Cael, a farmer's son, loses his father when a beast stampede masks an attack on his village. His father's last words: find the ones behind this crest. The brassão he presses into Cael's hand marks one of the highest ranks of the Order of the Eternal Flame — but Cael cannot read it.
Left with only his broken uncle Aldren — a man whose fragmented mind drifts between true and false memory — Cael pushes the wheelchair onto the open road.
Along the way, he meets Lys, a young mage bound for a great
Crest in Ashes - Trade City Rosan — An Unreadable Letter of Recommendation and the Egg of Magic
The highway was gradually widening.
After three days of sleeping outdoors, Kale Elden's feet were radiating heat from the soles of his worn-down leather boots. The sound of wheelchair wheels biting into the stone pavement was swallowed by the dry air. Aldren Serius had sunk deep into the backrest, his silver eyelids closed.
"...We're almost at Rozan."
Kale noticed his own voice was a little hoarse. His throat was dry. The waterskin had been empty for about half a day now.
"Rozan..."
His uncle repeated in a sleep-laden voice.
"...The city of... fire... huh."
"City of fire?"
"...No. ...It's nothing."
Aldren's neck lolled powerlessly again.
Kale silently kept pushing the wheelchair.
(City of fire, huh.)
Deep in his chest, something stirred faintly. For these past three days, his uncle had been strangely quiet. Since leaving Lid Village, he hadn't sung that song even once. He slept longer, and even when awake, he did nothing but gaze at the sky.
(Is he going to be all right?)
He thought so, but asking wouldn't bring an answer. Kale gently pressed the copper plate hanging from his neck through his clothes. It was cold.
The words Noel had spoken in Lid Village still lingered deep in his ears.
'The black-clad bunch around here, they're called the Church's dogs.'
'You might've been marked, you know.'
(Church's dogs—)
(Are they the same as the ones who attacked the village?)
(Or are they different—)
It was all things he didn't understand. Without understanding, his feet alone moved forward.
When he crested one hill, his field of vision suddenly opened up.
Kale stopped in his tracks.
"...Whoa."
The voice escaped him naturally.
Below, there was a city.
White stone buildings stretched on endlessly. Red roofs, blue flags, tall towers. Through the center of the city, a tributary of the Rosalind River flowed, glittering silver. Carriages came and went, and people moved like ants.
It was the first large city he'd ever seen in his life.
"...Uncle. Wake up. It's a city."
He gently shook Aldren's shoulder. His uncle slowly opened his eyelids and gazed at the scene below.
"...Ah."
That was all.
"...Beneath this city, fire sleeps."
At the sudden words, Kale looked down at his uncle's face.
"Fire... sleeps?"
"...An old fire. ...A very old one."
His gray eyes stared fixedly at the city's center. They weren't focused. Yet, deep within those eyes, Kale sensed something sharp.
(It's starting again.)
(Uncle knows something.)
"...Let's go. I'm hungry."
Kale didn't press further.
He pushed the wheelchair and began descending the hill.
The city of Rozan drew closer.
—
At the city gate, a long line had formed.
Merchants' carriages, carts, travelers, pilgrims. At the gate, guards stopped each person one by one, checking something.
"Show your identification."
When Kale's turn came, a young guard held out his hand.
"...I don't have any."
"You don't?"
The guard's eyebrows rose. An older guard standing beside him looked Kale up and down, from head to toe. His hemp jacket was filthy, the cuffs frayed. The old man in the wheelchair had his eyes closed, asleep.
"A country bumpkin, huh. Can't let you in without identification."
"My village burned down. Everything's gone."
The two guards exchanged glances.
"Again? The monster trouble in the west?"
"...Yeah."
"Pay the registration fee. We'll issue you a temporary pass. Five gold."
"Five gold—"
Kale's face stiffened.
(All I have is three gold and some change.)
"...I can't pay."
"Can't pay, can't enter. You're holding up the line. Move."
The guard jabbed Kale's shoulder with the butt of his spear.
"Hey, hold on."
From behind, a familiar voice spoke.
When he turned around, Noel Grenfield was standing there with luggage on her back. A traveling scout. Eighteen years old. Her reddish-brown short hair was tied back in a single bundle, and her amber eyes laughed with amusement. She wore a grimy leather chest guard and carried two short swords.
"What're you doing in a place like this?"
"Noel... when did you get here?"
"I've been watching you from behind the whole time. You walk slow, you know."
Noel stepped forward in front of the guards.
"These two are with me. I'll pay their pass fees, so can you let them through?"
"And you are?"
Noel pulled a folded parchment from inside her chest and spread it open. The guard peered at it and nodded.
"...Understood. Pass through."
Noel pressed a few silver coins into the guard's hand.
"Come on, let's go."
Kale hurriedly pushed the wheelchair.
Once they passed through the gate, the world changed.
—
Rozan's main street was overflowing with people.
The sound of carriages treading on stone pavement. The neighing of horses. Merchants' shouting. The smell of spices. The smell of freshly baked bread. A thick air mixed with sweat and perfume.
Kale walked, feeling dizzy.
(Amazing.)
(So many people.)
Elden Village's population had been one hundred fifty. Here, many times that number of humans came and went all day long.
"Hey, out of the way!"
A carriage approached from behind, and Kale hastily pulled the wheelchair to the roadside. The wheels caught on a seam in the stone pavement, rattling violently. Aldren's head lolled forward.
"...Sorry, Uncle."
"...It's fine."
The carriage passed by. A black-lacquered box-shaped carriage. Behind the window, white lace curtains were visible. Beside the coachman, two guards holding spears.
"That's a noble's carriage. If you get run over by one of those, not only won't they apologize—you'll be the one arrested."
Noel said, sounding exasperated.
"...So that's a noble."
