ARVEC 16

It was because you—

“Because it truly feels as though you’ve come back to life.”

Had his words not been cut short in that moment, Davior would have helplessly spoken them aloud.

It was not a matter of resemblance.

It was the unbearable suspicion that Irenne might be the reincarnation of the ancient phantom who lived only in his memories.

Perhaps it was because he himself lived trapped in the past. Absurdly enough, once birthed, that suspicion grew larger with every passing hour.

He knew. Of course it was nothing but a ludicrous delusion.

And yet he could do nothing about it.

Like a splinter beneath a fingernail, the thought irked him, and whenever he watched her quietly, the same memory unfailingly rose to the surface.

“Hey, Davior. Do you believe in reincarnation?”

A voice trembling as though enduring pain. Eyes burning with an unnervingly unwavering light.

“I believe in it. Because I’m the proof.”

On the day the war that decided the fate of the world finally reached its end.

Just like now, snow began to fall all at once. His body was utterly devoid of sensation, and yet the hand he held in his own had burned like molten iron.

That day, Davior felt fear for the first time.

“You will live.”

It was all he could say, though everyone knew it was a pitiful lie.

The woman in his arms was fading far too quickly—so quickly she seemed unwilling to leave even a body behind.

Even in the face of death, she remained stubborn.

“Live long. I’ll be reborn and come find you.”

Was she not as shameless a liar as he had ever known?

He knew it was no ordinary death. Even if miracles or reincarnation were real, she would never be a recipient of such grace.

Her soul would vanish. Her very existence erased from the world.

“…You insist on speaking only of things no one could possibly grant you.”

“Why assume it’s impossible? Perhaps it isn’t.”

“If you care for me at all, stop this nonsense right now. Please… just do as I say. For once—just this once…”

“No. I prefer protecting to being protected.”

I’ll protect you.

It had been her favorite phrase. And whenever he pointed out that he was the stronger one, she would insist that strength had nothing to do with it.

And she had proved herself right. Even at the final moment of her life, she accomplished what she wished.

“You really must break that terrible habit. Think of yourself first.”

Look who’s talking.

“Don’t cry. It’ll get better with time.”

It never would.

“Live a long, happy life. Promise me.”

That selfish dying wish forced Davior—who had intended to follow her—to continue living.

Whether vile magic was sealed inside his body or not, whether he became a monster after death or not, whether the world crumbled or not—he could have ignored it all.

Happiness was beyond him, yet he lived.

He thought only of enduring a little longer. At times, he even did things she might have done.

Like now, dutifully searching each year for gravestones whose faces he no longer remembered.

“……”

Even then, he never once expected reincarnation.

Without expectation, one cannot doubt.

And doubt requires the acknowledgment of possibility.

But centuries later, he found himself doubting something he could never believe, even at the very end of life.

For the first time in ages, he was unsettled.

Over something so trivial. Because the endlessly brazen Irenne had suddenly drawn a preposterous line.

“Your Grace should doubt me and stay wary of me.”

He was already doubting her—yet she asked him to.

He knew she did not mean the same thing he did. Still, the words grated on him, and Davior muttered crookedly,

“I suppose I ought to grant your wish.”

“Oh my, Irenne.”

Inside the castle, warmed fully by enchanted devices,

Giselle descended from the upper staircase, calling out to me. She held an armful of red flowers—vivid as her hair.

“Perfect timing. Will you help me?”

“With what?”

“Carry some of these for me.”

She handed me part of the flowers. I accepted them in a daze, blinking.

It was hardly a burden requiring assistance. I realized she meant to use it as an excuse for conversation as we walked.

“…Where are we going?”

“The cemetery. Today is the memorial day.”

Giselle naturally fell into step beside me, her pace slow. It was the direction I had just come from.

And with that, I understood that the cemetery she meant was the place I had encountered the Grand Duke moments ago—graveyard or garden, I still wasn’t sure.

And that Giselle had seen what happened with her ability.

“All who died in Winter Castle are buried there. The most recent gravestone is… hm, was it sixty years ago?”

She continued murmuring as though thinking aloud.

“Long ago this castle had a chef, and a chamberlain, and maids, and gardeners, and servants, and stablemen… even a knightly order. But they were all ordinary humans, and over time they were buried there, one by one.”

Through a dust-covered window, the pale light of a snow-filled sky seeped in.

Maintaining her tortoise-like pace, Giselle spoke again.

“After the last funeral, no one else has lived in Winter Castle. People only left—it never took in anyone new.”

“But you’re people too…”

“Are we? We need no good food, no courteous service, no tidy cleaning, no beautiful gardens. We only need to exist.”

Ah.

So that was why this vast castle had not a single servant, why they had lived in such a state.

Because they thought only of sustaining existence.

“How can you call that being human?”

Because they didn’t think of themselves as human.

They had never even considered their way of living a problem. Meanwhile, I felt a growing sense of crisis at the way they lived.

Winter Castle needed to change.

One cannot achieve anything by shutting oneself away from the world, merely because one is different.

Of course, from their perspective, my interference might have been nothing but meddling. Perhaps all I had done until now was unbecoming presumption.

But they’re not so different from people.

I still did not fully understand what they were.

But to me, they were simply people who lived a little longer, possessed a little more power, and still had hearts.

And that was enough to believe they should live as people.

I almost retorted but swallowed it back, mumbling instead while looking at the flowers that resembled her.

“…Stop. I’m an outsider.”

But she ignored me with the casualness of a master dismissing a servant’s protest.

“I may have a broken circuit now, but I was not originally from Bellmeier. I was a mage of the Tower. And before that, the daughter of Count Clemente.”

“……”

“You know, when you enter the Mage Tower, you must abandon your family name. Even my lord was addressed only by his given name back then, not as the Grand Duke of Bellmeier.”

“Giselle, enough.”

“But… things changed. My lord left the Tower and inherited the vacant title of Grand Duke. I followed him to Bellmeier and settled here, and Zephy followed me—she’s my younger sister.”

Not long ago, I had sworn not to learn any more about them, to draw a firmer line.

Yet Giselle was mercilessly erasing it. In a tone far too gentle to protest, she asked,

“Among us, the only true Bellmeier native is our lord. By your standards, doesn’t that make the majority of us outsiders?”

“That’s sophistry.”

“Thank you, Irenne.”

“Giselle… you’re not listening to me at all, are you?”

“I was wrong. It wasn’t that we didn’t need anything—it’s that we never realized what we needed.”

I no longer knew what expression I was making.

Giselle stopped walking.

“How do you think Bellmeier has survived?”

Not really waiting for my answer, she smiled, her eyes curved like petals.

“Fear is effective for maintaining order. And having an external enemy is even better.”