The Isle of Endless Waves

The wind-swept isle. The shore where waves seep in. Salty sea breeze wafting over, gulls crying out.

An island of waves expanding infinitely with each passing day. An island where the dead and the living alike forget themselves.

Voice.

I walk there with Sylvia at my side.

"The island expands more each day."

"...How did you know."

Today's stroll served in place of our lesson.

No— she'd begged me, calling it a "walk."

"But it won't be a problem."

"It is a problem. If the island keeps spreading like this, it might swallow the continent whole."

The Voice holds four great perils.

First, the resurrection of the dead. Second, the forgetting of memories. Third, its unique temporal flow. Fourth, the nature of its waves.

The gravest is undoubtedly the "nature of its waves."

The demon that yearns to become the world seeks to subsume the entire continent into its island.

Even now, devoured by Sylvia, that instinct persists.

"I can solve it."

"No—"

"For real."

She feigned innocence with a coquettish air, nudging my shoulder and puffing her cheeks like balloons.

I flicked her forehead sharply.

"It's in the contract."

Sylvia flinched at the flick, then produced the contract.

And true enough, there was the clause.

I eyed the special provisions steadily.

"Sylvia."

I called her name. Hands clasped behind her back, she replied.

"Yes."

"Mana pools where my previous self shattered."

"Mana pools."

Was that a question, or agreement?

"Indeed. I could see traces of my former self. I died at your desk."

Traces of my prior self, glimpsed by the "naked eye."

My flesh had decayed, but the mana of my existence lingered there, rippling. This, too, must be the work of Deculein's unique "mental fortitude."

"What thoughts did I have while watching you, I wonder."

"......"

I know.

The demon still resides within Sylvia's body.

She hadn't overcome the Voice. She'd merely assimilated with it, unbeknownst even to herself.

Yet precisely because of that, destroying the Voice becomes all the simpler.

By killing Sylvia along with the island.

"I don't know."

My previous self surely thought as much.

And so do I now.

Unless someone dies—no, is killed.

This island holds no possibility whatsoever.

"Let's sit over there. My legs hurt."

Sylvia pointed somewhere. A roadside bench.

She tugged my sleeve, leading me there, and we sat together.

"...It's already been ten days since you arrived."

I gazed at Sylvia as she spoke. She looked back at me. Her clear golden eyes brimmed with sorrow and resolve.

"Will it be farewell soon?"

Murmuring so, Sylvia slyly rested her head on my shoulder, clutching my sleeve as if leaning in.

"It might."

I did not push her away.

"...I think I'll win our bet."

Instead, I pondered quietly.

Organizing my thoughts.

...No.

There was no need.

From the moment I arrived here, my magical theory had set forth toward "that goal."

I had already resolved myself to it; I need only follow through.

"Hey."

Then, Sylvia looked up at me. Her serene face gazed intently.

"You tried to teach me loss. I know that."

Golden hair fluttering in the approaching breeze. Eyes sparkling like stars on earth.

This child, so beautiful—I pity her.

"But it's strange."

She touched my lips with her finger. A hazy smile bloomed on her once-icy expression.

"Even if the current you dies."

Her voice rippled like waves.

"Even if you die again."

Words meant only for me.

"Again, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again, and again and again. Even if you keep dying forever... my love for you would only grow."

A pure confession, like tears.

"So. I've already won our bet, basically."

Emotions seeping in like mist.

"...Is that so."

I nodded, meeting her gaze.

"...Yeah. It is."

She buried her face in my chest. Wrapped her arms around my waist. From within, she breathed contentedly, happily.

"It might be."

...This is enough.

More than sufficient to advance toward the "ending," to steel my convictions.

"I love you. I love you."

From here on, I need only bear what I can.

The sixth Deculein had died. A natural death, like the last.

Sylvia accepted it with difficulty once more.

But the seventh Deculein that followed was utterly peculiar.

To Sylvia's eyes, and to Idnik's.

"Spontaneous generation?"

