IOU

In the middle of a desolate forest, two figures crouched, seemingly searching for something.

"Hey, are you sure this is how we're supposed to look for clues?"

"Just keep searching."

"But we've been searching for hours, and there's still no sign of what you claim is the evidence. Besides, maybe it doesn't even exist, and you were wrong about your assumption."

"I haven't been wrong in a long time."

"That's pretty arrogant coming from someone who carries the weight of his mistakes on his conscience."

"Just because I've made mistakes in the past doesn't mean I still do. A person can always reflect, even if the burden on their shoulders remains heavy."

"Look, I found it."

Cain lifted an object from the scattered leaves—a silver-threaded fabric interlaced with itself.

Wrapped within those threads was a human figure painting on a blank canvas: a black knife piercing a gray heart tinged with dark brown.

"Is that it? It looks pretty strange."

"Every detail in this object means something. Sit down—today, I'll be your teacher." Cain made a grabbing motion in the air and pulled out a chalkboard, a piece of chalk, a desk, and a water bottle.

"Are you serious? Also, why did you pay for the stuff at the store if you could just pull them out of thin air?" Edward raised an eyebrow.

"I never joke about these things. And I paid because I felt bad about you getting fired—though you ended up quitting anyway. Now then, let's begin today's lesson!"

Cain started drawing on the chalkboard while Edward reluctantly took a seat at the desk.

"First, let's talk about the fabric. Do you remember what I told you about the Hall of Wanderers?" Cain pointed at the threads he had drawn on the board.

"Yeah, I remember it well."

"Good. These threads are called the 'Fabric of the Final Point.' They represent the infinite halls connected to one another, where souls wander perpetually with no chance of escape."

"But why are they depicted like this? Where do the threads come from?" Edward seemed genuinely engaged, like an attentive student.

"Well, no one knows for sure. But here's my theory."

Cain drew a man embracing a teenage boy, a note with scribbled writing inside, and the man reciting what the note said.

"Now, I'm sure you remember the story about my son that I told you before. And I'm also sure you've wondered how I pull objects out of thin air."

"Yeah…?" Edward wasn't entirely sure where the man was going with this.

"Alright, let's take the fight with the general as an example. In that battle, you saw me recite a poem. That poem was written by me after the life where I lost my wife, Amara."

"That poem gained power because of the experiences I lived through in that lifetime."

Edward looked confused.

"To make it easier, I'll show you with the drawings."

Cain repeated the motion of grabbing something from the air and pulled out a small wooden pointer, which he used to gesture at the drawing of the man embracing the teenage boy.

"This is me, holding my son after his death."

He then pointed at the second drawing.

"This is the poem I wrote for him."

Finally, he indicated the last drawing.

"And this is me reciting the poem I wrote for my son. Do you see a connection between the three?"

"Hmm… that they all belong to the same event?"

"Exactly. Now tell me, what is the meaning behind that event?"

"The death of your son…" Edward rested a hand on his chin, deep in thought.

"Very good. Now, do you remember what I told you at the beginning?"

"That people can reflect on their mistakes?"

"No, not that. Please stop, it's not funny."

Edward wasn't actually joking—he thought the reflection was relevant to what Cain was trying to explain.

Seeing the young man's pensive expression, Cain let out an exasperated sigh.

"The poem I wrote for Amara, Edward."

"Ahhh…" Edward finally seemed to grasp something.

"You need to pay more attention in class. At this rate, you'll fail."

Was he seriously not joking about being a teacher?

"Anyway, back to the topic—what both situations have in common is that they hold meaning. Let me give you another example."

"Imagine you lend someone money, but the person who promises to pay you back doesn't sign an IOU. Do you really think they'll pay just because they gave you their word? No, that promise has no meaning because it's not validated by anything."

"Wait, you know what an IOU is?"

Edward was surprised that a man who claimed to have lived a thousand lives in different worlds seemed so up-to-date with the one they were in now.

"Once, I didn't sign an IOU, and let's just say I had… problems with a bank that operated under a unique system. IOUs are omnipresent and omnipotent, Edward."

"I see…" A chill ran down the young man's spine just thinking about it. He knew all too well what it was like to be in a bad financial situation and owe a debt.

"I think we're getting off track. The point is, if the poem I recited had any real effect in battle—and on the general—it's because it held meaning."

"If my powers work, it's because they're fueled by past experiences and emotions that gave them significance. For example, if I recite a poem adapted from the one I wrote for my son, it will have an effect related to that."

"But if I write a poem right now that has no meaning and recite it, I'd just be putting on a theatrical performance. Understand?"

"Yeah, I get it. But… why does this happen?"

"You're failing, Edward. A good student doesn't excessively question his teacher—he knows when to do it."

"Is there a make-up exam?" Edward was genuinely worried about his grade.