Sigmund stared absently at her hair. At first, it had been strangely short, but now it had grown long enough to be tucked behind her ear. It seemed to represent the time they had spent together.
“Why do you ask?”
He gently tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled the blanket over her exposed shoulder. Romiya, clutching the blanket like it was her cloak, sat up beside him, following his movements. Though she still wore a smile, there was a hint of nervousness in her expression.
“I know transcendent beings live longer than humans, but I don’t know their exact lifespan. How long do they live?”
Sigmund had always known this conversation would come. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, though.
“There’s no set lifespan. But compared to humans, it’s unimaginably long. Like the stars in the sky, we live for thousands of years.”
Because he had prepared for this moment, he was able to answer calmly.
“Thousands of years?”
“Yes.”
Romiya’s face suddenly filled with fear. Sigmund’s long fingers brushed beneath her eyes.
“What frightens you so?”
“Thousands of years… It’s much longer than I imagined.”
“Do I seem strange to you now?”
“No, that’s not it.”
Romiya shook her head, biting her lip nervously.
“The truth is, I read about it in a history book recently. Stories about humans who became involved with transcendent beings. Since transcendent beings live so much longer, humans are just a fleeting amusement to them.”
Sigmund froze. His brow furrowed, and his voice grew sharper.
“So? Do you think I see you as a momentary amusement? Is that why you ask about my lifespan, doubting my sincerity?”
“No, that’s not it.”
Romiya quickly took his hand, trying to soothe him.
“It’s just… it’s true that my life is much shorter. I know you’re sincere with me now, but that can’t last forever, can it?”
Sigmund pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He feared he might get angry at her if he didn’t.
“Someday, far in the future, you’ll form new bonds, won’t you? Like the other transcendent beings do.”
“It sounds like you want me to be like the other transcendent beings.”
“To be honest, yes. That’s the natural order, isn’t it?”
“The natural order…”
He had always known it was the natural order for Romiya to die before him. Even during their happy days together, that painful thought had crept into his mind. At first, he tried to prepare himself, imagining life after she was gone, but eventually, he gave up. Even the thought of it was unbearably painful. The longer they spent together, the worse it became.
“And honestly, I think that’s what will happen, whether I want it to or not. Nothing can last forever, right?”
Her hand gently stroked his hair, and Sigmund closed his eyes.
He hated how she spoke of her own death so casually. And it infuriated him that she could even mention the possibility of him having another lover.
He wished she would cling to him, begging him to love only her, even though it was impossible. He wished she would selfishly demand that, even after her death, he never look at another woman.
“Yes, you’re probably right.”
Sigmund swallowed his burning frustration and muttered softly. That was the answer Romiya wanted to hear, after all. As he had guessed, she smiled in relief.
“Oh, I’m so glad.”
“Glad?”
“You’ve been so kind lately… I was starting to worry.”
“Worry? That I would mourn you forever after you’re gone?”
“To be honest, yes.”
Romiya let out an embarrassed laugh. Sigmund felt as if his heart had been sliced by a blade, but he smiled gently.
“You’re not hoping for that, are you?”
“Oh, come on, how could I?”
Romiya waved her hand dismissively.
“I know my place. I’ll only desire as much as I’m allowed. So, with that in mind…”
Her cheeks flushed slightly as she hesitated. Then, as if making a firm decision, she looked Sigmund in the eyes.
“I may not be your last lover, but I am your first, right?”
“That’s true.”
“Then, would you… marry me?”
Sigmund froze.
“Marriage?”
“Humans have a thing called marriage when they love each other. What do you think about marrying me?”
Sigmund forced a smile, though his mind was still clawing at the thought of what would happen after she was gone. But even so, he didn’t want to disappoint Romiya, who was nervously watching him.
“It’s a good idea.”
“S-so, you’ll really marry me?”
“Why are you so surprised? Didn’t you propose because you wanted me to say yes?”
“Well, yes, but still…”
Sigmund’s smile deepened.
“Or is there some other human custom I don’t know about? Do people normally blush and feel shy after proposing?”
“Sigmund!”
Romiya glared playfully, realizing he was teasing her. Sigmund laughed and kissed her on the cheek. At that moment, Romiya couldn’t have known that, even as he smiled, his heart was tearing apart inside.
“I’ll accept your proposal, but on one condition.”
“A condition?”
“How about we build a kingdom together?”
“A kingdom? Where did that come from all of a sudden?”
“Didn’t you once say it would be nice if there were a country where ordinary people could live happily?”
“But doing something that grand… I don’t know if I could…”
“You’re being too modest. If you dare to be the wife of a transcendent, you should at least have that level of ambition. Am I wrong?”
“W-well, I guess not…”
“I’ll give it my all too. With the blessing of a transcendent, it will surely become the kind of kingdom you’ve always dreamed of.”
And even after you’re gone, the kingdom bearing your mark will endure. Your descendants will thrive in that land, and I’ll protect it, chasing your memory.
As Sigmund’s persuasion continued, Romiya, who had initially been overwhelmed, eventually nodded.
“Then… shall we try it? Building a kingdom, I mean. But… where do we even begin?”
“First, we’ll need to choose a location for the kingdom. I think near the sea would be best.”
“The sea? Why the sea?”
Instead of answering, Sigmund pressed his lips gently to the corner of her blue eyes. Romiya, oblivious, giggled as if it tickled. Every time I see the sea, I’ll remember this laughter, he thought, feeling a sense of relief.
* * *
After Genos was established, Sigmund became its first king. Once the kingdom stabilized, the royal wedding followed, and soon after, a child was born. Despite transcendent beings not naturally possessing paternal love, Sigmund found his child astonishingly precious the first time he held them. It wasn’t quite the same as human paternal love.
