Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 188

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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 188.
The Voice of the Sealed Land (34)
Despoina turned her gaze slowly toward Daphnen.
“If you have decided to leave, then go at once. Why do you linger throughout the Island, adding your traces to the memories of those who will remain?”
It was the first time Despoina had spoken to Daphnen in such a colorless tone. Daphnen lowered his head. Words escaped him.
“I believe you will live well enough alone, even when you return to the Continent. Therefore, erase all that has transpired here from your mind and never recall it again. There is no use in yearning or lamenting over a body that cannot return.”
The content felt as merciless as her voice. Daphnen looked up at Despoina’s face, bewildered. Yet in that moment, he glimpsed moisture glistening at the corners of her weathered eyes.
“I had thought of you as a niece….”
There was a time when Despoina had urged Daphnen not to abandon Isolet. She was not one to blame him for refusing to accept Liriope. Fundamentally, she had never approved of such a thing.
Regarding Isolet, she had witnessed long ago a difficult betrothal formed only to shatter within a single day. Because of that, she had earnestly hoped that Isolet, having chosen isolation, might at last find happiness with Daphnen.
Yet today, as Despoina watched Daphnen depart, she felt only emptiness.
When Daphnen had first arrived on the Island, she had rejoiced simply because Nauplion had returned with him.
But over these years, as she observed them both, she came to understand that their happiness was inseparable. And watching Daphnen, who did not yield easily even as trials descended upon him one after another, she found herself overlaying the image of the young Nauplion she once knew.
At last, she had come to regard Daphnen with the same tender affection she held for blood kin.
All that she had done—giving him a name, concealing the matter of the Winterer, even perceiving his future—had become hollow.
How joyful she had been when Daphnen brought the second Silverskull to the Island. She had felt his future was bright, and had resolved to help him become a Priestess. Yet that was only early this year.
Though she had recognized that Daphnen possessed the strong nature of a Continental, she had not anticipated that all these bonds would sever so swiftly.
She had long believed that if Daphnen were to succeed Nauplion and find happiness with Isolet, there could be no greater blessing. Sending him to the Continent for a time before he became a Priestess would have been no difficulty at all….
Daphnen quietly perceived the depths of Despoina’s heart. He understood there was no way to console her. He could only bow his head deeply, his gaze fixed upon the feet of the aged Priestess he had disappointed.
“When you are banished, you must forget all that you have learned on the Island. You must not speak of the Island’s culture or its people, and you must not even mention the Island’s name. You have learned the Sacred Chant, but you must never use it again. To make you abandon the Chant completely, silencing your voice would be the most effective method, yet that is too cruel. Therefore, I counsel you—never sing again. The Chant is a power that becomes one with the body, and without your awareness, it may be woven into your song and cause you to abandon your resolve.”
Though it was a difficult command, Daphnen answered briefly.
“I will do as you say.”
“Did Nauplion teach you Tigris?”
Daphnen shook his head silently.
“Then your swordsmanship remains your own. Had you learned Tigris, I would have had to forbid even that.”
The Island’s laws were cruel—”forbidding” meant severing the tongue or even cutting off the wrists.
Daphnen, understanding that Despoina was still showing him mercy in subtle ways, answered without hesitation that he would obey her words.
After that, both remained silent for a long time. Finally, after choosing his words carefully, Daphnen spoke.
“I earnestly pray that you will forget one such as me as soon as possible, Priestess. Yet I will not forget you. Having grown without a mother, I have been clumsy in my dealings with one such as yourself, and so I have done nothing but make mistakes. But…I have always been grateful.”
Despoina kept her gaze lowered, then after a moment, she released a long sigh and spoke.
“Go. I will not witness your departure.”
Daphnen rose to his feet. Before leaving, he bowed deeply. His heart was filled with sorrow and compassion. Whether it was directed toward himself or toward those who would remain, he could not discern.
As Daphnen reached for the door, Despoina sighed.
“There are times when the baseless fears of many are wiser than the judgment of a single clever person. From this day forward, as long as I draw breath, I will never again accept a foreign child into the Island.”

