The Weight of Memory
Memory — the word means 'to keep the past without forgetting it.' Whether it's something you want to cherish or something you'd rather erase from your mind, it is also a cruel term for holding onto the past and swallowing it whole.
Oblivion — the word means 'to forget.' In another sense, it also implies the disappearance of the 'other.' It is both cruel and sweet. Not remembering means being forgotten by everyone's memories.
Memory and oblivion cannot coexist. For memory to exist, oblivion must not. Conversely, for oblivion to exist, memory must not. They could never be friends.
Even when trampled underfoot, memory clings to that moment, harboring a tangled mix of emotions like 'someday...' and dreaming of revenge. Oblivion, on the other hand, forces surrender.
Memory can never be entirely beautiful. Mikhail was no exception.
"Is it good?"
"...Yeah."
"Then eat mine too."
"What about you?"
"I'm not hungry."
If there are happy moments—
"Cough."
"...Aah... Aaaah...!"
"Run."
—there are also the worst moments.
Unforgettable memories sometimes return as nightmares, whispering that it would be better if they could just be erased from the mind. The burden was simply too heavy.
Mikhail was never close with oblivion. She remembered everything she didn't want to forget. Even in moments when her breath came in ragged gasps, even in spaces where she had lost all sense of direction in life, memory breathed fully within her.
She had desperately wished for oblivion while simultaneously hating it.
Submerged in the bath, Mikhail stared at the rippling water before letting out a soft sigh.
'...'
She wondered if the justice she once knew was truly right. The reason she had sought justice so fervently, the reason she had stubbornly cried out for it even when called a fool—none of it remained now.
Ricardo. A hero straight out of a fairy tale. The justice he desired was different from the justice she practiced.
"..."
To become a better person. And to show that the life he had saved was shining brightly—that was the justice she had pursued. But realizing it wasn't what he wanted left her unable to find her footing, unsure which rhythm to follow.
It had been the same at the orphanage that instilled her sense of justice.
"Mikhail. I heard from the sister that you want to learn the sword?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I want to punish bad people."
"...Bad people?"
"The ones who tormented me. I want to show my mother who abandoned me that I've grown strong. And... I want to kill the man who murdered my friend whom I liked."
"Mikhail."
"Yes."
"That's the wrong way of thinking. God loves us and always desires forgiveness. Even when unbearable hardships come, enduring them and offering forgiveness is the right heart we must hold."
"But Sister, I can't forgive that person."
That day, Mikhail had spoken against the sister for the first time—the woman who had raised her like her own child.
"Sister, if someone killed all the children and clergy in the orphanage, could you forgive them?"
"If it is God's love..."
"I lost everything. The child who saved me when my parents abandoned me... the friend who gave me so much love just to save me—I abandoned that friend."
"..."
"Do you know how angry I am? ...How much!"
The sister had offered her two choices that day.
The first was a promise.
"Then, can you make a promise with me? ...Promise not to commit indiscriminate killing."
"What if they're not bad people?"
"No. You must try to understand. They surely have their own painful stories. Give them time to reflect."
"...What if they still don't become good?"
"God is not a heartless being. Punishment will come from Him."
The second choice was the card of the sword.
"Instead, I will teach you the sword, Mikhail."
"You, Sister?"
"Yes. There was a time when I, too, was blinded by revenge like you."
"Did you succeed?"
"..."
What she learned at the orphanage was just that: the sword and self-control. It gave her the strength of restraint when she was lost in half-baked justice, and it weighed down her once-dream-chasing self with the gravity of justice, making her cling even more to that value.
The sister's words weren't wrong. It was simply that God's love was far too vast.
"..."
Now standing ambiguously at the edge of that justice, Mikhail hugged her knees and murmured softly.
"...I don't know."
She didn't know which rhythm to follow.
Even so—
"Moderation in everything is best, Mikhail."
It was an undeniable fact that her own justice was the wrong answer. Foolish, and bound to get her stabbed in the back. What was the justice she believed in? She had realized that protecting the weak was no longer so beautiful. And the path of justice she had walked had picked up the most powerful wrong answer... What was it, really?
Mikhail stepped out of the bath and dried herself with a towel. Wiping her body with a heavy heart, this moment didn't feel particularly welcome. The longer the silence stretched, the more anxiety crept into her mind.
One step. Two steps. As she dressed and walked back to her room, Mikhail kept her head down, trying to soothe her gloomy mood.
And in that moment—
"..."
Mikhail stopped walking. She turned around at the sudden chill she felt. Though the hallway was perfectly ordinary, an inexplicable shiver made her brow furrow.
What was more terrifying than the chill—
—was the deathly, suffocating silence.
The cold silence let in the sound of rain from outside the window. In an ordinary inn, it would usually be drowned out by people's chatter or the sound of things being moved, but—
—the outside sounds came through with raw clarity.
Mikhail clenched her fists in unease. Staring at her door just ten steps ahead, she swallowed dryly. Ten steps. If she could just cover those ten steps, sanctuary from this strange feeling awaited her. It might be needless worry, but... this situation felt exactly like that day.
Mikhail took a deep breath, recalling the memory that had surfaced in the midst of that deathly silence. She counted one, two, three in her heart, then kicked off the floor and began to run. She knew running in the hallway at this hour was rude, but her instincts were screaming alarms.
'Something's wrong...!'
Mikhail ran without looking back. And in that moment—
The doors on both sides of the hallway began to open, as if they had been waiting for her.
There were all kinds of people. A tall man. A woman with long hair. A rough-looking uncle. And a small child. Strangers she had never seen before opened their doors in unison, staring blankly at Mikhail as she ran down the hallway. Their expressions made her blood run cold.
"...Their faces."
They had no expressions. Just like the couple she had seen at the village entrance, they all stared at her with blank faces.
With a 'bang,' Mikhail slammed the door shut. And in that moment—
—a mad, relentless knocking began on the door.
"Student!"
"Big sis!"
"Miss...!"
They called out to her in different voices. As if trying to drag out the nightmares buried deep in Mikhail's heart, they pounded on the door and began spilling out the memories she had wanted to forget.
"How could you leave so heartlessly? I was stabbed because of you. Why didn't you remember me for even a moment?"
"It hurts... It hurts...! I was wrong... Die in my place."
"Puhah... Puhahaha! You killed me. You're the one who killed me."
Mikhail squeezed her eyes shut, pressing against the door with gritted teeth. She couldn't understand where things had gone wrong, who these people were, or why they were acting this way.
And in that moment, when their voices carrying thick rage finally faded—
"You have to remember."
A familiar man's voice flowed in from the hallway. The man she wanted to kill most. The man whose voice had once made her shed tears of blood now echoed chillingly in her ears.
"If you forget, who will remember?"
It was terrifying.
"You have to remember, kid."
That man's eerie voice—
—his heavy footsteps approaching—
"Kid, do you know how much a person can remember?"
—felt like it was dragging her powerless past self back to the surface.
"You don't know anything. Puhup... Puhahaha!!!!"
Mikhail—
—was terrified.