put his tired hand to his forehead wooed her. She liked this human. He doesn’t express himself much, but the sad look on his face when he’s flummoxed, surprised, or gloomy is cute. But she liked to be certain.

Hellicharde, who would have preferred a young girl or boy, didn’t seem to care what the token’s gender was, but that was just because she was a deviant. Channe-Lodiharrah wasn’t, so she was dying of curiosity. In her eyes, the token being deep in slumber was the perfect opportunity. Channe-Lodiharrah’s hand moved toward the token’s clothing.

I just want to know if he’s really a man… So why are my hands shaking? It didn’t occur to her that undressing a sleeping person was very rude, and far more so than Hellicharde calling any adult an old person.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She was interrupted just as she’d managed to unbutton the top three buttons with shaking hands.

Damn it! She gritted her teeth. I was almost there! She couldn’t bring herself to take her hands away.

Phasion regarded her coldly. “Get out here right now.” The gentleman had completely dropped his usual polite tone. This meant he was pretty angry.

“Could you just give me ten minutes? You’re curious too, aren’t you?” she asked, looking at him pleadingly.

He didn’t bat an eye. “Shut up and follow me outside.”

“Sh*t…” Channe-Lodiharrah muttered.

Phasion ignored her.

“You called me a pervert, but you’re not much better, are you?” Hellicharde said, smiling spitefully.

Channe-Lodiharrah, who’d crossed her legs defiantly so her tight pants showed off the long, slim length of them, twisted her beautiful lips into a smirk. “I’m nowhere as bad as you, you old perv.”

“What did you just call me?” Hellicharde shouted, the strawberry juice she’d been sipping spraying from her mouth.

“Now, now. Calm down, both of you.” Mahorren stepped in between the two, who seemed about to engage in a physical fight. He glanced at the other two men. Julius, still wearing his long, dark robe, was lying on the sofa with his back to them, completely uninterested. As for Phasion, he was simply enjoying a cup of tea. He would have usually been the mediator in a situation like this, but he seemed miffed about something and refused to even acknowledge them.

“That’s enough. How are we supposed to conduct a productive conversation like this?” Mahorren asked. He seemed to be reaching the end of his rope, his benevolent expression taking on a slightly demonic shade.

Channe-Lodiharrah and Hellicharde both shut up promptly, sitting up straighter.

“What matters now is this—how are we going to make life more fun for Al? This is no time to be fooling around,” Mahorren said.

“All right! I’m done playing! So talk, people. Does anybody have an idea?” Trying to wipe the juice from her clothes, only to fail and resort to magic, Hellicharde pressed her peers for ideas.

“How about traveling?” Julius suggested, rolling over and getting up from the sofa. “He’s obviously a noble. One that has never left his family’s territory. Seeing the world ought to change his mind.”

“I’m surprised,” Hellicharde said.

“By what?”

“That is such a normal suggestion, coming from you.”

Julius said nothing to this.

“Wow, I’m not only disappointed—I’m shocked,” she marveled, her eyes wide.

Julius’ face was not visible because of his hood, but the temperature around him seemed to drop by several degrees. “You keep saying I’m not normal. The thing is, I’m probably more ordinary than you are, at least.”

“Oh, don’t be upset. It’s part of your charm.”

Julius said nothing, lying down again and turning his back to them.

“Hey! Don’t just lie down! You’re the one who suggested traveling. You must have a destination or two in mind?”

He gave no response.

“Pathetic.” Hellicharde scurried over to the sofa and began prodding him with her finger.

Mahorren, watching quietly for a moment, shook his head and said, “I don’t think it would be a bad idea to build a luxurious resort to aid in finding peace of mind. Humans need to eat, sleep, and play well in order to relax.”

“Have you lost your mind, old man? It’ll take forever to build something like that!” Hellicharde said.

“You are a perverted old woman yourself. Who are you calling an old man? We are similar in age.”

“Yes, but just look at the way you’re acting.”

“Oh, this? It can’t be helped, given my current situation. Try to act your age,” Mahorren scolded, his usual gentleness gone. There was a blood vessel visibly bulging in his forehead. Noticing the flabbergasted looks the others were giving him, however, he coughed awkwardly. “Ahem! As I was saying!” Clearing his throat, he adopted one of his characteristic mild smiles. “Money is the answer to all problems.”

A brief hush fell over the room.

Channe-Lodiharrah, who’d been lost in thought with her arms folded over her chest, said, “Enough of this nonsense. I’m going to do a background check on Al.”

“A background check? What are you talking about?”