Chapter 12
Helen truly couldn’t understand Morton. She even wondered if he was just spouting some random excuse.
“What was the word? La mer?”
“No.”
“Mouette?”
“No, no.”
“Then what, balise?”
“It doesn’t matter what the word was.”
“It’s not vulgar, nor something that could trigger anyone’s trauma, so I can’t understand why you reacted so strongly. What kind of word was it…?”
Helen suddenly stopped speaking. She felt a distinct sense of incongruity from this blue-eyed man before her, someone fundamentally different from herself.
She unconsciously leaned toward Morton.
“Do you know what the word I’m saying means, and that’s why you say it’s wrong?”
“I only knew the pronunciation was wrong…”
“Captain, you understood all the words I just said.”
Morton stared at her grimly. This made no sense. Morton was the perfect Imperial citizen. And as an Imperial, he could not possibly understand a colonial language. This was an age when colonials were forced to abandon their tongue in favor of Imperial speech.
Helen’s language was one that deserved to be forgotten. Yet for an Imperial like Morton to understand it was simply inexplicable.
“Answer me.”
“Atwell, I—”
“La mer. What does it mean?”
“Atwell.”
“Please answer.”
Morton reluctantly opened his mouth.
For once, the man who always looked tired and gloomy seemed flushed with fear and bewilderment.
“…Sea.”
“Mouette.”
“Seagull.”
“Balise.”
“Lighthouse.”
“One last question. The name Sasha—”
At the mention of that name, Morton’s fingertips trembled. He prayed Helen wouldn’t bring it up again…
“Is Sasha a boy’s name or a girl’s name?”
Sasha was a boy’s name. Or was it a girl’s? The concepts clashed in Morton’s head. Sasha… the name…
A familiar male voice rang in his ears like a hallucination:
‘A sissy name, and you dare say it in front of me!’
“That’s enough.”
“Captain, answer—”
“Didn’t I say enough!”
He ended up raising his voice. It was too late to stop himself.
Morton immediately regretted it, but spilled water couldn’t be gathered up. He spoke in a deliberately calm tone:
“I never meant to upset you. I have no resentment toward your origins. All I want you to know is that, to me, you’re simply Sergeant Helen Atwell. So please, don’t dwell on it too much.”
And with that, Morton left as if running away. Helen stared at the back of his head as he walked away.
Wow, that lunatic. If he was just going to say his piece and run, why bother setting the mood?
Still, one thing was certain—Morton knew her language. And that fact gnawed at her curiosity. Why would a man like him know a language everyone was desperate to erase?
In the end, Helen had to return alone. She pulled out another sheet of stationery and began writing a second letter.
“To Enoch, who always listens to me and waits for me.
Enoch, Morton just apologized to me. There were more than a few suspicious points, but I’ll just settle for the fact that he apologized. A major lowering himself to me—that’s enough, I suppose.
Still, is it possible to feel this bad after receiving an apology? I think I need a change of mood. If your offer to use magic for me is still valid… is something like this possible?
When I was around ten, I went to the city to enjoy a winter festival called ‘Christmas.’ I was truly happy then. I just want to go back there for a moment… though I guess even magic can’t grant such a wish. Turning back time—there’s no such thing in the world.
No, forget it. Sorry for saying something so silly. I think I’m not in my right mind. See you later!**
—H.A.”
She signed her initials at the bottom, folded the paper, and set it down. As always, the stationery burned away on its own—meaning it had safely reached the wizard Enoch.
Helen sat alone in the barracks, gazing at the ceiling, then closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the air was slightly colder. There was even a faint breeze. Feeling that strange sensation impossible indoors, she opened her eyes wide.
Helen was no longer in the barracks. Not even on the airbase. She stood in the middle of a bustling festival.
“What the…?”
She clamped a hand over her mouth—her voice sounded strange. She looked down at her hands, then ran to a mirror shop to see her reflection.
Everything was taller, larger.
Helen was in the body of a ten-year-old child.
“What the hell!”
Her outburst drew scolding looks from nearby adults.
“Child, you shouldn’t use such foul language.”
“Looks like you won’t be getting a Christmas present.”
Just as Helen was about to retort and leave, someone ran up and grabbed her hand. A boy, around her age, neatly dressed in a coat and jacket like a young gentleman, called her name.
“Helen!”
Then, realizing his slip, he quickly added:
“No, I guess I should call you Camille now?”
Helen recognized him instantly.
It was Enoch as a child.
“Enoch?” Helen asked hesitantly.
Enoch nodded.
“I knew you’d recognize me!”
“Of course. Who else would greet me in the middle of Christmas like this?”
“You’re calmer than I expected.”
“Once you’ve been through a war, nothing really shocks you anymore.”
Enoch smiled and held out a small gloved hand.
“Since it’s our first time meeting face-to-face, shall we shake hands?”
“What handshake? That’s for people who feel awkward being alone together. Let me teach you the proper greeting.”
Without giving him a chance to prepare, Helen slapped him on the back. The sudden force made Enoch cough. Helen laughed, satisfied.
“Sorry, did that hurt?”
“You’re stronger than I expected.”
“I’ve been in the army long enough—of course I’d have this much strength.”
“But I turned you into your child self! Who’d imagine such strength from that small body? You really are amazing, Helen.”
Oh, right. I’m a child right now. Helen looked down at herself: long brown hair falling over an old sweater her grandmother Victoire had knitted.
Unlike her worn clothes, Enoch looked every bit the young master—quality leather gloves, neatly combed hair, a warm cashmere coat. He clearly grew up loved. Or maybe all wizards were born with gold coins in their mouths.
One other thing caught her attention.
“You’re blond?”
Enoch shrugged.
“Yeah, somehow.”
“You were blond? I thought you’d have brown hair like me. And your eyes are different too. Didn’t you say you had gray eyes? Did you lie?”
“I was blond as a kid. Past tense. You know how hair color can change as you grow.”
“Couldn’t we have just met as adults?” Helen grumbled.
Enoch replied, “You said you wanted to go back to your childhood.”
“That doesn’t mean I needed to look like a kid.”
“Helen, I turned back time in your memories. In other words, I’m showing you your past. That’s why you had to return to your child form too.”
“Then what about you?”
“Me?”
“Why are you a kid?”
Enoch blinked, as if the answer was obvious, and smiled.
“Because I wanted to look you in the eye while we talked.”
Helen stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly grabbed his hand. The feeling—the temperature of the cold glove—felt unreal.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To see the Christmas tree.”
