Chapter 248: Loss (2)

Deculein was gone, but his legacy remained—Etynel words inked on parchment, theories of magic crystallizing in diagrams, math problems solved in the margins, and, above all, the indelible lessons lasting within Sylvia's mind.

However, not a single trace of Deculein remained. Not a fragment of cloth, not a single hair—nothing remained, as if it had all burned away. But even fire leaves ash, and he had dissolved like ink diffusing into the sea.

Alone, Sylvia lightly tapped her finger on her lips, and the sensation brought back an unforgettable memory as the scene replayed in her mind.

“... Fool,” Sylvia muttered.

The courage that drove Sylvia to press her lips to Deculein's was impulsive—more desire than decision. Though regret welled up in the moments that followed, the idea that she had left a memory in the fabric of their story for herself brought a sense of peace.

𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Tick, tock—

Tick, tock—

Sylvia watched the clock tick its rhythm into the room before pushing herself up and opening the window.

“Deculein is dead,” Sylvia said to the scarecrow hidden in the forest's underbelly below the lighthouse.

Then, without a word, the scarecrow stared up at the lighthouse, turned its back, and walked into the fading light.

Sylvia closed the window and pressed her back against the wall.

Swish...

Sylvia's back slid down the wall until her hips landed hard on the floor, her legs falling open without thought, like petals wilting after rain.

“This isn’t very dignified,” Sylvia muttered.

Sylvia tried to push herself up, but her body refused as the room spun, a sensation reminiscent of mana exhaustion, a throbbing ache pulsing in her temples, her eyelids drooping, and sleep pulling her under.

As Sylvia closed her eyes, Deculein's image bloomed in the darkness—he, who had met the betrayal of the woman he loved with acceptance, offering only the assurance that it was of no consequence, that it would not undo him; he stood his ground, never running away—and died.

Sylvia touched her lips once more, and what had once seemed indelible had already faded. A trace of moisture brushed the corner of her lips as a tear slipped down her cheek, leaving its mark without her realizing.

“... Idnik,” Sylvia muttered, calling for her.

Now there’s work to be done. The fake is dead, so it’s time to create a new one once more. ... No.

Creeeak—

“... Hey, why didn’t you tell me?” Idnik asked, quietly stepping through the door, almost lost in the wind that slipped in behind her.

“It’s not fair to listen in on someone’s pain from outside.”

“Says the one who created a new spell just to spy on Deculein?"

“... I deserve to—because he was the one who killed my mom,” Sylvia replied, trying to avoid the topic as she reached her hand toward Idnik. “Give me the crystal orb.”

"Are you going to create it again already?"

“... No,” Sylvia said, shaking her head. “I’m going to destroy it.”

Perhaps Deculein had been right all along, Sylvia thought—that every death of the fake was still a death, and even this kind of parting was, in its own way, a real farewell. Therefore...

“Are you planning to break your contract with him?”

At Idnik's words, a crease formed between Sylvia's brows, and a frown appeared on her face.

“Only the Professor can bring you to completion as you are now,” Idnik added, placing the crystal orb into Sylvia's waiting hands.

“... And that Professor is the only one who could break me as well.”

“What is the difference?”

At that moment, Sylvia's face hardened.

"Sylvia, eventually, what you are trying to complete is the very shell of an egg that seals you in, and the one you are trying to break is the same. Whether you perfect it or break it, in the end, you will become who you are meant to be—the you that you choose," Idnik said with a soft smile.

Sylvia could remain sealed within the pure prism of the egg of Primary Colors or break its shell and fight her way into the world. The shape of Sylvia's loss—and what it had left behind—was hers alone to decide.

***

Within the guild room, Jukaken listened to Arlos's words.

“... I see,” Jukaken said with a pop of his lips, nodding. “Sounds like the Professor’s life expectancy is about two weeks, then.”

Arlos remained silent.

Then, Arlos’s eyes wandered over what the previous iteration of Deculein had left behind as she remained seated in the chair—pages thick with magic theory, the hiring contract for Sylvia's tutoring, and a sketch of Arlos that he had drawn to pass the time.

“...

