Malefic Yomumu

 

Child of the Mist,
are you lost?
Your mother is asleep.
You don't know where to go.


Child, my dear child.
Wait, stop still.
There's a lot of mist on this white sea.
You can be trapped in the white world.

Child, my dear child.
Look for my beckoning in the mist.
The white world is full of light.
You'll get lost and wander.

Child, my dear child.
Still, you seek me.
The path you're on is as dangerous as a falling rock.
You could be seriously injured.

Child, my dear child.
Keep walking this way.

...

A child without a mother.
You made it this far.
You've come to a place
completely free of qualifications, roles, and rules.

A place where...
shadowy forces are waiting to consume you.

 

 

Cladis, Priest of the Mist

 

"Cladis, what is your first memory?"

 

A small room inside Asrahan in Clearmist.

An elderly man sipped his tea and asked the question.

 

"By first memory, do you mean...? Is this like a job interview or something? If you're thinking of passing on the celebrant position, I'd rather have Ethan than me..."

"No. It's been a long time since I've first met you. There's no reason for a job interview. It's more like... it's time for me to step down, and I'd like to get to know you better. Why, you can't keep up with an old man who's about to die?"

 

Despite the heavy words of death, the old man's face was graced with a wolfish grin that was characteristic of his age.

 

"Stepping down? No, Clearmist still needs you."

"There comes a time for everyone to step down. Not just from this position, but from your own life. And who you choose to be the celebrant is a matter for me to decide, so stay out of it and answer the question."

"..."

 

Just as the old man had known Cladis for a long time, Cladis had known the old man, the celebrant, for a long time, and he knew he was serious in his jokes.

Cladis took a moment to sip his tea, as if searching his memory, before he spoke.

 

"My first memory... Well, I don't know if it's really my first memory. It's just something that comes to mind when I think back to the earliest days, when I was on the Misty Plateau."

"That's your first memory. The one you remember, even if it's not actually in time."

"It doesn't seem to mean much, but..."

"Can't you just get to it already? Or are you going to tell me on my grave? You know I won't live for much longer."

"Okay, I will."

 

Cladis sighed, and then continued.

 

"My first memory... I remember doing string figures by myself. On the Misty Plateau."

 

The old man's eyes twitched at the unexpected answer.

 

"You did string figures by yourself? How do you make string figures by yourself?"

"You squat down, hold a long skein of yarn across your lap, and untwist it—more accurately, you just twist it into different shapes."

"Sounds like you just didn't have any friends to play with."

"Well, that's not exactly wrong, either. As you know... before I came here, all I knew was a world shrouded in mist."

 

Cladis was an orphan. The mist-filled plateau was his home, his homeland.

When the Eye of Mu followers found young Cladis, he had adapted to the mist and was surviving with the help of the Misty Plateau Sacred Beasts.

He was later taken to Asrahan, where he grew up living with the followers.

 

"Hmm..."

"I guess that's not exactly the answer you were looking for."

"Actually, I was curious, Cladis. How there could be someone like you. I've seen you for a long time, and I've seen a lot of people, but I've never seen a follower with a goal as determined as you."

"I wish I could answer that, but I don't know, I'm just... I'm just doing what I have to do. Living in the Mist God's world, believing in him, and using that belief to protect Clearmist and White Ocean..."

"Doing what you have to do..."

"Maybe it's because there's nothing I really have to do... or want to do."

"Hah hah. Are you saying there's no reason to be a celebrant, either?"

 

There was a pause in the conversation. Cladis's expression became more complicated.

 

"...So, it was a job interview after all."

"Hah hah. Think what you will."

"I'm... I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do in my position. As you say, Celebrant, I shouldn't have to interfere with your decisions, but I'm not good enough."

 

The old man was silent for a moment, as if picking out a few words, and then set his teacup down.

 

"Cladis. I have faith in you. You are the one I would trust with Clearmist and the Eye of Mu."

"..."

"You're a skeptic, and I don't mean that you shouldn't be. That's your strength, but sometimes... You need to take someone's word for it. The celebrant is a person whose job it is to believe in people."

"...Yes."

"And... If I may interject, don't forget that you're also a part of Clearmist that must be protected."

"..."

 

Cladis couldn't answer.

To himself, he was still more a child spinning his own yarn in a mist than a follower of the Eye of Mu of Clearmist.

 

"One day, you will have someone to trust without question. Someone who will believe in you purely for what you believe in."

 

Cladis swallowed the words. 'Never.'

The old man silently leaned on his cane.

 

"Rise. Now, you are the celebrant."

 

They left the room.

A few days later, the old man's funeral was held in the same room, a simple affair.

And now, in the room that had become his office, Cladis thought again of his conversation with the old man.

He hadn't believed what the previous celebrant had said, that he too would have someone to trust without question.

His childhood innocence of believing that someone would come to him out of the mist had been shattered many times before.

Being a celebrant is just one of the things he had to do. Just another twisted thread, just another figure.

There was a knock on the door, and a follower came to the door.

 

"Celebrant, the new Keeper of White Ocean has been appointed."

 

Cladis rose from his seat, to do what he had to do.

 

 

Zenon the Pursuer

 

Isolated and surrounded by the mists of White Ocean, Dusky Island has a vicious rumor that has been circulating for some time.

There's a man who pursues those who flee until they can't run anymore,

and his grasp expands with each person he stops.

 

Footsteps were heard running fast.

The sound of footsteps on the dark, damp ground was squelchy, like stepping in a pool of thick blood.

The footsteps seemed to wander, disoriented, but they never stopped.

He was only forced to move forward.

He ran for a long time, getting slower and slower, but the pursuer kept up, as if to keep pace.

As if it wanted him to stop himself.

As if it wanted him to give up.

 

When he realized that, he slowed his pace.

Through the polluted mist, he heard a voice calling to him, as if he were dreaming.

'Stop running now.'

Stuff you! Get that thing off my back first!

'The grasp, it's only chasing you because you're running away.'

Of course, it is. If I stop running, it'll catch me!

'What happens if it catches you?'

 

"..."

 

He stopped at the voice's question.

Why... was I running so desperately?

Since when... have I been chased by that thing?

Why did I come here?

 

He looked back, and the grasp was still slowly closing in on him.

He slowly backed away. His pursuer's grasp didn't stop, but instead matched his speed.

A powerful question came to him.

Even if he ran further, would he ever escape its grasp on this dark island?

 

"..."

 

Isolated and surrounded by the mists of White Ocean, Dusky Island has a vicious rumor that has been circulating for some time.

There's a grasp who pursues those who flee until they can't run anymore,

and it grows in numbers with each person it stops.