When the Violets Wither - 2
There had been a strange sensation the first time she heard the name Moonstone.
How best to describe it—the feeling that the thing had once existed, yet at some point had been erased so completely it might never have been at all.
Whenever she tried to read into it, what rose instead was a quiet wrongness. However many times she turned the thought over, a memory so perfectly hollow—as though nothing had ever been there—struck her as deeply strange.
"...It existed, and yet it does not exist."
That was the peculiar nature of artifacts—the one question that more than a decade of research had never brought her within reach of answering. What characteristics, exactly, did the relics forged by the Moon God possess? And those forged by the Evil Dragon?
The Moonstone Robert Taylor had described was a thing of Regression—of turning back time to live out a single point in it, over and over, forever. She could not fathom why he would ask about such a horrific sentence, but it was true that the name Moonstone had stirred that uncanny feeling in her. The same feeling as the words she had murmured only moments ago: something that had undoubtedly existed in this world, only for its existence to be wiped away without a trace.
[If that Moonstone truly exists, what I am most curious about is the matter of how it affects those around it. Whether the people near it might come to recall memories of the regression...]
An artifact could never confine its influence to a single person. What power that defied time and stilled space would deign to touch one soul alone? And regression, moreover, rewound the hours of everyone—not of one. If her supposition was correct.
Pen in hand, Arwen began setting her calculations down on paper, line after line. The hypothesis had already taken rough shape; it was Robert Taylor's mention of the Moonstone that had given it flesh.
"Resonance."
The phenomenon that arose when an artifact's effect persisted past a certain span of time, and its power—strained past all endurance—finally collapsed. She had watched it happen several times through other relics, and if regression through the Moonstone was truly possible, the same effect would surely visit that artifact as well. Stopped time could not hold its place forever. Flowing was time's very nature; its essence was to eventually stir from where it sat and strain back toward its course.
Tap, tap. Arwen drummed a finger against her temple, and her eyes narrowed.
If Robert Taylor had truly regressed again and again through the Moonstone—if this was not his first time, but a cycle already repeated countless times over—
"Then they would remember, sooner or later."
It had to be time for those besides Robert to begin, slowly, recalling those memories.
Memory was like a color seeping in. Like dye soaking bit by bit into a blank white page, returning memories were nothing like the kind that arrive all at once. They would come back gently, most likely—so naturally that the one living them would never think to notice, until at some moment they awoke to find that everything had returned.
"...If the regression repeats, which cycle will they wake into?"
Equations sketched in the empty air shifted with her mana, and pure white lines traced themselves across the glowing five-pointed star. When the hand of Arwen—a woman who might well have been called the very pinnacle of the discipline of magic—finally stilled, her eyes were merely narrowed.
Because she could not bring herself to trust her own calculation. To be precise—because she did not want to.
"The hundred and first."
Could a single person endure a hundred deaths? Even if he had, she thought, no mind could come out of it sound.
It was only inference. Built from the questions he had asked her—about regression, about the artifact called the Moonstone—she had formed a hypothesis of her own and guessed at a number. Nothing more.
And yet if that number was anywhere near the truth... Arwen gave a brief, bitter smile and stared into the empty air. The Robert Taylor she knew had never once shown himself to waver. That was precisely the problem. It meant the inside of a man who looked so sound on the surface might already have crumbled past the point where collapse would surprise anyone.
It seemed the Moonstone warranted a little more investigation. Given a little more time, the mere fact of Robert drawing near might be enough to rouse memories of the past. And if that came to pass—well, a few people in the Empire coming apart would be no great loss.
The door of the general goods store run by 'Jay' closed, and a bluish glow began to shimmer through the curtained interior. A space saturated with mana—for the next several months, that shop would not be opening its doors again. For the time being, it was better that she live as the mage 'Arwen.'
I had seen Theresia, but I did not think I would be the one to seek her out. Unless her side sent some signal first, I had no reason to move—and after all, I had only come along at Adrian's request. Somewhere along the way, I had ended up playing the role of her escort. That Berod had allowed the arrangement without a word of protest was, I took it, quiet acknowledgment that my skills were adequate.
But if I slipped away alone and vanished somewhere, even those who thought well of me would begin to wonder. And if I went to meet Theresia, there would be no coming back in one piece. I might even die—or at least, that was the shape my expectations took: grave injury at the very least.
Death did not frighten me. What occupied my thoughts was what would come after I killed Theresia. I didn't know what I would feel. When I moved to take her life—if she remembered the things she had done, over and over, with her own hands, and regretted them—would that give me even a sliver of satisfaction?
Even if it did, I suspected whatever feeling I carried away would be far removed from triumph or relief. It would be a tangle. Enough that my head might simply burst open then and there.
I sweated until my hair was soaked through, then wiped it away with a towel. I had been like this ever since seeing Theresia. I swung my sword until exhaustion dropped me, and only when I was about to fall did I lie down on the ground and stare, motionless, at the sky. It helped, a little. Having nothing left to do, it turned out, was surprisingly good for emptying a tangled head.
I lay like that for a long while, watching the sky, until the sound of nearing footsteps made me lift my head. The white radiance was vivid even beneath the darkened sky; there was no mistaking who it was.
"There you are. I heard the sounds and came to find you."
"Isn't that dangerous? Don't come alone—bring the Paladins with you next time."
"The Paladins are always hiding behind me in secret anyway. I know all about it."