He didn’t love the child simply because it was his own but because it was Romiya’s. The child was precious because they inherited her blood, her likeness.
Time flowed like water after that.
Those were sweet and beautiful days. Days that could not have been more radiant or perfect.
But eventually, the end came.
Romiya’s health began to decline rapidly just after their first child reached adulthood. Sigmund couldn’t accept it. Even taking into account the brevity of human life, it seemed far too short. He hadn’t hoped for much—just that she would live a long enough life by human standards. He hadn’t wished for immortality.
Fate was cruel.
In the end, Sigmund broke his own taboos, seeking ways to extend her life. As a transcendent, it was within his power if he were willing to face the consequences. But Romiya stopped him.
“Don’t do that. I want to live as I should.”
“Romiya.”
“Just because it’s short doesn’t mean it was meaningless. Ever since I met you, every moment of my life has been perfect. Even if I lived two hundred years, I wouldn’t be happier than I am now.”
He wanted to beg her to reconsider. To tell her that every single day with her was unbearably precious. But he couldn’t.
It wasn’t just that Romiya feared a long life.
At some point, Romiya had realized it too—that Sigmund was different from other transcendent beings. That he wouldn’t be able to easily forget her. And so, she feared the loneliness he would face once she was gone.
Extending her life wouldn’t solve that. Whether they spent twenty years or two hundred together, the end would come all the same.
So, Romiya believed it was better for her life to remain short.
If the end was inevitable, perhaps it was better that her mark on him be lighter.
Knowing her heart, Sigmund eventually gave up on extending her life. Like other transcendent beings, he pretended her death was no great matter.
Even so, Romiya seemed to sense his true feelings. She often asked him to promise her things for the future.
That day was no different.
“Sig.”
It was a night when the moon was as bright as the day they first met. Romiya, nestled against him, slowly opened her fading eyes.
“After I die… you’ll find another lover, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You really must.”
“You dream too big. Do you think someone as great as I am can be monopolized by you alone?”
Romiya smiled weakly at Sigmund’s usual playful teasing.
Sigmund rested her head against his chest. His eyes burned with tears.
The end was near.
As a transcendent, he could feel her life force fading from her body.
“You know…”
“I’m listening. Say what’s on your mind.”
“Don’t fall in love with someone who looks like me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll keep thinking of me…”
“…”
“Won’t you?”
Sigmund closed her eyelids instead of answering. He didn’t want her to see him cry. Hot tears flowed down the back of his hand instead of her cheeks.
“Yes. I promise.”
Romiya gave a faint, relieved smile. That was her final breath.
* * *
“A mess, aren’t you?”
At the sound of a familiar voice, Sigmund slowly opened his eyes. Kaiten stood before him, arms crossed, staring down at him.
“What brings you here?”
“What’s with that look?”
“Have you come to advise me to forget about the death of my so-called plaything, like a proper transcendent?”
Sigmund brushed the dust from his black mourning clothes and staggered to his feet.
“You should know by now that such advice is utterly useless to me. So, why are you here?”
Kaiten raised an eyebrow at Sigmund’s flat, emotionless tone. Sigmund let out a short, deflated laugh.
“Did you expect me to hold a grudge? Well, there was a time I did… But I managed. Now, though… I feel like I want to resent you all over again.”
Sigmund chuckled weakly as he rubbed his chin. His once slightly graying beard had vanished, leaving behind a smooth face without a single wrinkle.
While Romiya was alive, Sigmund had adjusted his appearance to age alongside her. By the time she closed her eyes, he had taken on the appearance of a man in his middle years, with wrinkles around his eyes and streaks of gray in his hair.
Romiya had often teased him, wondering why anyone would want to grow old, but Sigmund had enjoyed it. It made him feel, at least outwardly, like a mortal, like her.
But the play had ended.
After Romiya’s death, Sigmund returned to his original form, the youthful, beautiful face that humans revered.
Sigmund glanced briefly at his reflection in the mirror, then slowly tilted it forward, covering it.
“Let’s get to the point. Why are you here?”
“How long do you plan to live like this?”
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
Kaiten’s voice boomed.
“You’ve completed your task, haven’t you? You restored order to the world. Isn’t it time for you to return?”
“Do I need permission from the Elders to keep playing around here? Am I a child in need of supervision?”
“For a mere amusement, you’ve gone to these lengths?”
“A mere amusement… Well, yes. If it had been nothing more than a mere amusement, I wouldn’t have wanted to die like this. Who would’ve thought I’d envy the short lives of humans this much?”
As Sigmund chuckled darkly, Kaiten’s expression grew serious.
“Sigmund! Don’t tell me… You aren’t thinking of breaking the taboo…”
“I’m not. As much as I want to, I won’t. I made her a promise, after all.”
The taboo Kaiten was worried about was the act of resurrecting the dead.
Resurrection wasn’t impossible, but it required a tremendous price, and the consequences were severe.
There were different kinds of death. Deaths caused by the interference of another, by twisted fate, could be reversed if one paid a price greater than what was initially sacrificed.
But a death like Romiya’s—a natural death at the end of a lifespan—was different.
For someone as nearly immortal as Sigmund, resurrecting her would mean giving up most of his life force and power. Even that wouldn’t be the end. Forcing fate to bend left scars on the world, and no one could predict how or when those scars would distort and threaten the living.
That’s why Sigmund couldn’t break the taboo. Genos, the kingdom Romiya left behind, was a human nation, after all.
“So don’t worry. And now, leave. I won’t break the taboo, but I also won’t return to the world of transcendent beings. I still have things to do here.”
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