Please, God

Learning that Kardia’s childhood church was in the capital, Noi cast a concealment spell on his cloak before they went out.

The concealment spell used reflected light to blend the wearer into the surroundings, making them hard for others to notice—a camouflage. With focused attention one could still see him, but a casual glance would slide past.

If Fengalow’s reaction to the Demon King was typical, it would be dangerous to run into anyone who knew the Demon King dwelled in Kardia.

(Kardia was a quick study.)

Once she explained the spell, he seemed to grasp the intent and put the cloak on without a word of complaint.

As always, the city overflowed with life.

Stone-paved roads bustled with footsteps, and buildings of earth and stone formed the walls of the lanes. Fabrics were strung between windows to soften the harsh sunlight yet admit a gentle glow into the shopping streets.

People flowed past; dogs and chickens darted at their feet. Tents lined both sides of the lanes, selling handmade ornaments and magical tools, hand-woven cloth, and spices newly brought from other lands. Folks paused to admire the many wares, and the sounds of bargaining and laughter never ceased.

Under one shop eave perched a beautiful, magical bird—an Aiolograph—tethered by the leg, and before another, a mage refilled a customer’s Akari-kago with light.

Children’s laughter added warmth to the lively scene.

Unaware of the Starseer’s prophecy, ordinary people went about their peaceful days.

“Look, Kardia. This is a magic card.”

Noi took a card from her handbag. A palm-sized sheet of hard metal, inscribed with a complex magic circle.

“Show this, and the bank will give you lots of money.”

As the kingdom’s greatest mage, Noi had once worked at the palace—five years, from age fifteen to twenty. In that time she fulfilled request after request, invented various magical tools, and filed patents for them all—amassing a vast personal fortune.

At twenty-four, in other words, Noi was already enjoying retirement.

When she smiled with a smug little grin, Kardia blinked rapidly and looked up at her with worry.

“A-are we… going to rob the bank?”

His voice was anxious, but there was resolve underneath—as if, should she say “we are,” he would brace himself. Noi flapped her hands in panic.

“No! Absolutely not! This isn’t a scheme to distract the tellers with the card and steal money!”

“O-oh, good.”

“Before shopping, I’ll teach you how a bank works. Come on.”

Keeping her promise, Noi held Kardia’s hand as they walked to the bank.

The bank that held the Esria Kingdom’s wealth stored enormous sums, guarded by the nation’s finest magical protections and ferocious magical creatures.

“Do you know where the bank is?”

“Yes. There’s a rumor about… a big cat.”

By “big cat,” Kardia meant the Esria Kingdom Bank’s gatekeeper: the Sphinx, called Nazomeguri.

Magical beings were ranked—from common magical beasts like Aiolographs, to rare holy beasts like the winged Zephyrai, and the sacred divine beasts, of which only one lived in the world at any time.

The Sphinx ranked among the highest divine beasts. Legend said the kingdom’s first king defeated it in a riddle contest long ago, and it had stayed ever since.

Left unattended, the Sphinx would pose riddles to any and all, and eat any who failed to answer—so the kingdom made it part of the bank’s defenses.

They passed through the stately gate into a forecourt.

There lay the Sphinx, lounging atop shallowly pooled water spread over stone.

It was huge: a cat’s face, a lion’s body, an eagle’s wings, a serpent’s tail.

It always lounged like a cat, yet its face alone stood taller than Noi.

The gate stood outdoors, yet since the bank’s founding the Sphinx had never once taken wing from here.

Tall columns encircled it in a ring. Those columns were famously repaired on a regular schedule—because the Sphinx liked to nibble them, playfully, with its great fangs.

“Sphinx, how are you today? It’s me—Noi.”

The Sphinx cracked one eye to regard her; its long whiskers swayed.

“Kardia, come stand here.”

Noi pointed to the tiles at her feet—an area large enough for three adults, set with tiles dyed a russet red. Kardia hopped onto them in a hurry.

