Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic

Two of the three wishes were quite difficult, but the remaining one happened to coincide with Shard's speculation today about the "Matchstick Girl". In fact, associating the title of this deity who fell in the Fifth Era of 1068 with fairy tales was almost inevitable.

After a moment's consideration, Shard looked at the owner of the toy shop, a young man in a ludicrous hat who was staring at him.

"There's not much time, I'll try to tell a fairy tale today to fulfill the wish of the story. As for the wishes for growth and strength, I shall attend to them next time."

"Of course, that's fine. From now until you leave, they can temporarily understand the language you're using."

The Saint stepped out from behind the counter and clapped his hands, and five high stools appeared on the empty ground in front of the counter. The two men took their seats and the three children climbed onto the chairs with joy and sat down properly, their hands on their knees.

Their orderly appearance somehow reminded Shard of marionettes being manipulated. Even if a deity bore no malice toward mortals, mortals still could not interact with a deity for long periods of time.

Everyone looked at Shard with eyes full of expectation. Organizing his thoughts, Shard cleared his throat, knowing what he was about to do:

"Oh, children, I am now going to tell a very old tale, a tale whose exact time of occurrence is no longer verifiable, but it is most certainly true."

The three children watched Shard with shining eyes, even the eldest girl seemed captivated by the opening words.

"It was a cold winter, with snowflakes falling like knives, yet as soft as goose feathers. It was a street dimly lit by the light..."

The Saint waved his hand behind him, and the light inside the toy shop suddenly dimmed. Darkness enveloped the five people seated together, snowflakes falling around them in the faint moonlight, transforming their surroundings into a desolate and cold derelict street.

Shard looked up at the sky, squinting slightly, and saw above him only a Silvermoon, without a trace of the Yellow Moon or the Red Moon.

He pondered in his heart but the story did not stop. Seeing the environment change around him, he wondered if the "Creator of Innocence" had truly no power, as the young man just smiled at him, encouraging him to continue.

"The girl walked barefoot, wearing a pair of slippers, her feet turning violet from the cold, and her clothes patched beyond count. She wrapped her golden hair with a tattered headscarf, huddled up carrying a little basket, and wandered the streets."

The three children looked around and sure enough saw a girl slowly walking through the snowy ground. They all uttered an "Oh~" in amazement. Shard hesitated, then continued:

"She was very tired, hungry, and cold. But she had to sell the matches in her basket before her father would allow her to return home. The girl stopped in front of a brightly lit shop window, gazing into the magnificent hall inside the window. It was ... festive season, and inside the window was a bustling restaurant, with roasted chicken on the tables beneath the decorative trees."

Around the girl, the dilapidated street suddenly brightened up, the window showing her the life of the rich. Her hands, purple from the cold, clutched the basket as she stopped in front of the window, her eyes sparkling as she looked inside.

Faces of the children showed surprise, and Shard suddenly felt a pang of remorse.

"She was so cold that she hugged herself and rested against a wall. The snow fell heavier, and the girl took out a box of matches from her basket, struck one to warm herself. In the light of the match, she saw a warm, glowing fireplace, but just as she stretched her feet out, the match went out, leaving her with nothing but a burnt matchstick."

The girl on the street lit a match, mesmerized by the flame, only for it to go out again. This time, the Saint did not manifest the illusionary part that Shard described. What they saw was simply the harsh reality.

"She struck another match, and a roast goose leaped out of the platter, fork and knife in its back, walking toward her. But the match went out yet again, and before her were only piles of cold snowflakes."

The children listened intently to Shard's story, only the boy who asked for a "story" watched him, while the slightly older girl and boy looked at the illusions created by the Saint.

"Then, she struck a match for the third time, and this time, she sat under a beautiful tree with gift boxes stacked underneath."

The Saint suddenly arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

"The little girl reached out for the nearest red box, but once again the match went out. So, she struck the matches for the fourth time. This time, she saw her beloved grandmother in the glow of the flame, with all her gentleness and affection. She didn't want her grandmother to leave, so she hurriedly struck all the matches at once."

The children saw the girl huddled up front light the matches, and this time, the illusionary part described by Shard also appeared.

But the figure who appeared on the snowy street was not the loving grandmother Shard had described; it was a tall figure in a black cloak, holding a scythe.

In the cultural customs of this world, that symbolized death.

Shard's speech slowed as he looked at the Old God [Creator of Innocence] with doubt, but the latter shook his head.

There wasn't much time left, so Shard brought the story to a close:

"In the glow of the matchstick, the grandmother took her in her arms, and they flew away into the brightness and joy, higher and higher, to a place where there was no cold, hunger, or pain."

The black-robed figure reached out and took the girl's hand.

As Shard watched the scene, his pace unconsciously slowed:

"The next day, the sun rose and shone upon her tiny corpse."

A phantom drifted out from the girl, holding hands with the black-robed person, and together they vanished along with the Illusionary Realm of the street.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The warm and bright toy store returned to the presence of the five people, children still immersed in the story. Shard looked toward the Deity from the Bygone Days, who clapped his hands:

"A fine story, even though the ending isn't so lovely, but for children, this is the best kind of story."

The boy who had asked Shard for a story also turned to him, holding a teddy bear, and said timidly:

"Sir, that was really a good story. Does this story have a name?"

"The Little Match Girl."

After reciting the fairytale's name, Shard hesitated for a moment, then posed a question:

"And what, may I ask, is your name?"

"Sir, my name is Park Chad."

Shard nodded, taking note of the name. The Saint had already returned to the counter and smiled:

"Children, so what have you all understood from this story?"

"Power! You must have power to control your own fate!"

The girl shouted from atop the high stool.

"Growth! Little kids can't do anything at all!"

The boy holding a toy sword said.

"The story, sir, a story doesn't need a meaning, doesn't need to preach, a story just needs to touch the heart."

The youngest boy looked at the Saint, who smiled and shook his head:

"Yes, you're right. Child, you will surely become an outstanding fairytale writer. That is my blessing to you."