Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 96

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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 96.
Blood That Will Not Fade (9)
When Isolet spoke of her, she meant the Sea. Yet to Daphnen, it sounded as though she were speaking of herself.
“Do you come here often?”
“Two or three times a year.”
“Then perhaps today is…”
Isolet turned her head. Her cheeks and hair blazed with crimson light.
“Today is nothing special.”
Daphnen suddenly laughed—a soft, surprised sound. Isolet’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I find it remarkable how much you resemble each other. I also lost my Father and Elder Brother in late summer. To a monster, as well.”
Only after speaking did it occur to me that it was Nauplion Priest who had told me the story of Isolet’s father dying at the hands of some unknown creature.
As expected, Isolet’s expression had grown slightly rigid.
“Who told you about my father’s death?”
“Ah…”
It was not something worth hiding.
“I heard it from Nauplion Priest.”
“What did he say?”
“He… seemed to hold your father in great respect. He said you were deeply grieved at losing him…”
Isolet, her expression returning to its usual coldness, shook her head sharply.
“That’s not what I’m asking. What did he say about the circumstances at the time? Did he explain why he alone survived when three people were there, and why he was the only one who made it back alive?”
“Why? Wasn’t it because your father, the Old Priest, sent Nauplion Priest back to the village?”
“You actually believe such nonsense?”
Daphnen was bewildered. While there were certainly suspicious points, he had never imagined that Nauplion Priest would have lied.
He had assumed that Isolet treated Nauplion Priest coldly because the resentment she harbored from childhood was too deep to overcome with a change of heart.
“I can guess what method my father used to eliminate that monster. I know his abilities better than anyone. But if he had fought using that method, no one would have returned alive. So why did one person survive?”
Isolet’s voice grew sharper still.
“My father despised Nauplion Priest greatly. If there had been any chance to spare one person besides himself, he would have sent back Antemoesa instead—not him. Antemoesa had been my father’s disciple for many years, and she was like an older sister to me. Could there be any better choice for the sake of me, left alone?”
Isolet, her tone bordering on arrogance, turned her gaze toward the sunset.
Though Daphnen harbored affection for Isolet, hearing her speak as though Nauplion Priest should have died kindled an unexpected anger within him.
“You speak of what has already passed, declaring who should have lived and who should have died—all according to your own convenience. Even if you despised Nauplion Priest terribly at that time, a person’s worth is not determined by your feelings.”
Isolet’s head snapped around. Her eyes burned with a reddish light.
“What I spoke of was merely a question regarding the account of my father’s decision as it was conveyed to me. That story came from the mouth of only one survivor. The dead cannot speak. I did not say Nauplion Priest should have died. I… I did not even hate him, at least not then!”
“Did not… hate him?”
Those were the literal words—merely that she had not disliked him. Yet Daphnen sensed something else beneath her tone.
His foresight now extended even to his instincts. Though he tried not to intrude upon others, he often understood their emotions with startling immediacy.
A long silence stretched between them, lasting until the sun had set and the world grew dim.
“Yes, you are Nauplion Priest’s most cherished disciple. He must be the most precious person to you as well. It was better not to speak of such things. Let us return now.”
Isolet’s face had grown too dark to see clearly as she spoke.

The journey back proved far more difficult than anticipated.
Even in daylight, I had barely managed to stumble along this path. Now that darkness had fallen, the mountain became treacherous—each step a calculated risk.
Isolet moved with practiced ease, but Daphnen could not afford such confidence.
“Be careful.”
Daphnen’s misstep sent a cascade of stones tumbling down the cliff face, their thunder echoing through the darkness. Isolet spoke only after the sound had faded.
“I am being careful, but…”
Daphnen trailed off. Soon, they would reach the most treacherous section of the path they had traversed that morning—a narrow cliff passage. Could he navigate it without light?
“Do you need light?”
Isolet reached into her pocket and withdrew a handful of what resembled dandelion seeds, scattering them into the void.
Something drifted through the darkness, and moments later, each seed ignited with a small, luminous flame. A dozen or more lights, slightly larger than fireflies, danced through the shadows.
The ground beneath my feet became somewhat visible, but it was not enough.
“Light helps, but…”
Daphnen smiled—a smile Isolet could not see in the darkness—as he spoke.
“I’ve only walked this path once, and that was in broad daylight.”
“If you truly cannot continue, simply say so.”
Daphnen laughed softly before responding.
“That’s what I’m doing now.”
“Don’t you think the gravity of the situation diminishes when you laugh while saying such things?”
“It’s still the truth. Do you have a solution?”
“I’m thinking about it now.”
“Could you sing and make me fly like you did before?”
“Say that again and I’ll punish you.”
He still hadn’t returned.
Nauplion could only tilt his head in confusion as Despoina stood before him, having come all the way to his home to discuss something with Daphnen. Dinner time had long passed, and it had been dark for hours, yet there was no sign of the boy.
“Where did he go last?”
“I’m not sure… Perhaps he went to see Isolet after Scoli ended?”
The moment she spoke, something felt wrong.

