| Malistia | Tom's Farm | 03/25/1178 |
Naomi:
"Ding-dong-ding-ding."
24 hours—a normal Monday that spiraled into a series of... actually, nothing dramatic really happened at all.
The bell of Coldro's clock tower fills my ears again, accompanied by the wind howling through the open window of my room.
My ears twitch a little.
When Yuki and I returned to the farm, there was silence throughout the entire 15-minute walk.
I think it's no secret that our previous conversations—although few—have shared the same kind of silence, wedged between his monologues and my attempts at a serious answer.
There was something, however, in the words he spoke that I—even though I didn't catch everything—found very relatable in a way I can't quite put my finger on.
Misha and Tom always say I think too much—well, Misha's one to talk—but I think I haven't thought this much in years.
And what did it give me?
> > "One stair down. Eleven left to go."
What's that even supposed to mean?
No—in fact, I gained nothing from yesterday. Only more questions. More opportunities to drown myself in thought—or more accurately, the same thought, over and over again.
I lean back against the wall, the bed underneath me creasing slightly.
"Yuki Sato."
That's the full name of the guy we just met, and yet he's already more involved with Tom than most people ever were.
The name of the man I'm supposed to bring to the capital of Malistia.
I must admit, in retrospect, it was rather foolish of me to just agree without further consideration.
I still don't know a thing about this guy—except that he's from another world.
Except that he apparently has no emotions.
Except that he just happened to choose the moment of my mental breakdown—or whatever that was—to confront me.
Was it simply bad timing, or intentional?
Did he notice something was off and follow me, just so I'd agree to everything he said to avoid questions?
Okay, maybe Tom and Misha were right.
Even now, I keep distracting myself from the thoughts I really should have—from the questions I really should be asking—by being suspicious of a guy I've spoken to for maybe five minutes.
Khelfnir worked, meaning that at least something about the dream was right.
And, knowing my mind, that only raises more questions.
What is it right to test? Should I have just tried to forget it?
My thoughts are running wild, making it impossible to focus. I even now realize that I had just used Mana yesterday.
Another question still lingers in my mind.
If I was able to use Mana just now, then does that mean that Leine des Wanderers didn't work because I don't have Anima?
Did Misha actually lie then?
Or—no—I can't just assume he was lying. What if he was deceived?
And if he was lying, then why?
To protect me? Even though he knows how desperately I want to escape this farm? After all, that's exactly why I want to become a state magician.
Wait, isn't it kind of hypocritical that I claim to want to experience this world?
That I want to thrive? To explore?
When I can't even confront my past without asking myself whether I should stop?
Do I really want to escape? Or do I just want to escape the monotony?
What do I even want?
Did I just idealize the idea of leaving the farm because it was boring?
My head is hurting—but did it ever not hurt?
Wasn't I always like this?
Questioning the things that kept me warm. Thinking that it was good the way it was—
Only to later assume it wasn't?
Not realizing—just assuming.
The more I question, am I moving deeper into the cage or actually leaving it?
I don't know. I'll never know with 100% certainty, if I'm being honest.
But I also know I'll definitely never find out if I don't do anything.
The door opens. The sound cuts through the puddle of thoughts.
"Naomi, you up?"
Tom stands in the doorway, his hand still resting on the knob as if unsure whether I want to talk.
Did Yuki tell him about what happened?
"No, I just happened to sit in my sleep now," I huff, hoping he'll take the hint and leave.
"Funny," he says before entering the room. His gaze sweeps over the interior, finally landing on the wide bouquet of karabol feathers stacked in a vase.
"Can't recall that being here more than a month," he says with a teasing smile.
I roll an eye.
"Better leave them there, then—let them become victims of Kiara's diarrhea."
Tom shrugs, then turns to me, walking toward the bed. I instinctively shift left to make space.
"Yuki's already asleep. Poor guy passed out after taking one hit."
Only now do I notice the marburake cigarette in his hand.
Is my nose stuffed? How didn't I notice it?
Almost as if trained for it, I reach for it—but Tom takes a long drag himself. His pupils dilate, then relax.
"He and I talked about the organization of your little... road trip, as he called it."
I nod, still not looking at him, hand held out expectantly.
He grumbles softly, then places the cigarette in my hand. I bring it to my lips.
"And? What's the plan now?" I ask before taking a hit. A strange warmth fills my lungs. The extract I usually consume is stronger, but cigarettes hit instantly.
Tom snatches it back.
"You'll stay in Coldro for a few days. Since he doesn't have an official last name, you'll need to ask around on how to get him through the gates..."
He chuckles.
"I'm a bad father, aren't I? Asking you to get yourself into trouble to help a guy we just met."
I shrug. He nudges my side. I elbow him in the ribs.
"Then tell me," I say, my mood lightening as a few giggles escape, "why are you so fond of him that you ask your innocent daughter to commit a crime for him?"
Tom rolls his eyes.
"I don't think the idea of committing a crime should stop you from doing the right thing. And I want to help him because... maybe because..."
He sighs, taking another drag.
"Because... I feel bad for him. I mean, imagine not only dying, but then landing in a world where everything could kill you again. No offense to him, but after seeing him hit that cigarette, I'm convinced even a group of four-year-olds could kill him."
I raise an eyebrow—not because I disagree.
"So you also don't help him just because it's the right thing."
Tom rolls his eyes and reaches to flick my ears, which I dodge.
"I do it because your ass seemingly needs an external reason to finally leave the house," he says with a half chuckle.
After a few seconds of silence, I look out the window.
"Say... do you think you'll be okay if I go? I mean, what if something happe—"
Tom flicks my ears for real this time. A soft yelp escapes me.
"Stop looking for excuses, Naomi Krueger," he says, his tone almost that of a scolding mother.
My eyes soften at the name. It feels off—like two names randomly stitched together just to avoid paperwork issues. I don't particularly like it, but it has its meaning. I'm officially a Krueger, after all.
At least something I don't have to think about too much.
"I'm not looking for—"
"Yes, you are," he cuts me off.
"But don't worry. These old bones can still do the chores you're supposed to be doing—twice as fast."
He pats his arm. The clap rings in my ears.
"Well... if you're sure..."
I duck my head, my hair falling over part of my face.
"Then I guess... I'll leave the farm for a while."