"Yeah!"

Today, exclamation points dotted Sylvia's words. She nodded innocently, shouting vigorously.

A rare sight—no, unprecedented.

Idnik scratched her temple.

"You mean... Deculein spontaneously generated? Here on this island?"

"Exactly. Deculein wants to live here too, Idnik. His mental fortitude lingers on the island, borrowing my power to raise himself up."

"......"

"To live with me. He must like me."

"...Isn't that speculation?"

Sylvia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Idnik cleared her throat awkwardly and averted her gaze. Anyway, she watched Deculein emerging from the sea.

"I'll head out first. Idnik, guide him properly."

Since last time, guiding the island fell to Idnik.

So-called push-pull. Meeting right away felt too shy, or something.

"Sure."

"Yeah."

Sylvia turned and trotted away; Idnik waved as she approached Deculein.

"Hey, Deculein! Seventh Deculein! Welcome!"

The seventh Deculein, stepping ashore. He narrowed his brow at her.

Memory reset is such a hassle, indeed.

......

I visited the guild room with Idnik.

Whether I was truly the seventh Deculein or not, Jukaken and Al Ross greeted me familiarly.

"Back again. Ah. Restart from square one, then?"

Ignoring Jukaken's words, Al Ross handed over the magical theory first.

A massive box.

"Take it. Your magical theory. Thousands of pages, give or take."

More than that, Al Ross's appearance stirred me, but anyway.

"Desk and chair are over there."

Al Ross pointed. Indeed, a fine desk and chair awaited.

Jukaken grinned slyly.

"Then Idnik and I will get back to work, so you two play nice~ Cooperate and all~ Especially you, Al Ross, with that cooperative face of yours."

"Fuck off."

"......"

I opened the box. Thousands of pages of theory from my previous self.

Meticulously dust-free, pristine and orderly, as befits an obsession with perfection.

"You wrote a ton. A real ton."

Al Ross murmured in admiration.

I began from the first page. Read the fragments of the magic circle.

From that moment, time flowed steeply.

Rustle—rustle—

Al Ross munched snacks, stretched; I devoted half a day from page one to 3,300.

Thus, I fully grasped my magical theory and my will.

A bit dark, a bit cold, with unyieldingly firm resolve.

"Professor."

As I leaned back, Al Ross spoke as if waiting.

"What."

"No notes about me there? There were last time."

Al Ross's artistic face. Beauty that soothed me just by looking.

I nodded.

"There are."

"What now."

In a corner of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the magical theory. Magical notes only I could write and read.

I told her that line.

"Al Ross."

"What."

"It says I need your faith and help."

"...?"

Al Ross widened her jewel-like eyes and tilted her head.

I said no more.

Three days later, guild room.

Deculein was out tutoring.

Al Ross, Jukaken, and Idnik lounged on the sofa, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drinking after ages.

With Sylvia occupied by Deculein, the Voice island's situation had eased somewhat.

"This sofa's masterfully made."

At Idnik's praise, Jukaken chuckled.

"Kuhuhu. Naturally. Who do you think stuffed it? Ah~ If only we could afford mana stones, I'd make an even better one."

"Heh heh...?"

Idnik grinned similarly, but suddenly furrowed her brow.

"Wait. Can't buy mana stones?"

"Yeah. Prices skyrocketed. Even scraping all those copper coins over there, we'd barely get a tiny one. Mana ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stones are way pricier than expected."

Jukaken pointed; a mountain of copper coins Deculein had earned piled up. Idnik's face grew grave.

"...No mana stones... mana stones..."

"What. Cat got your tongue? Spit it out, Idnik."

Idnik rose silently. Approached the box of Deculein's magical theory.

"Hey hey! What're you doing? Touch that and fuck up, you're fucked, we're all fucked?"

Drunken Jukaken staggered as he spoke.

Idnik ignored him.

No—didn't even hear.

Flip—

She lifted Deculein's magical theory. Pored over from the first page.

