Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 157

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 157.
The Call of the Sealed Land (3)
The two of them spoke of the Sacred Chant Tradition, yet what they truly meant was something else entirely.
Despoina’s eyes grew sorrowful, just as they had been on the day Nauplion came to find her.
The wrinkles that stretched from her brow to her forehead no longer smoothed away like those of an ancient tree, and there was no possibility that a new life would open before her.
The vision I saw when naming Daphnen suggested a future far broader than the Island, one that would require crossing even the sea routes. For that reason, I began to consider Isolet as the fitting companion for him.
It had been long since I felt that no other happiness remained for Isolet within the Island.
If it was a destiny that must be carved out beyond the Island, then I wished for him to find happiness with the Pilgrims’ sacred maiden, and while those who remained on the Island lived out their fated lives, I hoped he would discover freedom of heart.
“I believed the two of them could bring each other happiness. Did you think differently?”
Daphnen regarded Despoina with a strange gleam in his eyes—the look of one who knew all secrets, questioning how she could speak such words. Yet Despoina continued.
“Do not do this. It is not merely your own life that would be diminished. Rather, why not tell me why your heart has changed? Did you hear something about Isolet on the Continent?”
A sharp answer burst forth.
“Is that not something you would know better than anyone, Priestess?”
“Yes, I know better than anyone. But whether you know as precisely as I do—that, I cannot say.”
….
Darkness fell over the small cottage. It was time for Nauplion to return, and I needed to go home.
Despoina rose briefly, transferred the embers from the hearth to the lamp, and trimmed the wick. Bright light flared up, casting a rosy glow across Daphnen’s pale cheeks these past few days.
“Daphnen, I gave you that name. At the time, I was thinking of the Nauplion Priest. My father named Nauplion, and so, just as that child became my younger brother, I resolved to give you your name with my own hands.”
Despoina gazed at the lamplight for a moment.
“As you know, the Island has no family surnames, so after only a few generations, bloodlines fade swiftly. For that reason, relationships where names are given to one another often bind as strongly as blood itself. The one who gives a name feels lifelong responsibility, and carries the duty to guide that child’s life rightly. I have regarded Nauplion as my own brother, and you as my nephew. Daphnen, do you know the meaning of your name?”
Until now, I had felt that Despoina had shown me many privileges, but I had not anticipated such a concrete reason behind them.
Daphnen answered, somewhat bewildered.
“Laurel tree… I was told. But I do not understand what it means.”
“One who gives a name sees a vision of that child’s future. In the vision for you, of course, a laurel tree appeared. That tree was mentioned in ancient texts… a tree I could not possibly recognize. It was the immortal laurel tree that stood at the entrance of the Old Kingdom, from which we Pilgrims departed.”
The moment I heard the word “immortal,” the story Nauplion had once told me flashed to mind.
Had he not said that my original name was Athanatos—meaning immortal or deathless?
“In ancient lands, the laurel tree, once the tree of victors, was sometimes planted at the entrance of castles or kingdoms. It was understood to mean friendship, but its true meaning is this: ‘I am the victor and you shall be defeated; if you show me the respect due a victor, I shall treat you with clemency.'”
Daphnen listened with some surprise. Nauplion had once said that the laurel tree at the castle entrance welcomed visitors. But was it not actually more of a threat—a warning to keep the peace upon entering my land?
That if peace is broken, only defeat awaits in return.
“Thus, the laurel tree was a tree of war before it was a tree of glory. Like a proud general who stirs the desire for battle, it endlessly summoned challengers. So your life on the Island was likewise a fate where those who refused to acknowledge you would come to fight, and could not help but fight. Hector did so, Ekion did so, Jilebo did so, and all others who hated you were those without the will to acknowledge your victory. Furthermore, Hector’s name means ‘adversary,’ Ekion’s name means ‘son of the great serpent,’ and lastly, Jilebo’s name derives from ‘jealousy.'”
With each meaning revealed, a chill ran through my body. Daphnen furrowed his brow and asked.
“Then are you saying it will be the same going forward? That as long as I live on the Island, I cannot escape conflict? Is that what you mean?”
Despoina tilted her head slightly to the right as she regarded Daphnen.
“Your life does not exist only within the Island, does it? Your name is Daphnen, but that is not the only one, is it?”
Despoina was not referring to the new title “Furakan.” Though Daphnen had never spoken of it himself, Despoina knew his old name—”Boris”—and understood its meaning as well.
As Daphnen could not answer, Despoina spoke in a hardened voice.
“That is precisely why your life and Nauplion’s cannot overlap—they are lines that cannot intersect again. One point of contact brought you both here, but those lines now stretch toward places where they cannot meet again. Do you wish for a state where, when you someday lose Nauplion forever, there is no one at your side?”
Daphnen could bear it no longer and poured out his turbulent emotions.
“Why! How can you… say such things…? You know everything, Priestess, yet how can you… ask me to come between them? I do not wish to do this, it cannot be this way. It is not only I who has a heart…. Even if everyone becomes my enemy, I cannot lose the Nauplion Priest. Forever…. Someday I may lose him, but even then… I cannot bear to wound his heart.”
Every word revealed how agonizing it had been for Daphnen to reach this decision.
Despoina extended her hand, and I placed mine upon it.
When her wrinkled fingers closed around my hand, I felt an inexplicable warmth, and with it came a pang of sorrow. Why could I not surrender to this warmth and find peace?
“Listen carefully to my words. You have heard this before, but listen once more—think about what differs this time.”
Despoina spoke slowly, recounting the old days: the betrothal that had forever separated Nauplion and Isolet, who had been like siblings; the clash between two stubborn men; and the death of Ilios Priest.
It was not greatly different from the account Isolet had given me, yet there existed a tangle of emotions that young Isolet could not have fully understood.
For instance, the relationship between Nauplion and his aged teacher, Oinopion, was such a thing.
Their bond, begun by chance, had grown beyond that of master and student into something deeper—grandfather and grandson, or rather, father and son. In other words, two people who had never been understood by anyone had finally come to understand one person: each other.
Oinopion, heir to the Tigris swordsmanship yet squandering his years in drink and boasting; Nauplion, an orphan boy who found belonging nowhere and stumbled through life.
For this very reason, their bond was all the more difficult to sever.
“Just as you cannot now abandon Nauplion, so too could he not abandon Oinopion then.”
The two relied upon each other deeply. More often than practicing swordsmanship, they spent their days speaking of old tales, of the world, of drink—their hearts in perfect accord like old friends.
Yet I found it frustrating and lamentable that Nauplion, possessed of such brilliant talent, was squandering his time without progress. I thought it better to separate the two.
I was not always the gentle and kind person I am now. Time changes all things.
“So in a sense, it was my fault. Ilios Priest proposed it first, but I was the one who directly orchestrated their betrothal. And later, when Ilios Priest became one who could not return, I was also the one who insisted that Nauplion must become the Priest of the Sword in his stead.”
Despoina released a long sigh.
“Because of this, Isolet broke her betrothal long ago and refused to become her father’s student, yet she could not—nay, must not—forgive Nauplion, who had thus usurped her father’s position. Tell me this: does Isolet still suspect that Nauplion may have done something wrong to Ilios Priest during that final battle in the Upper Village?”
I shook my head quietly. Despoina gazed upward at the ceiling with a sigh.
“So it is. Their greatest misunderstanding has been resolved, so it is no wonder you think yourself an interloper. Yet among the truths of this world, far more remain hidden from sight than are revealed. I will grant what you desire today, but remember that time has flowed on even beyond your sight.”

