"Half right."
"What does that mean?"
Nanoda had never had any occasion to think about how time travel might affect the nature of worldlines — and that was before factoring in that this was an entirely different world to begin with.
"In my view, the worldline is composed of countless infinitesimal threads, yet taken as a whole it remains singular. Every branching point, every choice, unfolds as though fated to happen. Only magic that has reached the divine realm is capable of exerting any true influence upon the worldline."
"Like this Return Magic?"
Its voice resonated once more through the inner space of her mind.
"Precisely. And even with that magic in hand, the future is not necessarily changed. The worldline possesses its own corrective force — minor alterations will not meaningfully redirect the overall course of things."
"So it converges back on itself?"
Nanoda recalled a concept she had come across many times before.
"That phrasing captures it rather well." It paused, then continued: "There are exceptions, however. If a sufficiently large and significant shift occurs along the worldline — one that exceeds the corrective force the world is capable of generating — then it becomes highly possible for an entirely new, independent worldline to branch off. Such a worldline could be said to have become multiple, while still remaining, in another sense, one."
"Is that what you were worried about just now?"
"Exactly. If this child truly is the Mage who, a thousand years ago, shaped the entire history of human magic for generations to come — her disappearance could produce a massive disruption in the worldline. You would find yourself carried into a new worldline, and the future you return to would be altered as a result."
Without Flamme, it was entirely possible that Frieren might have perished in her very first confrontation with a demon general — taking her enemy down with her in a blaze of mutual destruction.
Without Flamme, what of the barriers and spells she later invented? Would human Mages have been ground into the dust by the Demon Race before they ever truly had a chance to grow?
The question that mattered most to Nanoda, however, was this: in a future altered by such upheaval — would Gaderia Territory still exist?
"Haaah—" Nanoda let out a long sigh. "So what am I supposed to do with you?"
Nanoda had been completely silent until that moment. The sudden outburst made little Flamme jump out of her skin.
Do with her?
The fear took hold of her legs before her mind could catch up. Little Flamme stumbled backward a few unsteady steps, trembling.
It was then that He seized control of the body.
"Don't trouble yourself over that. Someone will resolve it for us."
As the words left the mouth, a layer of shifting camouflage rippled across Nanoda's form, and the entire silhouette began to blur and dissolve.
"I'm letting you go. Follow that Mage."
With those parting words, the demon simply ceased to exist — vanishing from thin air without a trace.
Little Flamme stood rooted to the spot, her mind slow to catch up. She blinked, looked around in every direction — nothing. Not a single thing.
The demon had just… let her go?
She didn't quite believe it. She thrust both hands out toward the place where the demon had disappeared, grasping at empty air. There was nothing there — not like invisibility, but as though it had simply ceased to exist altogether.
She had actually survived?
For reasons she couldn't quite explain, little Flamme exhaled — a slow, releasing breath. The fear ebbed away, and in its wake, grief came rolling in. She sank slowly to the ground, her legs giving out beneath her, and tears slid down from the corners of her eyes as her lips moved in a broken murmur.
"Everyone… is gone now…"
She was still only a child, when all was said and done. That she had held herself together this long already spoke to a quiet, stubborn courage.
A breeze stirred through the ruins behind her, carrying with it the last dying embers and flecks of ash, scattering tiny points of black and red through the air.
A figure came walking slowly around from the other side of the rubble — her pace unhurried and aimless, her pale golden hair drifting freely, and her dark golden eyes heavy with a sleepy, languid calm.
The loose white robe billowed gently around her small frame, making her look, if anything, even smaller beneath its volume.
Bare feet stepped through the cracked and uneven rubble as though magic had been laid upon them — not a speck of dust clung to them, white as ever.
When Serie noticed the girl weeping alone in the clearing, a rare flicker of interest crossed her face.
That child had the makings of a Mage.
After so many centuries, Serie had long since developed the ability to perceive, through instinct and observation alone, the depth of any living creature's affinity with magic and its latent potential.
Subtle as it was, the Mana hidden within that girl was unmistakably real.
What Serie had not expected was to find a survivor like this in a village that had been struck down by the Demon Race.
"Are you the only one who made it?"
Little Flamme hadn't even noticed Serie walk up behind her. The sudden voice sent her heart lurching — for a horrible instant she thought the demon had come back.
She spun around — and found a golden-haired elf standing there, barely a head taller than herself.
In that moment, little Flamme forgot she had even been crying. She tilted her tear-streaked face upward and stared blankly. "You… who are you?"
"Serie. And you?" Serie offered a relatively gentle smile.
"Flamme…" Reassured that it wasn't a demon, little Flamme studied this unfamiliar elf with cautious eyes.
"Flamme — that's a fine name. I happen to be a great Mage. Would you like to take me as your master? I can teach you magic powerful enough to defeat the Demon Race."
Serie wasted no further words. Her Mana surged outward, raising an invisible wave that rolled through the air around her.
Little Flamme understood only the vaguest idea of what a Mage was — she couldn't say for certain whether this person was truly a great one — but the power radiating off her felt very, very real.
At the mention of magic that could defeat the Demon Race, the memory came flooding back: cowering in her mother's arms, watching the demons slaughter the village.
In that moment, the terror had been so total that it had left no room even for anger — only grief and sorrow.
"Really? Your magic can actually beat those monsters?"
Her voice trembled with something that was almost excitement. Little Flamme's large eyes went wide and round.
"Of course. With my guidance, the next time you encounter demons attacking a village, you will be able to avenge everyone who was lost." As she spoke, Serie extended one hand toward Flamme, who was still kneeling on the ground. "So — will you be my apprentice? This is an opportunity that doesn't come around even once in a hundred years."
Little Flamme thought about it for just a moment, then nodded — firmly, decisively.
She wanted to grow strong. She never wanted anyone close to her to be hurt by the Demon Race again.
The tears had stopped. She reached her small hand out.
When their palms met, a warmth flowed through her.
A faint smile touched Serie's face as well. "Good. You are my first apprentice in this age."
With that, she crouched partway down, extended her other hand, and helped Flamme to her feet from behind.
Then Serie turned around, crouched down again fully, and presented her back to Flamme.
She could see that this small human child had pushed herself as far as she could go. She was exhausted.
"Come on — I'll carry you."
After a brief hesitation, little Flamme reached up and wrapped her arms around Serie's neck, clinging to her back.
Serie hooked her hands under Flamme's small legs to keep her from slipping.
The warmth pressed against her chest felt faintly unreal to Flamme — she had barely known what was happening, and somehow she had taken a complete stranger of an elf as her master.
As though it had been fated all along.
Feeling the faint tickle and sweet scent drifting from Serie's golden hair, Flamme lowered her head and rested it against Serie's back, and slowly let her eyes close.
"Thank you."
It felt like falling into a field of wheat. It felt like sinking into a mother's arms. Exhaustion rose up and swept over her, and she drifted peacefully to sleep.
"Strange… am I imagining things?"
After taking Flamme onto her back, Serie let her gaze drift toward the empty air to the side.
She deployed every detection-type spell at her disposal in a single instant — and sensed nothing whatsoever.
____
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🔥 New history: Danmachi: Summoning Ruri Gokou, And other Chuunibyou Brats
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