Chapter 5 - Snow White's Son

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

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The wall of thorns is dying... and perhaps, one by one, the rest will wither as well. Crow's thoughts then turned to his own magic. The power within his long, black hair would likely fade, too. Soon, he might no longer be able to fetch water from the well, or pluck apples from the trees, or even gather walnuts.

 

For now, he still had the strength to use his hair. He rolled up the seven pairs of leather shoes scattered across the fur rugs with his long strands, and neatly arranged them along the wall of the tower.

 

This magic, though, was not truly his—it was a borrowed power, gifted to him by the milk of the elves. It was not something that would last a lifetime.

 

Once the magic left him, Crow knew he could no longer survive alone in this tower. Should I leave the tower while I still can, and journey to the elves' home? I must move soon... or else I'll lose my strength, and starve to death in this place. But... I'm afraid. I'm afraid to leave.

 

The solitude of the past had been bearable, but the solitude of the future filled him with terror. His tears flowed without end.

 

Through his sobs, Crow gazed down at the seven pendants strung on his arm.

 

"Please... come back to me... if you can't... then take me with you."

 

Rather than face the world alone, Crow longed to vanish, to escape from this unbearable loneliness and fear. As he cupped the softly glowing stones in his trembling hands, his tears fell upon them, wetting their smooth surfaces.

 

But no matter how fervently he prayed, no miracle came. Despair took hold, and he wept even harder. One by one, he whispered their names, his voice trembling with sorrow.

 

"Ernst... Baze... Schuchten..."

 

He thought of each of the elves in turn, remembering their distinct, familiar faces. Though they had looked much alike, each had been utterly unique, and Crow mourned them all, their absence a hollow ache that nothing could fill.

 

"Please... just once more... I'll be better, I promise," he pleaded. But there was no answer.

 

Uncertain of what else to do, Crow began folding the seven sets of clothes, his hands moving in a daze. When the task was done, his desire to escape the unbearable reality pulled him toward the spiral staircase. He hurried down to the eighth floor, where his bedroom lay, longing to lie in his bed. If he could sleep, he thought, perhaps he could forget everything—escape from the thoughts of tomorrow, and dream happy dreams until death took him away.

 

His legs wobbled, but he forced himself down the stairs and into the room, where he quickly lit a candle. The dim light filled the space, casting a soft glow on the portrait of Crown Prince Kyle that hung upon the wall.

 

"Kyle..."

 

The moment his lips formed the name, Crow was reminded of the final words of Myude before the elf had faded from this world. Staring at the pendants on his arm, Crow gently stroked the stone that Myude had left behind and tilted his head in wonder.

 

Before vanishing, Myude had said something unbelievable: "You are the second prince of the Kingdom of Green Valley." He had said that with certainty, adding, "Every gift you received came from your elder brother, Crown Prince Kyle."

 

Could it be true? Crow thought, bewildered by a truth that he had never even dreamed of. Am I... the second prince? Kyle's brother?

 

It was a thought he never could have imagined, and now that it had been spoken, it was too much to process. Though in some ways, it was joyful news—a glimmer of hope amidst his despair—Crow could not bring himself to feel it.

 

After all, the notion of being brothers with Kyle felt utterly unreal. The portrait of Kyle depicted a tall, strong man, with golden hair that rippled like sunlight and brilliant blue eyes like gemstones. His skin was rosy with health, and his form was as noble as any prince could be.

 

What about Crow? Crow's hair was jet-black, straight as a blade. His eyes, too, were black as night, his skin pale as snow. His body, slender and fragile, had never grown to match that of a man. He looked like a child, delicate and slight, no matter how much time passed.

 

Could such different brothers even exist? Crow wondered. To him, the only siblings he had ever known were the seven elves, all so alike in form. Though he knew such similarity was rare among humans, he could not help but feel that Kyle and he were far too different.

 

Kyle...