Guards ringed the plaza in ranks, but none could hear the conversation within. A spell on the russet tiles compressed the air, keeping sound from leaking out.

“Well then, Sphinx. I need funds. Will you let us through?”

Noi raised her card. The Sphinx leaned close; when she pressed the card to its nose, the etched circle glowed faintly.

“Won’t it bite us?”

Kardia whispered.

“It only bites those who fail its riddles. And lower your voice—many divine beasts understand human speech.”

At her quiet warning, Kardia clamped his mouth shut.

The Sphinx read the card’s imprint of Noi’s mana. Mana, like voice or scent, was invisible yet unique to each person. No two humans shared the same mana, and one’s innate mana never changed.

Thus cards like these were used for the highest security.

Having verified the mana, the Sphinx opened its feline mouth and spoke in human words.

“In the lightless sea of nothing—”

Noi, practiced, replied in turn.

“—star-fall drops like a ladder.”

“A gentle horizon—”

“—a bridge of seven colors laid.”

“Silent repose—”

“—a rocking chair before the hearth.”

When the exchange ended, the Sphinx snorted, bored, and rose. The paving beneath where it had lounged yawned open, revealing the bank entrance.

They passed inside and started down the stairs; darkness fell again as the Sphinx reclined back over the opening.

The stair was narrow and long—single file, straight, with nowhere to hide. Noi lit the shell hanging at her neck with a spell; it glowed, casting a soft light.

She led the way and had Kardia hold the hem of her cloak.

“Was that a riddle?”

She had told him about the Sphinx before they came, so the question was natural.

“No. That was the code phrase for clients.”

The Sphinx’s riddling made for powerful security, but for depositors it would hardly do to be forced into a contest every visit—especially when failure meant death.

So the Sphinx posed riddles to intruders and code phrases to customers who presented a card.

Even a client who gave the wrong reply to the Sphinx’s prompt would be judged to have failed—and be swallowed whole. For that reason, anyone who banked here had to memorize their code phrase as if their life depended on it.

“Listen. You must memorize that phrase, but never write it down—and of course, tell it to no one.”

“I understand.”

Writing it posed a grave risk. If someone abused both card and phrase together, they could withdraw funds without the owner. Both required extreme care.

“Kardia. Do you remember the lines we just used?”

“Yes.”

Noi blinked, impressed.

“Then a review. ‘In the lightless sea of nothing—’”

“‘Star-fall drops like a ladder.’”

“‘A gentle horizon—’”

“‘A bridge of seven colors laid.’”

“‘Silent repose—’”

“‘A rocking chair before the hearth.’”

He recited it as if it were nothing. Noi glanced back with a radiant smile.

“Amazing! As expected, Kardia! How exceptionally clever you are!”

Smiling like spring, she patted his head twice. He narrowed his eyes and let her fuss.

Naturally, the Sphinx was not the bank’s only defense. After passing several more layers of security, Noi finally reached the counter.

Despite being underground, the lobby was bright. Tasteful furnishings decorated the hall; other customers milled about. On a sofa for weary patrons, an elderly couple—exhausted by the security gauntlet—rested shoulder to shoulder.

“Welcome, Lady Noi Galenée.”

Behind a polished mahogany counter, a clerk bowed deeply. Still holding Kardia’s hand, Noi held out her card.

“Every time I think this: I never want to come here again.”

“Every customer says the same.”

The clerk received her roughly proffered card with reverent hands.

“First, fill this bag with this much.”

She scribbled figures on a sheet; the clerk bowed.

The amount equaled about three months’ wages for an average adult man in Esria.

Noi glanced at Kardia. Captivated by his first sight of a bank, he was looking around with wide eyes.

Seeing he wasn’t paying attention, Noi quietly stated the other reason she had come.

“And—I have one more request. A certain procedure.”

The clerk answered that with only a glance and another bow, bag in hand.

“Understood in full.”