Regret and Parting

Only after time had passed, and passed some more, did Aria finally seem to calm, pushing herself free of my embrace.

Then, as though she had never been crying at all, she narrowed her eyes sharply and looked me dead in the face.

"So. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Why you changed so much back then. And why you're being like this with me now. All of it."

"...Do you truly want to hear it?"

"Yes. I'll hear it if it's the last thing I do."

I had misjudged. Aria's eyes were dead serious.

Perhaps, if I told her everything, I might finally be able to breathe easier. But honestly, the thought didn't sit well with me. Her pride in her family ran far too deep. No—to be precise, it was pride in the Duke. She admired the father who had honed himself without end and spread his name across the whole Empire. And so she, too, had worked herself to the bone. Others probably never knew what drove her efforts. But I remembered, clearly, the dreams the two of us had traded back and forth in childhood.

"Oppa! Someday I want to be just like Father!"

It came out of nowhere—a rare raised voice from a child who was always so quiet.

"Why?"

"Huh? Father's amazing, isn't he? He drives off the monsters all by himself and keeps everyone in the territory safe!"

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was true. In those days, monster incursions into the northern territory had grown relentless, and the man who repelled them single-handedly was the Duke—our father.

"That's true enough."

"I want to be that strong too! So that someday, I can protect people."

For a quiet child who did nothing but study, it was a hopelessly lofty dream. His strength had been the product of nothing but relentless effort. But I kept that to myself. It was, after all, a little child's dream, and rather than shatter it, it was the role of family—of an elder—to cheer it on.

"Yeah. You can do it. You're my little sister, after all."

"Mm... What about you, Oppa?"

"Hm?"

"What kind of person are you going to become?"

To that tired, worn-out question—what kind of person will you become—I couldn't answer. I was already far too late to give such an answer.

"...I—"

I don't know what I answered that day. I can't remember. Perhaps I simply erased it from my memory. The only thing that remains is the look on Aria's face in that moment—the way she stared at me as if something about me made no sense at all.

"Hurry up and tell me. I'd rather not have to use magic on you, Oppa."

"...Your threats have gotten more polished."

"Now."

Every word out of her mouth dripped with sincerity. I could feel her resolve not to yield another step—and at the same time, the mana around her churned and stirred, as if she might cast at any moment. For anyone else, such control at her age would have been impossible. Aria's talent made it possible.

Ruler of Mana. Her trait, and the secret of her strength. All mana moved at her command. Drawn to her side whenever she willed it, her reserves were all but inexhaustible, and the countless spells she had learned since childhood came surging down upon her opponent—few cadets alive could stand in her way.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but you'd better not lie to me, Oppa."

"...Must I really say it?"

"Yes. You must."

"Even if it changes something in you?"

"I don't care."

Faced with that unshakable resolve, it was I who raised the white flag in the end. I knew her stubbornness well—once she set her heart on something, nothing in the world could bend it.

So I told her everything, sparing nothing. From the day my trait first revealed itself, to the orders the Duke gave me the moment he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠learned of it. Why I singled out Lianna to torment, and what I did in the days after Mother died. I gave her all of it.

Her face, expressionless when the story began, slowly began to crumple—so much that I wondered if this could really be the same girl who was always so cold and distant. Until the story ended, she said nothing at all, listening quietly to every word. If you didn't count the half-strangled murmurs that slipped out now and then—I see... so Father, then...

"...And that's how it came to be."

"...."

The moment my words ran out, her face turned down toward the floor once more.

"Aria?"

"..."

"I don't know what's going through your head, but it's all in the past now, so—"

"All—what, exactly?"

She lifted her head again, the rims of her eyes redder than before.

"That it's all over and done with? That I have no reason to be this upset?"

"...Yes. It's all in the past, so—"

"Why?"

Tears spilled from her eyes once more. In that single drop that slid down her cheek, I felt not sorrow, but fury.

"Oppa... why did you just accept it?"