 

Even knowing that the crown prince might be his brother did nothing to dull the allure of Kyle's portrait. Crow had long admired him from afar, dreaming of the day Kyle would greet him with a smile and whisper those thrilling words, "One day, I will come for you."

 

Could my dream come true? Crow asked himself. Kyle... are you truly my brother? What should I do? Should I leave this tower on my own and go to the castle to meet you? Or should I wait here in the tower, now that the wall of thorns is beginning to fall? Will you come for me? I don't know what to do.

 

Torn between the despair of losing the elves who had raised him and the fragile hope that the crown prince was his brother, Crow's heart was in turmoil. He stumbled toward the bed, his legs too weak to carry him further, and sank down onto the silken mattress.

 

From there, his gaze fell once more on Kyle's portrait. Through the prince's gentle smile, Crow's mind began to picture the unknown king of Green Valley and the late queen, Kyle's mother. Was the king's hair dark like his own? Or perhaps it was the queen, already passed from this world, who had borne the same black hair.

 

And then, as these thoughts floated through his mind, a quiet understanding dawned upon him.

 

I must look like my mother.

 

He recalled the words of the elves who had nurtured him: "You look exactly like our princess. She used to drink our milk, and thanks to our magic, she stayed young forever."

 

Crow had never imagined that the "princess" the elves spoke of could have been the queen of this very kingdom. But if he was indeed the second prince, then surely the late queen, his mother, must have had black hair, black eyes, and pale skin, just like his own.

 

It must be true. He thought with wonder. I should be his brother, after all... Even if we don't look alike, I am... the younger brother of Kyle, the crown prince, and the son of the king and queen.

 

His heart thudded with a sudden, joyful pulse. Though he had always known his mother was no longer alive, he had never been told of his father or any siblings. And now, though the king was said to be a lazy ruler, the idea that he was his father, and that the crown prince—his greatest admiration—was his brother, filled Crow with a joy that could not be contained.

 

The elves... they revealed this secret to me in their final moments. They entrusted me with the truth, in their last moments, to ensure I would go on living. They raised me with care, and I must honor that. I must continue to live, carrying their love with me.

 

Resolutely, Crow lifted his head, his spirit rising with newfound strength. Placing a hand over his chest, he made a solemn vow to himself. Though he wished to hold a proper funeral for his beloved elves, such a thing would be difficult. So, instead, he decided to don mourning clothes, to bid them farewell in his heart.

 

"I shall wear black... a black robe, and bid goodbye to the days we shared…"

 

Mustering what strength he had left, Crow opened the chest where his clothes were kept and took out a long black robe. Most of the garments Kyle had sent him were brightly colored, many in shades of red, but among them, there were a few in black and gray.

 

He dressed himself and stood before the mirror, gazing at his reflection. There stood a boy with long black hair, dressed in velvet black, seven pendants glittering on his left arm, each stone glowing faintly in the candlelight.

 

He looked, he thought, like a young sorceress.

 

Though the room was on the eighth floor of the tower, his hair still trailed up to the tenth. If he wished, he could close the window with just the ends of his hair or snake them down the spiral staircase like a slithering serpent.

 

If my brother sees me for the first time, dressed like this, with the appearance of a witch, perhaps he will think it an ill omen and feel uneasy. Just for tonight, I will mourn and sort through my thoughts. But when I meet my brother, I will wear brighter colors. Once I leave this tower, I won't need magic anymore. I'll cut my hair to a normal human length... and live a proper, healthy life.

 

Looking down at the stones on his arm, Crow felt the lingering strength of the elves. Though they were gone, he hadn't lost everything. The magic they had gifted him remained in his hair, and the stones radiated an even stronger power—proof that their presence still perdured.

 

Indeed, the stones were glowing, casting light into the surrounding darkness. And more than anything, Crow now had a brother to rely on.

 

Tonight, he would prepare to leave the tower. By morning, he would set out. His feet would walk the earth, and he would journey beyond the wall of thorns to the castle where his brother was waiting.

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