At Last, Touching Your Sorrow — 1

The Moonstone does not exist in this world.

Only scattered records remain that such a thing ever was; of the name itself, and of its power, not even a trace survives.

Under ordinary circumstances, two relics should have lain in this deep layer: the Moonstone I carried, and one other. Of that remaining one I had held only a vague inkling—but the moment Arwen's letter reached me, I knew exactly what it was.

The Coffin of Memories. I had heard the name before, but its ability had never been laid out in any detail.

I knew it had stood alongside the Moonstone when I found the latter, but back then my attention had been wholly consumed by the regression power the Moonstone carried. So my interest had lapsed—and only later, in the course of hunting down the other relics, did I come to understand, piece by piece, what it could do.

The Coffin of Memories wielded a power as simple as its name: a relic that restored forgotten memories. I had tried using it once before, on the faintest off-chance, and had gained nothing worth the effort. I had entered it alone, and once together with Mirajen. I did come away hearing of the Empire's hidden secrets and the like—but that was never the effect I had wanted from it, so disappointment was all I could feel.

I would step inside again this time, but I didn't imagine anything would change. With things like this, it was wiser to fold away all expectation. Even when the odds seemed ample, I had learned to begin by assuming failure. Where there is hope, disappointment follows soon enough. Ridding myself of such feelings altogether might be impossible, but an unburdened heart beat being let down by something.

The carriage was quiet. Everyone knew we would soon arrive at our destination, and each of us was likely wrapped in private thoughts. Mirajen would be thinking about the relic; Adrian was probably much the same. Adele's thoughts, though, were likely fixed on me.

I sighed as I remembered that I had been leaning on Adele's shoulder until only moments ago. It called old days to mind. I had simply dozed off from exhaustion, that much was true—but for a brief moment, I had remembered the times I'd spent at Adele's side.

Lately, the people around me had been little by little recalling their memories. Like seeds that had waited all this while to sprout, they were finally blooming in this, my 101st life.

I didn't know what it meant. Perhaps I was simply assigning meaning where there was none; perhaps, in truth, it was all nothing more than coincidence.

...And yet—what if. If this really did carry some meaning, I was curious what I would come face to face with inside this Coffin of Memories. Who would walk into that coffin with me, and whose forgotten memories would be stirred awake through my regression. That was what I wanted to know above all.

Clip-clop—

The carriage rolled on. While I drowned in my own thoughts, while Mirajen watched me with an unreadable gaze, it kept moving toward its destination, indifferent to any of it. The relic called the Coffin of Memories seemed to circle my head without end. My thoughts carried on to the Moonstone and the Coffin—two relics that looked for all the world like a matched pair. If fate exists, where is it leading me? However ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠many times I turned the question over, only one thing seemed certain: no answer would be coming today.

"There was a tower here too?"

"This was the Empire's capital once, after all. There is only one Saintess in this age, but there was a time when several people possessed that gift, were there not?"

The southern depths had been one of the most flourishing regions of the Empire. Had the nation's power never waned, it would surely still be the capital. Instead, it was now nothing more than the land of the non-human races—a place beyond even the Empire's reach. If there was any comfort to be had, it was that towers like this one remained well preserved. And yet, a few relics still eluded us.

Adele gave a nod as she studied the tower reaching for the sky. It was not as tall as the Moon Tower. The Moon Tower had been raised to commemorate a Saintess who reappeared after an age of absence—an occasion so momentous that it could only be built more magnificent still than the towers of old, from the days when Saintesses were plentiful.

"It certainly seems certain a relic is here. Going by the records, it should be in the tower—though I can't say for sure whether it's truly the Coffin of Memories."

Mirajen's eyes narrowed. Pinpointing the relic would mean combing through the entire tower. Searching the last one from top to bottom had eaten up a fair share of time, so she was probably weighing that burden now. I figured it would take a good two days at least. The previous tower had been somewhat taller, but this one's interior was far more expansive.

If my memory served, the Coffin of Memories lay somewhere beneath this spot. I doubted it would amount to anything, but shouldn't I confirm it at least once? This time might be a little different. That was the possibility I meant to verify—the reason I was heading for the Coffin of Memories in the first place.

"I'll head on up. Last time, it was toward the bottom."

I nodded at Mirajen's words. I intended to go straight down. I had a rough idea where it waited, so there was no need to dawdle.

I was striding toward the tower when I suddenly wondered how Adele and Adrian would divide themselves. The moment Adele met my eyes, she gave a small shake of her head. So she would go up. She hardly seemed likely to pair off with Mirajen, so I gathered she meant to search alone. Adrian, for her part, quite naturally took hold of my arm. Mirajen stared at the sight for a long moment, but since Adrian wasn't embracing me as she had last time, there was nothing particularly embarrassing in it.

"I'll go down with Robert. That should even out the numbers."

"Of course. I'll look after Adrian."

I had no intention of leaving her alone in any case. Adele, rather surprisingly, seemed to have no objection to my going with Adrian. Mirajen's glance flicked over me, but that was all—and with no one to raise a protest, I set off toward the tower once more.

I was the first to enter. Mirajen, following me in, drew a bundle of papers from her coat and made for the upper floors; once she had vanished from sight, I traced my memories and set my steps downward.

"There are more stairs than I expected."

"Unlike the Moon Tower, the underground here runs far deeper. Wouldn't that be because of the relic?"

"Do you know anything about the Coffin of Memories?"

I turned the question over for a moment, then answered that I did—there seemed no need to hide it. It was information kept by the imperial family and the Church, but I was already close to both the Crown Prince and the Church; there was nothing strange about my knowing of a relic. And this was Adrian I was speaking to. Concealing anything from her pricked at my conscience, after all.