"...."

"Father was the one who was wrong. He never should have said those things to his own child..?"

"...For the sake of the family, that was the best—"

"And what about you, Oppa?"

One step. She came toward me. For some reason, those light footsteps of hers felt as though each one weighed a thousand pounds.

Two steps. She came closer still, and kept talking.

"You knew perfectly well, didn't you? What would come pouring down on you the moment you accepted that offer."

"...I—"

"If you're about to feed me nonsense like 'I was fine' or 'I could endure it,' don't. I can't breathe. It's suffocating me."

"..."

"You were always like this, Oppa. You never once looked after yourself—it was almost unnatural."

Three steps. Her footsteps didn't stop. Each of her words flew at me, sharp enough to pierce my chest, and her tear-soaked eyes searched my face.

"I feel so betrayed right now."

"...."

"The father I've always looked up to said those things to you... I can't believe it. If it were up to me, I'd want to believe you were the one lying!!"

"...Aria."

"...But what if it's the truth?"

"..."

Another tear fell from her eyes, and that pearl-white drop traced the line of her jaw, slowly, so very slowly, downward.

Four steps. She came to a stop right in front of me.

"Then what have I been doing to you all this time?"

"...Aria, I'm f—"

"Don't you dare say you're fine!!"

She seized me by the collar. With her being shorter than me, the sight must have been almost comical—but there was nothing funny about her expression.

"What... what can I do to atone to you?"

"...."

"What do I have to do? Please... I'm begging you... tell me..."

"...."

The hands gripping my collar soon went slack, and she sank down where she stood. The tears didn't stop, but no sound escaped her. Was she punishing herself, believing she didn't even have the right to weep aloud? Her grief seemed to pile higher and higher without end.

There was nothing I could do. This was something she had to untangle on her own. And yet—and yet I wanted, desperately, to help. So I gathered her into my arms once more, cradling her head against me. To tell her I was here. To let her know I had never left her side, I pulled her in and held on as tight as I could.

"Feeling any better?"

"...Yeah."

Her tears, once they burst forth again, were not easily stopped, but somehow I managed to soothe her. An awkward silence settled over the space between us, now that we had drawn apart—but it didn't last long. She was the first to rise to her feet.

"Oppa..."

"...I'm listening."

"I'm going to go see Father."

At those words, I couldn't help rising as well. I had a fair guess what she meant to do.

"Don't."

"I will."

"You know better than anyone that confirming it will win you nothing."

"Even so. I will."

It seemed pointless to argue any further. Hers were the eyes of someone who had already made up her mind completely.

"...And your reason?"

"To confirm it. Whether Father really was that kind of man."

"...It won't end well."

"I know. Even so... I will."

"...I can't recommend it."

"I don't care."

When I finally gave in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and nodded, her smile flickered into view. It was her own smile—the one I used to see so often, long ago.

"I'll head out first, Oppa."

"...All right."

And so we parted ways. No more words were needed between us. Which meant the only thing left for me was to return to the dormitory, where Ella was waiting.

Back at the dormitory, I went straight into my room and set to work. Now that I could use the artifact, there was no reason to put it off any longer. If anything, I judged that I was already more than late in presenting my achievements and making a name for myself as an alchemist.

And so I built a human body. I constructed the skeleton, layered on the muscles, and finally sheathed it all in skin. Whenever I ran into a structure I didn't understand, I opened up my own body on the spot and copied it exactly, so there was no reason for anything to go wrong with the flesh.

Thus a mass of flesh indistinguishable from a human being, at least on the outside, came into being—but the problem lay elsewhere. The soul would not enter ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the body. And I had failed to give it a brain. Replicating the brain's structure from memory alone was far too complex, and for some reason, the soul would only linger within the flesh for a short while, unable to take control of it directly.

Cornered by an obstacle I had never anticipated, I could only rack my brain for a way through—and before long, the answer revealed itself in a place I had never thought to look.