Chapter 11: Hesta’s Eagle
“Where are we going next?” Hesta asked.
“The next step is the final one, and it might hurt a little.” Chiba raised her right hand and gently wiped the inside of her wrist. “We’re going to implant a chip with identification information right here. But don’t worry about the operation itself—it’s done under local anesthesia, so you won’t feel a thing—”
“No anesthesia.”
“Huh?”
“No anesthesia,” Hesta repeated firmly.
Chiba looked at her. “...Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
...
On the semi-open surgical table, Hesta sat upright on a padded seat, extending her right hand beyond the window where a mechanical arm was precisely cutting her thin flesh.
Chiba, dressed in sterile clothing, stood a few meters away, watching thoughtfully. The girl’s forehead was dotted with sweat, and her complexion gradually paled—clear signs of pain.
After the operation, the two moved to another sterile room for observation.
“Why refuse anesthesia?” Chiba asked.
“...I just don’t want it.”
Chiba gazed at Hesta’s exhausted, worn face and paused her questioning. After a moment, she suddenly said, “Have you ever heard the story of ‘Hesta’s Eagle’?”
Hesta stared at her wrist. “...A little.”
“How little?”
“The Hesta people... live in the northern part of District Fourteen,” Hesta whispered. “They take the eagle as their totem—”
“Hahaha, I knew it,” Chiba interrupted with a smile. “That’s a common misunderstanding from outsiders. The eagle is actually a guardian spirit, not a totem. Their totem is the horse.”
“Is that so?” Hesta’s voice was almost a murmur. “This is the first time I’ve heard that.”
Chiba continued, “The Hesta have a tradition: when their children turn twelve, they tattoo an eagle on their wrist to mark their coming of age... How old are you this year?”
“Eleven,” Hesta answered.
“That’s a year early,” Chiba chuckled. “I just thought your refusal of anesthesia was because of that tradition.”
Hesta whispered, “Sister Gerdin once warned us that drugs entering the bloodstream directly dull one’s reactions...”
“Forget everything those old nuns taught you,” Chiba said, folding her arms. “Trust modern science, Jan.”
Hesta adjusted her breathing slightly and looked at Chiba. “Would you tell me the story of ‘Hesta’s Eagle’ now?”
Chiba didn’t answer immediately. Telling the story wasn’t difficult, but in this moment, it felt like a mother caring for her daughter or a sister comforting her younger sibling.
“Is it inconvenient?” Hesta asked again.
The observation room was empty. Chiba glanced up at the clock on the wall straight ahead—twenty minutes left until observation ended.
“Alright,” she said, bracing herself. “Anyway... there’s nothing else to do.”
“‘Hesta’s Eagle’ is a story widely told across the snowy plains of northern District Fourteen,” Chiba began softly. “Long ago, in the northern snowfields, there was a giant eagle. Its beak was as large as a mountain peak, thousands of miles long. When the bird took flight, its shadow stretched across the land and sky.
“This male eagle was named ‘Hesta.’ Its shadow held a certain magic—any living creature standing beneath it could receive the greatest happiness of the mortal world.
“At dawn, Hesta’s eagle would rise with the first light and fly from the southernmost to the northernmost reaches. So every day, all newborn life on earth would bathe once in the eagle’s shadow.
“Thus, there was no conflict in the land. Whether birds, beasts, plants, or vines, all were immersed in peace and fulfillment.
“But the eagle gradually weakened through this process. Its beak shrank from a mountain-sized peak to a lone summit, then to a lake’s size... During this time, its wings also shrank until it could no longer shelter all life beneath its feathers.
“Yet even so, the eagle still took flight with each sunrise.
“Until the final time, when it had grown too old to lift its wings, it fell on the northern snowfield. Its wings became arms, its talons turned into feet, and it was reborn as a human infant. The sheep and horses of the grasslands, along with all creatures once cared for by the eagle, came to nurture this child.
“In Hesta mythology, this is how their ancestors came to be. It may sound fantastical, but most myths are like that... Do you like the story?”
“It’s very interesting.” Hesta leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, softly agreeing. “Thank you.”
...
Around three in the afternoon, Chiba left the reserve training base.
Before leaving, Hesta looked up at the woman who had rescued her from the convent and was now her guardian, unsure of what to say.
Chiba crouched down, grasping Hesta’s shoulders firmly with both hands.
“This is where we part.”
Hesta gazed into Chiba’s gray eyes—at times like this, when caught in bright light, they shimmered with a silvery glow.
“...Do you have any advice for me?” Hesta asked quietly.
Chiba furrowed her brow, clearly pondering seriously. After a moment, she stood and patted Hesta’s small head.
“Nothing much. If I had to say something...” Chiba reached out and pinched Hesta’s nose, then suddenly laughed. “Don’t fall in love too early. Train hard. I’ll keep an eye on you. Maybe we’ll meet again soon. Goodbye, Jan.”
Hesta considered Chiba’s advice and nodded solemnly.
“Goodbye, Miss Chiba.”
After Chiba left, Hesta stood alone behind the transparent wall on the fourth floor, looking down. Her gaze remained fixed on the stairwell exit until she saw Chiba’s figure.
She watched her walk toward the parking lot, open the car door, get in, and drive away.
Valenti, who was shuttling documents back and forth, soon noticed the girl.
“Miss Hesta?” she approached. “You should take your ID card and check in at the dormitory.”
“I know, thanks for the reminder.”
Valenti followed Hesta’s gaze outside but saw only empty patches of ground and a somewhat deserted street in the distance. She crouched down to Hesta’s height and asked, “What are you looking at?”
“...Miss Chiba’s car.”
Hesta pointed at the battered vehicle that had brought her here, now disappearing at the end of the road.
The girl stared where the car vanished, a sudden, indescribable loneliness rising in her heart.