Hehehe

. What’s wrong? Feeling a bit lonely?” Jukaken asked, watching Arlos with a sneer curling at the corners of his mouth.

Arlos offered Jukaken no reply, as she would to a passing breeze, considering it unworthy of notice.

“Did you finish your task?” Arlos said.

“I finished the frame—right up to the largest ring of the magic circle. But, you know, now that Deculein is dead...”

With Jukaken's words hanging with unfinished implications, Arlos, without turning her head, glanced toward him.

"Does that mean I’m not getting paid today?”

Of course, Jukaken only cares for his coins above anything else,

Arlos thought.

Jukaken shrugged.

"You’re seriously fucking unbelievable," Arlos said, her shoulders slumped like someone who had lost the will to argue anymore.

“Come on, with that, we could finally tidy up this entire guild room. If we do that, the next Deculein would thank us for it too. Or maybe it doesn’t matter to him—he’d probably say even a landfill looks lovely with you in it. But don’t you think some furniture wouldn’t hurt?”

"Have you ever heard of inflation? Just one wooden plank costs three coins these days," Arlos replied.

“So what.”

Arlos held the coin in her hand. It was a complete currency, though she didn't know where it had come from, but she was certain it belonged neither to the Voice nor to Sylvia.

Therefore, the coin was not the currency of the Voice. More precisely, the Voice had only borrowed this complete currency to use as its own. That was why anything purchased with it on the island was real. Even within the Voice, it could be spent without causing anyone to lose their memories.

"Well then, I guess we’re the ones left behind," Arlos said, tucking the coin into her pocket.

"What are you talking about? It’s not

us

who were left behind—it’s just

you

."

Arlos looked around Jukaken and he had paid five coins for a purchase of a piece of lumber.

"I mean, was there ever anyone besides you that the Professor ever treated like an actual human being? Well, to be fair, it makes sense that Deculein and Gerek never treated each other as human," Jukaken said, his hands already preparing the lumber.

“... Jukaken, you motherfucker,” Arlos called.

“What the fuck do you want, bitch.”

"Who do you trust?"

“Who?”

“Between the Altar and the Professor.”

With a tight crease between his brows, Jukaken shelled out hundreds of coins for a toolbox—an exchange that seemed more of a significant acquisition than a simple purchase.

“You fucker,” Arlos said, her eyes wide. “That could’ve fed us for a month—”

“I trust myself,” Jukaken said.

Arlos remained silent.

"Besides, who could we possibly trust? Are we supposed to pick between the two lunatics based on their campaign promises? To people like us, the Altar and the Professor are both the same breed of lunacy from where we stand. But I suppose Deculein gets extra points for his looks."

"

Ugh

..." Arlos murmured with a long sigh, slumping into the chair.

Then, all of a sudden, a sketch caught Arlos's eye—one drawn by Deculein and left behind.

"But again, there's something about the Professor—he has a strange pull to him. Addictive, almost. I didn’t notice it back when we met in the underworld, but maybe because he’s changed a lot, actually. Back then, he was really a fucking bastard."

Under the sketch of Arlos—no, Cynthia—was Deculein's rare signature, an uncharacteristic touch that said more than words could.

To Arlos, forsake not your own faith, for true trust cometh from within, not from the hand of another. (Sepern, chapter 5, verse 15)

"Deculein quote a Bible verse."

From someone who has no faith in God,

Arlos thought.

“But, Jukaken.”

... However, the sentence written on the sketch pulled Arlos into a particular thought.

If I were to betray Deculein, bringing his death to the Altar as my offering... or if I stand by Deculein and follow his will by raising a force to stand against them... what would the result be between the two, and what will I become in the end?

"What will you do when the God of the Altar descends to the world?"

"Well, first off, I'd better find out whether this God is real or just another fake."

“And what if He’s real?”

“Then I suppose I’ll need to make my excuses.”

“Like what?”

"I didn’t know you were the real God, and if I had known you were real, I would have offered faith instead of doubt. If He’s a real God, He’ll probably forgive me. Because He’s real."

What the hell is he talking about?

Arlos thought, tucking the sketch under her arm.

As the sketch of her portrait was the first she'd ever received, Arlos couldn't throw it away, as her pride wasn't worth that. From then on, she and Jukaken said nothing at all.