"As I understand it, it's an object that recovers what has been forgotten. I imagine that's why Her Highness the Princess means to put it to use."

Its worth did not lie in mere acquisition. The secrets of the Empire one could glimpse through the Coffin of Memories—knowing even a little about this thousand-year Empire could turn the board of many a game. Perhaps it might even rival Keitel upon the throne. It had been the same with the memories I once witnessed alongside Mirajen: secrets the imperial family had buried, and the various things wrought by the Moon God. Though that much I knew only from her account. At the time, I had been able to see just fragments of what the Coffin displayed—the voice informing me my qualifications were insufficient was still vivid in my ears. Mirajen had seen it all in perfect clarity while I could scarcely see at all, and from that I understood only those of imperial blood could view it properly. Of course, I had since devised a way around the limitation, so this time I need only put that method to use.

Adrian watched me with a peculiar expression as I strode steadily downward. I suppose it may have looked rather uncanny. We could well have moved at a search's pace, hunting for where the relic lay—yet here I was, advancing as though I already knew the destination. If I found the Coffin of Memories, it would all be forgotten soon enough. There was nothing down here but stairs and walls barring every direction, so Adrian, running her fingers along the stone, wiped the question from her face.

"How much farther do we have to go?"

"Hard to say. I believe... we haven't far to go now."

As I felt along the wall, a brick gave under my palm with a dull clunk. I remembered it being somewhere around here. Press the brick and turn it, and the mechanism would melt away—and what appeared in its place was the relic sealed within this tower.

Grrrrrumble—

At the sudden vibration, Adrian clutched my arm tight. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tower shuddered violently, as though everything around us were about to come down—and then, in the next breath, it sank into utter silence.

As if the whole thing had been a trick of the mind, Adrian spoke into the quieted dark.

"...What was that just now? And the sensation has changed. Don't tell me—you've found the relic?"

"It would seem so."

At my words, Adrian's gaze drifted slowly across the dark. I suspected that by now she could feel it too: the chamber beyond, and the second chamber newly born within it. The empty space was itself a relic. A room that revives forgotten memories—the space called, in a word, the Coffin of Memories.

Adrian, feeling her way, slowly extended a hand toward the interior. The wall that had stood there was gone, leaving only a path leading into the chamber beyond. Feeling her fingers pass through empty air, Adrian's mouth fell open, dazed. She could sense the relic's aura clearly now—a pure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠white radiance began to rise, little by little, from her body.

"It's responding so naturally. Even this close, I couldn't feel a thing. Who would have thought it was hidden in a place like this?"

"Even the Church never managed to pinpoint its location?"

"Even I cannot know the Holy Land with any certainty. I believe His Holiness the Pope may... but this is the first time I've ever stood before a relic myself."

Relics, as a rule, were known to take the form of implements. The Moonstone I'd used had been shaped like an hourglass, and most were serviceable things—swords, armor, objects a hand could wield. The Coffin of Memories was different. The space itself was the relic. The moment Adrian set foot inside, a gasp of wonder escaped her.

"I have never felt divine power this pure. How should I put it... it feels almost as if one more person is standing here beside me."

On that count, I shared the feeling. It was nothing like before, when I had sensed nothing whatsoever. The Moonstone, still dwelling within me, was reacting. Just as it had when I felt Theresia—mana resonating without pause, flowing slowly through the air around us.

"...I see."

Even as I murmured it, my eyes narrowed, sinking into that strange sensation. Different. Different how? I could not judge it with any precision—but my senses, sharpened by so many visits to this place, were unmistakably telling me that this round was unlike all the others.

My heart was pounding. In its rapid, hammering beat I realized I was afraid. I had merely set foot inside this coffin—so why this dread? Something felt wrong, and I moved to leave. I had taken hold of Adrian's arm and was about to suggest we step outside for a moment—

Thud.

That low resonance delivered a single fact to me: the door of this coffin, open until only a breath ago, had closed. I rushed over and pressed my hands to the wall, but the coffin showed no sign of opening again. Had the dread I'd felt been meant to tell me this? Even as my fingers traced the stone, my head shook slowly of its own accord.

"No."

The unease had not left ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me. If anything, it felt like a warning of what was about to unfold. As I turned over what that could be, Adrian's voice reached my ear.

"Robert, could you look up for a moment? I believe I can feel a powerful energy from above."

"There's nothing up—"

The moment I looked up as well, a hollow laugh escaped me at the brilliant radiance straining to burst forth overhead. It was the light that poured forth when the Coffin of Memories activated. We had done nothing—only stepped inside—and yet it had stirred of its own accord? I gazed at it, hollow, and then watched as the light began slowly to wrap around us. What the Coffin of Memories revealed were illusions woven from memory, for that radiance was painting pictures of the Empire's forgotten past.

But the scenery unfolding in that light was nothing like what I knew. When it had divulged the Empire's secrets to me, it had shown the Imperial Palace—but this time, the vision lay elsewhere. The scene was so familiar that for an instant I even mistook the Coffin of Memories for having misfired. A forest I had seen somewhere. Faces I had seen somewhere. No—the one I thought I'd seen somewhere was me. Not the man standing here now, but a former me, one even I remembered only in a haze.

A bitter laugh slipped out of me, and I stood staring blankly at the scene, the corner of my mouth twisted. It seemed certain now that this life was special. In the midst of this miracle—where things that had never happened once in a hundred lives were unfolding one after another—perhaps the fool was me, for straining so hard to deny it. Now, at last, I felt I could admit it: this 101st life was different. That much was certain.

And the scenery the Coffin of Memories chose to show was of my deaths.

Forgotten memories.

Indeed—it was no inaccurate description.