“Your blade possesses a strange power, doesn’t it?”
It was already past midnight. The two of them had taken shelter in an old, dilapidated cottage built deep within the mountain.
After retracing their steps and crossing the Reed Field for what felt like an eternity, they had discovered this dwelling. The moment they entered, the smell of rotting wood assailed them. It appeared to have been abandoned for a very long time.
“It seems that way. But I still don’t fully understand it. What it is, I mean.”
Curious about why such a structure existed in this remote place, I asked. Isolet pointed to one of the pillars.
I waited for the small lights to draw near before reading the inscription carved into the wood.
The small lights Isolet had created followed them, but they moved of their own accord as if alive, impossible to control individually.

To my beloved daughter, Isolestis,
Remember your mother.
Always, always.

The letters had been worn smooth by wind and weather. Yet even now, it was clear they had been carved based on exceptionally fine handwriting.
Daphnen, puzzled by the content, spoke with some hesitation.
“Isol… Lesti? What is that…?”
“My true name. Isolesti.”
I had always known it was her real name and called her Isolet, but hearing the true name anew felt both unfamiliar and beautiful. Isolesti carried a far more mature and elegant quality than Isolet.
“No one calls me that anymore.”
“But that name is lovely. What does it mean?”
I asked without thinking. Standing beneath the dilapidated roof, Isolet kept her hands thrust into her large pockets and fell silent for a moment. When she finally spoke, it was not an answer.
“The meaning of a name isn’t something you ask just anyone, nor something to be taught carelessly.”
“Daphnen means laurel.”
I said it all in one breath, then reached out to trace the letters carved into the pillar with my fingertips. Then I asked again.
“What does it mean? Not the name—the inscription written here.”
Isolet did not turn around. Instead, she took two steps backward and sat on the wooden bed. It was a familiar motion. Though called a bed, it was now merely a wooden frame with not a single blanket remaining.
“I was born here.”
Daphnen flinched, and the hand touching the pillar stilled.
“And I knew what your name meant. I understood it the moment I first heard it. It’s a variation of the name Daphnis—or Daphne when it’s for a girl. Our names come from the language used by the sorcerers of the Ancient Kingdom, or so I’ve been told. I’m not perfect at it, but I can read and write it to some degree.”
“Isolesti too?”
I asked again. Isolet tilted her head slightly.
“When I was born, my father was already serving as a priest, and therefore had the authority to choose my name himself. Thanks to that, I became the only one on the Island to bear a name unrelated to the language of the Ancient Kingdom.”
“Does it have no meaning?”
“No. Before he passed, my father once told me that my name meant ‘noble solitude.’ But neither I nor anyone save my father ever knew from which language it came. He never told me, so I’ve simply thought of it as a name without particular meaning.”
That girl certainly knows how to keep me searching.
Nauplion thought this as he walked slowly up the mountain path. The troubles from before had aged him a decade, or so he felt, yet here she was, returning home without a word for who knows how long.
I must have taught her poor habits, he muttered, then suddenly let out a soft laugh. Was he not sounding just like a father fretting over a wayward child?
He shook his head and resumed walking, when another thought occurred to him. Had that girl at least eaten dinner somewhere?
Though he had come slowly, he eventually reached his destination—the house where Isolet lived alone. There was no light within. Had she gone to bed early?
It was a house he had not visited of his own accord since his falling out with Ilios Priest. He had expected some hesitation, but found none.
Perhaps he had been sufficiently shocked by Isolet’s presence in his own home last time that there was nothing left to surprise him.
He knocked on the door.
“Isolet, just a moment.”
There was no answer.
“May I come in for a bit? I have something to ask you.”
He knocked several more times, but received no reply. Something felt wrong.
Isolet was as skilled a swordmaster as Ilios Priest’s daughter should be. There was no way she would fail to wake at such a disturbance.
Moreover, was she not far more sensitive than most, with ears so keen she even disliked hair covering them?
Nauplion pushed open the door and stepped inside. Shining the lamp he had brought around the room, he realized the house was empty.

“What’s on your mind?”
Though it was a summer night and not particularly cold, I still wished I had at least a single thin blanket to wrap myself in.
The cottage had an old fireplace inside, but it was crammed so full of unidentifiable refuse that clearing it seemed like an enormous undertaking, so I simply left it as it was.
“I’m regretting bringing you here.”
Isolet sat upon the wooden bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Those luminous orbs continued to drift around her. One descended above her head, casting her hair in a golden glow.
Those lights were the only illumination within the cottage.
“To this cottage?”
“No. I mean spending the night here at all.”
Daphnen, who had been sitting on the floor, suddenly rose to his feet.
“It seems my presence is inconvenient. I’ll step outside.”
Though Isolet was older than Daphnen, she was still a girl not yet twenty. And despite Daphnen’s youth, there was only a three-year difference between them.
I thought it only natural that he would feel uncomfortable, spending the night alone with her in an empty cottage deep in the mountains in the dead of night.
The moment Daphnen pushed open the door, Isolet spoke.
“Never mind. Just stay here.”

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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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