Colchis is raining.

It wasn't until he stepped out of the hatch that Fogrem realized this. He had just seen the rain running down the viewing window and heard the thud of the glass being slammed, but he still didn't notice it.

He doesn't need to think about these things.

She was in his arms, and she had changed into a robe that was too wide for her, and the hem of her was whisking across the sand. As soon as he looked down, Vogrim could see her peaceful expression, with a hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth, as if she sighed silently.

It's okay. She seemed to be saying. It's all right, Lord Fogham.

The little one followed him in silence, his footsteps steady, heavy beyond the weight of ordinary children, and even yesterday he was stumbling and pulling at the corner of his mother's skirt to learn to walk.

Is that the reason for Operation Shelley? Vogrim realized that he was shirking his responsibilities. He could almost imagine the tech priest staring at him with gray-blue eyes, and then saying—

"Death is the right of mortals, and the choice of death is even more so. Folgrim, even if you can easily play with their minds, realize that they can say no. ”

Two shovels sway on relatively immature shoulders, one large and one small. The phoenix found them by the hatch, and Shelley was always ready for anything. The blade is sharp, and it can even be said to be very fresh, almost as if it has just been cast.

Maybe it's just been cast.

He took the little one to a sand dune not far away, where the sand layer was thinner and he could see an oasis a hundred meters away. He would have liked to be buried there, but wetness also meant the flourishing of microorganisms, which he refused.

"Right here." Fogham whispered, carefully setting the woman aside, taking the shovel from the little thing's shoulder, and drawing a rough line on the sand. "Dig down from here, okay?"

The little thing nodded, because it couldn't see clearly with its head down.

The rain in the desert is cold, and there is no restraint here, only the heat and cold, as fierce as the people raised here. The rain soaked Phoenix's beautiful silver hair, making his robe cling to his body. He bent down and slashed hard.

The little guy also worked hard, and every time he plunged deep into the sand. After digging a few tens of centimeters of sand, you can see gray soil, mixed with a little gravel.

"Don't be in a hurry." Fogrem couldn't help but remind, the rain running down his face.

He didn't say it was okay, the little one seemed to have been pressed by a switch, and the hoe was swinging like a little windmill, and the sand was splashing, and from time to time it hit the small pebbles that were mixed in with it. Seeing this, Phoenix also closed his mouth and concentrated on the work at hand.

With the cooperation of the two primordial bodies, a pit half a man long and half a man wide was quickly dug. Foggrim's attempt to express his emotions in this way also failed, and on the contrary, he felt that his heart was heavier.

"Well," he said, "it's really good." ”

The little thing didn't answer, and it didn't stop. His steps had begun to float, and his movements began to weaken, but he still barely swung his hoe, even if it landed on the sand, leaving only a white mark.

Fogrem dropped his hoe and pressed it on his shoulder. "You're tired today, rest."

It didn't work.

Phoenix sighed and knelt down on one knee, pressing her knees deep into the sand to get as close to the child's height as possible. He semi-forcibly removed the shovel from the little one's hand and turned the latter to face him.

A pair of similar, but blazing violet eyes glared at him, unquenched in the pouring rain.

Fogham pressed his palm to his cheek, feeling a slight resistance in his palm, but he didn't refuse.

"She wouldn't want to see you like that." Phoenix said.

The golden-skinned little guy nodded. Vogrim pressed the back of his head and told him to put his forehead against his own, his lips moving, but in the end he didn't say more.

"Now, let's bury her, shall we?"

The ritual was simple and solemn, and they lowered the woman lightly into the grave, as if fear had disturbed the sleeping soul. Fogrem leaned over to smooth out the hem of her robe, and the little one sprinkled the first handfuls of dirt with his own hands. As her face faded into the sand, the sound of snorting finally rang out.

"I'm sorry," Fogrem might have said to himself, "never again." ”

They built a small mound. Fogham hesitated, but still didn't put any souvenirs on it.

"Now, we should observe a moment of silence."

They stood silently in front of the grave for a few minutes, the rain properly wetting the floating soil and erasing the traces of the new repair, and the little one wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Why did she leave me, didn't I do well enough?" He has a thick nasal voice, but is very fluent, which is very different from the way he used to learn his tongue.

"No, you're fine. She's just ...... It's too tired, and we have to respect her wishes. ”

"Doesn't she love me?"

"She loves a lot, but there are many things that love can't solve, and you will know it when you grow up."

The little thing nodded vigorously, and the cry in his voice became heavier. "Was she tired in the first place?"

“…… Yes, I'm sorry, I didn't know it would be like this, I really don't know. ”

"It's okay...... Mom was very happy in the end, and I could feel that it wasn't fake. ”

"I'm sorry ......"

"I forgive you."

After a long time, Fogham broke the silence. "I didn't ask her name, I ......" the sharp-toothed phoenix struggled to find the words.

"It's fine."

"I don't even know her name, and she doesn't know her." Fogham repeated, grinding the sand with the tip of his shoe. "People should have names."

He watched as the rain continued to fall, seeping into the tiny mound. Colchis was supposed to be arid, but after they came, it always seemed to rain, as stubborn as some kind of anomalous foreshadowing.

"Luo Jia." Fogrem spoke, his voice finally no longer trembling. "Your name is Roga." In Colchis, the name means "raincaller".

Luo Jia replied softly.

Then the phoenix began to sing, a tune from the old days of Chemoth. It is said that this is how the gentle and long-lived water spirit sent his companions back to the water.

A small voice followed his melody, jerky at first, but soon followed, as if echoes of perfect harmony.

In the Twilight, Victor sat by the viewing window, bent one leg, lazily sharpening his never-ending knife, looking at the two blurred figures in the rain. They loomed, but he knew they were going to come back eventually.

It's like rain will fall.