"Yep. Those types run this country. Well, not that it matters to us."
Across the main street, a large building was visible. Above the entrance, a sign with a sword and shield. Below it, letters were written.
"What does that say?"
"That? It says 'Rosalind Adventurers' Guild.' Oh right, you can't read, can you."
"...I can't."
Kale looked up at the letters on the sign.
A cluster of winding lines. Meaningless patterns.
(So that's writing.)
(I can't read it.)
Deep in his chest, a small thorn pricked him.
"The Rosalind Adventurers' Guild is an organization that brokers jobs like monster extermination and escort work. Half the jobs around here go through there."
"Huh."
"You're looking for day labor here, right? If you go to the plaza, there's a bulletin board with day-labor postings. But those are all in writing too, so you can't read them."
Noel stated it as fact, without mockery.
"...So if I can't read, I can't even find work."
"That's right. Especially in this city. It's all jobs that favor those who can read and write. If you can't read, only manual labor's left. And even that manual labor—if you can't read the contract, you'll get cheated."
Kale remembered what had happened in Lid Village. The contract with triple the amount written in. If his uncle hadn't argued them out of it, who knows what would have happened.
"...I know."
"Well, I'll look after you for a while. I'll lend you the inn fee. In exchange, pay me back later."
"...Thank you."
Kale bowed his head honestly.
—
It was when the sun began to tilt that the three of them settled into the inn.
What Noel arranged was an inn on a back street slightly off the main road. A two-story wooden building. The sign apparently read 'The Sleeping Wolf Inn.' Kale couldn't read it.
"This place is cheap. Five gold a night. Meals are separate."
"Five gold..."
(Even so, I can't pay.)
"I told you I'd lend it to you. I've got escort work starting tomorrow, so while I'm gone, do whatever you want. Look for work, sightsee the city."
Noel tossed her luggage into the second-floor room and immediately came back down the stairs.
"I'm gonna drop by the guild. I'll be back by evening. Until then, look after this guy."
"Got it."
Noel left the inn with light footsteps.
Kale brought Aldren to the inn's first-floor dining area and sat him at a corner seat.
"Uncle, want some water?"
"...Ah."
He asked the innkeeper's wife for water. She looked alternately at Kale's filthy clothes and Aldren's vacant eyes, and placed a water pitcher down without saying anything.
"...This city is made of fire."
Aldren took a sip of water and murmured.
"Made of fire?"
"...Beneath the stone, fire sleeps. ...An old fire. ...Someone is trying to wake it."
"Someone? Who?"
"...I don't know. ...I don't know, but... they're nearby."
Aldren's gray eyes momentarily turned toward the dining hall window.
Kale, drawn along, looked outside too.
The back street at dusk. No sign of anyone.
"...Just my imagination?"
"...It's not... just your imagination."
Aldren fell silent after that.
—
The next morning, Kale left the inn alone.
Aldren was still asleep. Noel had gone out early for escort work.
(I need to find work.)
(I need to pay back what I borrowed from Noel.)
Kale headed for the plaza Noel had told him about yesterday.
The plaza was crowded with people from the morning.
In the center stood a large bulletin board. On the wooden board, several parchments were posted. Around it, men who seemed to be looking for work, just like Kale, were gathered.
Kale stood in front of the bulletin board.
(...I can't read it.)
The letters on the paper looked like nothing but patterns.
"Hey, you. What're you staring at? Can you read?"
A man beside him called out to Kale. Sun-bronzed, dark skin. Thick arms, apparently a cargo porter.
"...No. I can't read."
"If you can't read, coming here's pointless. All the jobs here are for people who can read and write."
The man said that and pointed to the top of the board.
"See, this one says 'Light work, literate preferred.' This one says 'Must be able to keep ledgers.' They're all like that."
"...Aren't there any manual labor jobs?"
"Sometimes, but they fill up fast. This city's overflowing with people who've drifted in from the countryside. Those who can't read end up with cleaning, hauling, or else..."
The man trailed off and closed his mouth.
"Or else?"
"...Nah, forget it. You're young and you look honest. Don't get involved in back-alley work."
The man said only that and disappeared into the crowd.
Kale stood frozen in front of the bulletin board.
(Just because I can't read...)
(There's no work.)
(In the village, it wasn't like that.)
(In the village, if you worked, you could eat.)
(Here, if you can't read, you can't even work like a normal person?)
Deep in his chest, something slowly grew hot.
Was it anger, sadness, or frustration? He didn't even know himself.
(Dad never taught me to read or write.)
(Because of the literacy tax, he said it'd only be a loss.)
(But—)
(In this city, not being able to read is the loss.)
(Which one is the truth?)
Kale clenched his fist.
—
In a corner of the plaza, a single girl was crouched down.
Kale's eyes were drawn to her.
(...What's this?)
Neatly trimmed jet-black short hair. Pale, ice-like silver eyes. She looked maybe a year or two older than Kale. She wore a navy blue robe. In her hands, she clutched a single parchment.
The girl stared intently at the parchment, then looked up, then looked at the paper again. She repeated this over and over, as if confirming something.
Kale watched her for a while.
(Is she in trouble?)
(What is she doing?)
Before he knew it, Kale was approaching the girl.
"...Um."
The girl's shoulders gave a startled jolt, and she looked up.
Her silver eyes looked straight up at Kale.
"...What?"
Her voice was lower and calmer than he'd expected. Yet deep in those eyes, an unrest she couldn't hide was wavering.
"No, I just thought you might be in trouble."
"...I'm not in any trouble."
The girl said that and stood up.
Standing, her eyeline was slightly below Kale's. From the cuffs of her navy robe, fingertips stained with ink were visible.
"Is that a recommendation letter?"
Kale pointed at the parchment the
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