* * *
Winter is almost over. Spring is coming.
A few early sprouters are already budding. The snow and ice melted long ago, and those who were hibernating are slowly waking up.
“But why won’t this one wake up?”
Miros still hasn’t awakened. I worried the spot might be uncomfortable, so I laid out soft straw like a human bed and gathered plenty of thick sheep’s wool.
I heard humans are supposed to eat three times every day. Is this one not even hungry? I am constantly supplying life force, but isn’t eating a separate issue?
I tapped the cheek of the still-lying Miros.
“Wake up soon. If you don’t wake up, I can’t fix you.”
Miros is still in the same state as that day. A hideous sight, with no eyes and no arm. But I can’t help it. It’s because I have to ask Miros.
I have to ask if I am allowed to remake them.
Humans are fragile. Miros is even more fragile as a hatchling, and far smaller than the average individual. If I were to remake them as I please, they would melt away, unable to handle my power.
That is why I need permission. They must accept me and agree to receive my power before I can use it. Miros is simply too weak for me to act on my own.
A newborn chick would probably be sturdier than this.
In fact, even sharing life force right now is something I do with extreme caution. If I were to breathe life force into them without thinking, they would pop. Just like that—bang. They are that weak.
I stroked Miros’s face and spoke.
“I am waiting like this. Wake up quickly.”
I heard the story, at least a rough version of it, from the little blade of grass.
I don’t know the details, but apparently, the group of humans called Gellen demanded more currency from Miros than usual. They suspected that because I visited, Miros must have more of that thing called money.
When Miros, who had prepared the money, said they couldn’t give any more, they cut off their arm.
Then, they gouged out their eyes, saying they could be sold for money. That was the end of it.
Humans will gouge out the eyes of their own kind just to get money. It’s a new thing to me, but still an incomprehensible act.
I can accept that the resource called money is used as a means of trade, but what on earth do they do with eyes?
Miros’s eyes were indeed beautiful, but without the body, eyes are just squishy organic matter.
They aren’t food, and rolling just eyes around isn’t even pretty. It would have been more believable if they had kidnapped Miros instead.
Truly, humans only do things that make no sense.
“Or do you hate me? Is it because I stole you away? Or are you angry because I came to see you even though you told me not to?”
Do they hate me and that’s why they won’t wake up? I don’t know.
I hope Miros wakes up soon. I want to make them beautiful again. I want to see the pretty Miros.
Now, anyone can see it is spring. It is the time when all kinds of grass and trees wake up and open their eyes.
The impatient ones often burst into bloom first. From the foot of the mountain up to the peak where my nest is.
Plum blossoms, acacias—all sorts of flowers bloom and new sprouts emerge.
Today, I waited for Miros again.
“You should wake up now. You sleepyhead.”
Everyone else has been up for a long time, but they alone are still sleeping. I stroked the sleeping Miros’s cheek. Soft and warm.
No fur, no scales—the weakest thing in the world—and yet I don’t know what they trust to be this soft. I really don’t know how these things survive.
Will they not wake up today either?
Just as I was about to stand up after touching them for a while, Miros’s eyelids twitched.
And the one remaining hand flickered. Oh? Are they waking up?
“Miros? Are you waking up?”
Are they finally waking up? I stopped getting up and crouched back down. Then I looked down at the small Miros. I watched with a thumping heart.
Miros, who had been twitching, began to move very slowly. I watched with bated breath.
Miros opened their eyes, but there was nothing inside the eyelids.
Only an empty space remained.
After blinking a few times, Miros touched above their eyes with their hand. Then their finger went inside.
Touching the empty hollows, Miros suddenly let out a grotesque scream.
“Ugh, uh, uh-? Wh-what is? Why?”
They must be very shocked; the words coming out are a mess. I hurriedly grabbed Miros’s struggling hand and asked.
“Miros. You’re awake, right?”
“Who? Who is it? Why? What is this?”
“I waited for you.”
I spoke as gently as I could, but Miros was shocked by even that, trembling like an aspen leaf as they slumped in place.
All that effort to wake up, wasted.
“I… I’m dead, right?”
“Did you want to die? If so, I’m sorry. I saved you.”
Did Miros want to die? Was that why the adult of their kind helped them?
If so, I’ve done something regrettable. I saved them and stole them away without knowing that.
But that didn’t seem to be the case. Miros shook their head.
“No, no… Th-thank you. Thank you for saving me. But, wait…”
Miros grabbed the hand I was holding and clung to me.
“Who… who is it?”
“Levia-Lycian. Do you remember? I went to see you every day.”
“…Is it you?”
“Yes.”
What a relief. You didn’t forget me. Hanging on and trembling like that, they look so pitiful.
Small as they already were, they look even smaller now.
Suddenly, Miros’s voice became wet with tears. Tears poured out from the empty eyes.