On the Island, where there was no room for leisure in deciding and executing matters, even a one-day postponement of Daphnen’s exile was an exceptional occurrence.
A single day passed in the blink of an eye. The next afternoon, when the sun had tilted a hand’s breadth toward the western horizon, it was already time to leave the village and make for the Dock.
Daphnen’s final half-day on the Island was blessed with weather so fair it was almost painful. Yet as the hour of departure drew near, he grew increasingly restless, as though he had forgotten something vital.
He had met with all the people he needed to see, had settled all his affairs—and yet something continued to gnaw at him. In the end, Daphnen found himself climbing once more to the place where the secret staircase lay.
What had he hoped to find?
By the time I reached the Spring, my cheeks burned so intensely that even the wind felt like the edge of a blade against my skin.
I blinked several times at the spot where I had left the book. The book was gone.
In its place lay a scrap of white linen, folded and rolled like a pouch for dried herbs, pinned beneath a stone.
The very texture of the cloth brought Isolet to mind, and without thinking, I picked it up. The moment I unwrapped the folded linen, everything around me seemed to stop.
Inside was a handful of golden hair.
I gazed blankly at the distant peak across the way, then back at the golden strands upon the white cloth. My vision blurred. An unbearable emotion surged within me—I wanted to cry out, to shout something into the void. Yet at the same time, I longed to hide away where no one could see me, to dwell alone with this feeling.
The wind came and carried away a few strands. I wrapped the cloth and placed it in my pocket, then left that place.
The hour had come to depart for the Dock.
All of Daphnen’s belongings amounted to two swords—one given by Nauplion and the Winterer—and a small pack. It was a sparse collection, little different from when I had first arrived on the Island.
Liriope did not appear.
I could not bring myself to meet Nauplion’s gaze. He wore an expression so light, as though he knew I would soon return from Silverskull, that I found it impossible to look at him.
Despoina did not come, as she had said she would not. Instead, the Thesmopolos priest, who had unexpectedly appeared and stood waiting, suddenly spoke.
“As a priest responsible for the Island’s relations with the Continent, I must tell you this: once you leave for the Continent, you must not reveal the Island’s secrets, nor may you use what you have learned and mastered here. As far as I know, you have studied the Sacred Chant Tradition, which is an important heritage passed down from the Ancient Kingdom to this Island. Therefore, you must never use it again.”
Though I had already promised this to Despoina, I bowed my head in acknowledgment. In truth, when I had given up Isolet, I had given up the Chant as well—yet afterward, I had used it several times, and this thought weighed on me.
Thesmopolos was among the first people I had met upon arriving on the Island. He had always been somewhat uncomfortable to be around, but now that I was leaving, such feelings did not arise. Even his warning felt like good counsel.
Unexpectedly, Hector was there waiting for me as well. He spoke only briefly.
“Perhaps one day I too shall receive a mission that takes me to the Continent.”
Instead of a farewell, I merely nodded. It struck me as strange that I felt we might meet again.
At the Village Entrance, I returned the medal that the men in scarves had given me when I first arrived.
The moment I did, everything about the Island seemed to change. The village took on a protective hue, and the familiar walls were overgrown with moss and countless small plants, evoking the image of ruins.
I understood that all of this was the power of an illusory magic meant to ward off any potential intruders.
I had not known it when I arrived, but now I was aware of the existence of the transfer gate that bypassed the forest surrounding the village and led directly to the Dock.
That would be the last threshold. Once I passed through it, I would emerge at the forest’s edge and meet the escorts waiting for me. By the time we boarded the ship and sailed out to sea, no faces would be visible to me.
As an exile, I was not permitted the farewell ceremony at the Dock that the old Silverscull Expedition had once received.
In that final moment, I tried to look at Nauplion’s face.
When our eyes met, Nauplion waved his hand cheerfully, as though wishing me a safe journey. The sight of it made everything feel strange—as though it were all a dream, or a tedious play.
We had already spoken so many words that in the final moment, only ordinary ones remained.
“Thank you… for everything.”
Nauplion continued waving until his young boy disappeared from sight, as though bidding farewell to someone who would soon return. When there was nothing left to see, his hand stopped and fell.
No one around him dared to speak. As everyone turned to leave, he stood gazing blankly at the invisible transfer gate at the forest’s edge—gazing at it as though it were his young boy.
He would never be “his young boy” again.
The boy I had regarded as my other self had departed to a distant place, carrying with him the last fragment of my heart. It was I who had sent him away with countless reassuring lies—yet I could not understand why my chest felt so heavy and strained.
The remaining life span was but a year; we would not meet again.
The forest, bathed in spring light, grew lush as it had in years past and the year before.
A boy who had stayed for merely two years would fade from the Island’s memory like dust. The long line of the invisible yet visible blue sea rippled once, as if waving goodbye.
To this soliloquy that no one could hear, the indifferent forest lent its ear.
“It seems that for humans to possess gifts bestowed by heaven is never easy, and that all tragedy befalling mankind begins with such treasures inevitably slipping into another’s grasp.”

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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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