I had known for some time that Adrian had been watching me. To be precise, she had kept her eye on me ever since returning from seeing Theresia. Was my darkened expression really so plain to see? What she saw was my interior—perhaps it simply couldn't be hidden, however much I wished to hide it.
I pushed myself up from the ground and patted the spot beside me. The sweat had already been whisked away with mana. Ordinarily I would have let it run, but doing that beside Adrian seemed poor manners.
Guided by the sound I made, Adrian sat down carefully—then gave a small start when she realized just how close she was.
"Am I sitting too close?"
"No, it isn't that. It's just... you've seemed to be struggling lately."
"I didn't think I was showing it."
"The world I see is a little different from the one you see, Robert. When we went out together the other day—did some worry take root in you then?"
I smiled faintly at the careful question. Her voice sounded so much like self-blame. From where she stood, I had changed after our outing, so naturally she assumed something had gone wrong because of it.
It was not Adrian's fault. If blame had to fall anywhere, it was mine—for failing to judge the matter coldly.
"There's no need to blame yourself. This is my own personal matter."
"...Is that so."
"It will likely be settled soon. So there's no need for you to worry either."
If I killed Theresia by my own hand, I imagined this worry itself would be resolved. There was no reason for Adrian to spend concern on it. This was the first time any bond had formed between us; for a woman who had done me no wrong, it was far too small a thing to trouble her heart.
And yet Adrian only gazed at me in silence. Her lips, pressed firmly together, looked ready to refute everything I had just said.
When her mouth finally opened, the voice that came out was pitched a little high—angry, almost, a curt edge entirely unlike her.
"Even when it's your judgment, Robert, I don't think everything you decide is right."
"What—"
"Carrying everything alone doesn't always lead somewhere good. You already know that as well as anyone, don't you? Confiding in no one and walking forward by yourself doesn't make everything come true."
Her voice was so resolute that the uncharacteristic manner left me briefly wrong-footed. The reply I meant to give would not leave my lips. Her words seemed to pierce straight through my heart—as if she knew everything, and was naming it aloud: the me who had tried to do it all alone.
"Sometimes—really, only sometimes—I think it's all right to lay it down honestly. Even if it sounds so far-fetched that no one else could believe it, wouldn't at least one person choose to trust you anyway?"
Platitudes. Words anyone could say. But Adrian was the first person who had ever said them to me. Something swelled in my chest without reason. Looking at the woman who had spoken such obvious words to me for the first time, I slowly dragged a hand down my face.
My regression was a tale too absurd for belief. If one man were doomed to repeat the same stretch of time forever—who on earth would believe that he had died, again and again, for nothing more than the trust of the people around him?
All I meant to do now was put an end mark to this regression. I had my purpose—killing the Crown Prince—but I would regret nothing even if I died in the act. If anything, when death drew near, I thought I would simply smile. Hoping this would be my last death, I might even smile at the rest that had at long last arrived.
Once, perhaps, I might have heard those words and confided my regression to Adrian. Not anymore. Because I longed for death, I could not want anyone carrying that kind of attachment to me.
I gave a short, bitter laugh. The moon hanging in the sky was pale as ever, and I watched it quietly for a moment before speaking.
"There's honestly not much to tell. I'll always be truthful with you, Adrian—it's just not that large a worry."
"Really?"
"Of course. What would I stand to gain from lying to you? I told you before that we were friends—I wasn't the only one who thought so, was I?"
"N-no, of course not?"
A lie. That I would tell her everything honestly was, as ever, a lie. Deceiving someone was not a good thing. Smiling like this without being able to smile at ease—it was no different from wearing a mask.
"...Well, these days I think of it as nothing much. Just the sort of worry a person can simply talk about, I'd say."
"Then I'm glad."
With every word that left my mouth, the weight only grew. The chain wound around me would torment me until the day I died. The closer I let someone come, the further I walked toward my own death—and the heavier that chain would grow. But it was the road I had chosen. Even if the truth of it came to light and I was despised, even if everyone bound to me turned their backs—it meant I could bear it, because I had chosen it.
For a moment I studied Adrian's face. A face that had never once frowned always wore its gentle smile.
"I trust you, Robert. You're a good person."
"You looked inside me, did you?"
"I did. Empty as it may be, I am still the Saintess. Those things, I can see well enough."
I chuckled at that, and Adrian laughed along with me, stifling her giggles. A good person. Of everything she had said, that alone I wanted to correct.
I looked at Adrian again. Thinking how that smile might change once everyone knew what kind of man I was, an aching pain rose without warning in my chest. Once in a great while, I caught myself thinking it might have been better never to have met her at all. If that smile ever curdled into contempt—if the voice that murmured so gently to me ever turned cold—I wasn't at all certain I could endure it.
"What if. What if, purely hypothetically."
"Yes?"
"If I were to vanish one day—suddenly, without a word, even if I disappeared just like that."
The day I faced Theresia was not far off. I didn't think the odds of dying there were especially high—but my death, whenever it came, was a future already written. If that day arrived, all I hoped was that Adrian would still smile gently for me. Without regret, without lingering attachment—I hoped she would simply forget me.
"I hope you won't hate me too much for it."
Adrian looked puzzled at that, but I said nothing more. I only stared blankly at the sky for a long while—until the moon slipped behind the clouds once more.
The wind drifting past was telling me the hour was drawing near. That the season when violets wither—the hour when I would break the violet with my own hands—was close at hand.