When I decided to stop learning the Sacred Chant and climbed to the place where I always met Isolet to bid her farewell, she was not there. The white birds that followed her were nowhere to be found either.
I returned twice more, but found only silence among the rocks that bore no trace of coming or going. I sat alone there for some two hours before descending.

The thick fog of winter gradually lifted.
When spring came, a purification ceremony would be held for fifteen-year-old children graduating from Scoli. I had enrolled late and would not graduate this early spring, but I had reached the requisite age and would thus be among those undergoing the purification ceremony.
After the purification ceremony, I would become a true Pilgrim. I would become a true Islander, and the return to the Continent that people like Despoina occasionally hinted at would become impossible.
I waited for it with a calm heart.
Whether on the Continent or the Island, there was no place free from affliction. Since the anguish I faced here was great, the suffering I had left behind on the Continent was equally great, and so I harbored no fear.
Yet I had not decided what my life would be after becoming a Pilgrim. Would I truly succeed Nauplion as the Priest of the Sword?
Deep within my heart, a voice often rose in denial. That position had rightfully been Isolet’s, and I sensed that to sit in such a seat would bring me far greater anguish in the years to come.
On nights when Nauplion was busy and I remained alone until late, my thoughts multiplied. Sometimes I deliberately threw myself into other tasks to suppress such thinking.
Perhaps that was why I picked up a book that night—one I had received long ago from Zero at the Library.

『The History of Ganapoli’s Migration』

The moment I saw the book’s cover, memories of my arrival on The Island came flooding back with vivid clarity.
It was the book I had grabbed during those difficult days after learning the Sacred Chant Tradition, when my relationship with Isolet felt unbearably strained. I remembered going to the Library to exchange it for a new copy after discovering the back pages had been torn.
Yet somehow, I had carelessly assumed I had finished reading it, and despite borrowing several more books afterward, I never touched this one again.
The days when I would sit with Zero and Oizis in the Library, sipping tea and sharing stories, felt like ancient history now. More than a year had passed since I last borrowed this book.
Though several months had elapsed since my return from the Continent, the anguish that had seized my heart made it difficult to enjoy peaceful rest as I once had.
Yet perhaps because I had not looked at books recently, the moment I discovered this one wedged in a corner of the shelf, I could not resist pulling it out.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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