Having studied math with Rohakan, she could grasp even complex theory to some degree.

"......"

Reading on, Idnik marveled at Deculein's ingenious, artistic ideas—then hit a wall of doubt.

A simple yet fatal suspicion.

Could such a colossal spell truly manifest without "mana stones"?

Even exhausting the island's coppers wouldn't cover this grand magic...

"...!"

Then, Idnik jerked her head up. Eyes wide.

Not from the theory. A "mana signal" flashed in her mind.

Al Ross asked the ever-noisy Idnik.

"...What're you doing?"

Dim guild room. Two hours of Idnik's focus had long sobered the alcohol haze.

Idnik glanced between Jukaken and Al Ross.

Gulp— She swallowed and spoke.

"...Deculein's dead."

"What?"

Jukaken scowled; Al Ross calmly asked back.

"It's only been three days."

"Exactly. Too soon for natural death. Unless someone killed Deculein..."

Suddenly, Idnik trailed off.

"...Unless someone killed him."

That "someone" surfaced in her mind.

The "someone" she'd ignored, thinking all good was good.

"Al Ross. Where's Gerec?"

"...Ah."

Al Ross and Jukaken's faces darkened too.

Bang—!

Idnik burst through the door first. Al Ross floated like a scarecrow; Jukaken ran on foot after her.

Thus, they reached the "pen" where they'd confined Gerec.

"......"

"......"

"......"

Silence fell.

No words left.

—...He's gone.

Al Ross first, murmuring.

Idnik's dazed hollow laugh followed.

Jukaken scratched his nape.

"Yeah. Not even work hours... Could've left peacefully."

Underground in the forest heart.

Gerec's pen lay utterly wrecked. No shape left. Completely crumpled.

"...Why'd this bastard suddenly get so pissy? Worked fine with me."

Jukaken ruffled his hair.

Their shared goal was surely leaving the island. But suddenly why?

—Couldn't hold back, probably. Anyway, Gerec always said as long as he killed Deculein, leaving didn't matter. Fuck.

At the scarecrow's words, Jukaken smacked his forehead.

"Bastard."

—Idnik. Know where Deculein's body's at?

The scarecrow asked Idnik; Jukaken interjected.

"Body left? He's paint."

—Mana remains, fucker. Gotta log that to track Gerec at least. Just watch Deculein die? You fucking idiot squid bitch.

"...Fair. But why the cursing, you bitch. You the only fuck? Anyway, Idnik."

Jukaken conceded quickly, eyed Idnik.

"Can you tell? No, you can, right? We're screwed if not."

Idnik had Deculein's crystal orb. As his catalyst, it would roughly pinpoint his death spot.

"......"

Idnik nodded silently. Jukaken and the scarecrow sighed in relief.

"Then let's go. Hunt Gerec."

"...Wait."

Idnik stopped them as they geared to dash.

Scarecrow and Jukaken turned, mid-sprint pose.

"What?"

—What.

"...Nothing."

But Idnik shook her head dismissively.

"What. Shit. Brain freeze? Hurry and lead."

"......"

"Hey! Idnik! Lead the way?!"

...Right now, this moment.

Idnik thought alone.

Pondered deeply.

Deculein's grand magic design.

To realize it demanded immense mana. Hundreds of mages couldn't suffice—vast as the sea.

Thus... impossible to enact.

At least on this Voice isle.

Even pooling Sylvia's, Idnik's, Al Ross's, Jukaken's mana—insufficient.

Save one way.

...Kill Sylvia.

Sacrifice the demon within her, and Sylvia herself; drive the magic circle with the erupting mana flood.

Destroy the entire island.

Drown Idnik, Al Ross, Jukaken, Gerec, and all breathing souls in the Voice.

Slay the demon.

"Ha..."

The most demonic way to exterminate a demon.

The most Deculein-like thought.

"...Hey. You two. Come here."

Yet until this guess proved true—or even if it did—Sylvia mustn't know.

She must never learn Deculein sought her death.

"Got something to say."