“Only one of my hands is moving.”
“That’s because you only have one hand right now.”
“I can’t see forward, either.”
“That’s because you have no eyes.”
“But… I’m alive?”
“That’s right.”
Miros is crying quietly.
I had something to ask as soon as they woke up, but it’s hard to speak when they are crying so sadly.
What should I do? Then, Miros, still clinging to my arm, spoke.
“Why did you save me?”
“Because you are beautiful.”
“I have no eyes, and no arm. I’m a complete cripple now, so what on earth is beautiful?”
“I am going to make you beautiful again. That is why I stole you.”
Is losing just eyes and an arm something to be this sad about?
I don’t really know.
It’s a fatal weakness for survival, but still, I thought they would be happy just to be alive.
Seeing them only pour out tears is flustering.
“You’re a really strange guy. Do you know that?”
“To me, humans are stranger.”
“I… I… What should I do now?”
Since the places where the eyes should be were empty, I finally remembered why I had been waiting for Miros.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I was waiting to ask you that.”
How silly of me. To almost forget this.
The child was crying so much that even I got flustered. I brushed back Miros’s messy hair and asked.
“Miros. I’m going to ask you something important now.”
“In the middle of this?”
“I want to fix you again. To do that, you have to give permission.”
Actually, calling it “permission” is strange.
I am the one giving, so why does the one receiving have to permit it?
But it can’t be helped. Only when they say they will receive my power, that they accept me, can I safely restore Miros.
Because Miros is so very small and fragile. If I pour out my power as I please, they will die.
Meanwhile, dryads were huddling and gathering around us.
They seem to have gathered because they were curious about Miros, whom I had been looking in on and caring for every day recently.
—The human is awake. The little human is awake.
“Wait? Th-that, Levia? Don’t you hear something like the sound of wind?”
“They’re dryads. They flocked here when they saw you wake up.”
“Dra… what? What is that?”
—The Progenitor is strange. That thing isn’t beautiful. Why is it beautiful?
“They are spirits. For your information, the true forms of the dryads here are my source, the oak tree.”
“No, what does that… no, no, that’s not what’s important right now.”
Even without eyes, Miros made a gesture of looking around.
They say habits remain for a long time even if a human loses a body part; I guess that applies to Miros too.
Miros grabbed my hand and hung on, almost scratching it.
“Can you fix it? Me? Right now, I… have no eyes, and my arm is… gone.”
“I can. Oh, I wonder if a wizard or a witch could do it too? Probably. They are beings who can use the miracles of the world, even if they are weak. But the ones I knew have already crossed over to the far side of eternity…”
“No, no, I don’t care about that.”
Miros poured out the tears that had barely stopped.
“You can… do it?”
“Yes. If you permit it.”
“What… what do I have to do?”
Ah, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. What should I do? I didn’t consider the most important part.
Some druids often believe in me and pray even though I am not a god.
I think it’s because I am the proof of the grass and trees.
But Miros isn’t a druid, right?
They’ve never been trained, so they wouldn’t know how to pray like that.
The dryads? But they are spirits from birth.
Besides, since their Progenitor is me, there’s nothing special to it.
What kind of method should I make a human use?
“Excuse me, that… method, is it hard?”
“Sorry, I was thinking for a moment. Wondering what a human should do.”
“…You really weren’t a person, were you?”
“I’ve said it several times, I’m not human.”
“You were… really a god?”
“I’m not a god either. There are quite a few individuals who pray to me and offer faith, but I told you, I’m just something old.”
What should I do? I should have thought of this while Miros was sleeping, but like a fool, I focused only on waiting and didn’t prepare the most important thing.
I gently stroked Miros with my other hand.
“Kiss me, and speak aloud.”
“What should I say?”
“Hmm… First, I’ll teach you the prayer the druids say to me. Follow along exactly.”
The format isn’t important. What matters is whether Miros wants to receive my power or not.
The act of saying they will receive it is what’s important. No matter how insignificant or minor it may be.
Miros hesitated, then lightly kissed the hand they were holding.
Watching that, I began to tell them the words as they came to mind.
“Progenitor of the Oak, Proof of all nature. Grant me your miracle. I am your guardian, and your eternal love.”
“…Do I have to become a druid too?”
Is that how they could think of it? A unique way of thinking. I said with a laugh.
“No. There were many who weren’t actually druids, and there weren’t many who actually protected me or truly loved me. Most of them didn’t even know what I was. It’s just a way of asking to borrow power.”
“Then you just give it?”
“Mostly? No one asks for anything huge, and since it’s usually at a very small level, I just gave it for the most part.”
“What do you receive?”
“Nothing. What meaning would there be in me receiving something from weak things? It’s admirable if they are grateful and say they will repay me, but I’ve never wanted such things even if they don’t give back.”
* * *