... Creak, creak.

Jukaken's hands moved with the saw, whispering through the grain of the lumber.

...

Tsssshh

.

Then, the grains of sand fell from the ceiling above, keeping a tempo only the room could hear.

Wrapped in the hush of that peaceful hour, Arlos remained seated, letting the hours slip by as her purpose became clear—to hand over the memories of the previous iteration of Deculein to the next, and there was no need for anything more.

Thud—!

Once Jukaken had finished cutting the lumber, Arlos glanced at him, then took a moment to think before pushing herself up without a word.

“What do you want this time?” Jukaken said, his eyes narrowing as Arlos closed the distance between them.

“Let me join. I’m dying of boredom anyway.”

“... If you want.”

It wasn’t boredom that Arlos felt, but the absence of tension. With Deculein, everything was heightened—the way he praised her with his words, looked at her with his eyes, and moved around her kept her caught in his current, too swept up to allow any space for silence.

Creak, creak— Creak, creak—

Thump, thump—

Thump, thump—

The sound of the saw meeting lumber and the metal tools clashing echoed through the guild room. Arlos and Jukaken, waiting for the return of someone nearby, worked beneath that soundscape, their sweat falling like rain onto the dusty floor.

***

Bang, bang—!

Bang, bang—!

The next morning, Arlos was sprawled somewhere in the guild room, and when the banging started on the guild room door, she blinked awake, wiped the drool from her mouth.

“Hey, you two! Listen up! Deculein has arrived!” Idnik said.

Startled by the banging, Arlos quickly pulled her mask over her face and gave Jukaken, sprawled somewhere on the floor, a firm kick—hard enough to wake him up.

“

Ow

! What the fuck is your problem, bitch?!” Jukaken yelled.

“Go and open the door. Deculein is here.”

“... Already? That was quick.

Yawwwwn

~” Jukaken muttered as he dragged his feet across the room and opened the door.

Creeeeeak—

As the wooden door creaked open, Arlos kept her eyes on the gap and swallowed hard. Through the gap in the creaking door, Deculein's face came into view—a face without flaw, his blue eyes bright and filled with certainty, his presence untouched by even the slightest break in his elegant poise.

However, as she watched him through the gap in the creaking door, the current iteration of Deculein looked at her without any sign of recognition—and without knowing why, Arlos bit her lip.

“Deculein, this is Jukaken. I'm sure you already know him,” Idnik introduced.

“I do,” Deculein replied with a nod.

“Hello, hello~” Jukaken said, grinning as he waved his hand.

“And this is Arlos,” Idnik added, gesturing in her direction.

“In a mask,” Deculein replied, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“You’re right.”

With measured steps, Deculein approached, and Arlos met him halfway, pressing into his hands a bundle of documents—hundreds of pages of magic spells in theory and the hiring contract for Sylvia's tutoring.

“Here. Your previous iteration... left these behind. Though calling them keepsakes might be a bit too much.”

As Deculein accepted the papers from Arlos, he fell silent, and then, with the faintest twist of his lips, his usual cynicism returned.

“They’re not keepsakes. The previous iteration of myself who left them behind and the current iteration of myself who holds them now—they are both me.”

“... But slightly different.”

“However,” Deculein added, surveying the room with a face twisted in contempt as he took in his surroundings. “Is this deplorable place where you’ve been living? Even the air reeks of filth in here.”

“Your previous iteration didn’t seem to find it comfortable enough. You even caught a few hours of sleep here—though never flat on your back, but that counts,” Jukaken replied with a smile.

Like Jukaken, Idnik’s face held a mischievous smile as she looked at Deculein.

“You are spouting pure nonsense, Jukaken. One more word like that, and I’ll begin to question your sanity,” Deculein replied.

With a chuckle, Jukaken looked over his shoulder at Arlos, and the message was clear—take off the mask. But Arlos refused, a small shake of her head saying all that needed to be said.

"Anyway, read the magic theory you wrote, as it may be the only way out of this place. Your lessons begin tomorrow, every afternoon at three, so don’t forget about it," Idnik said.

Deculein offered no reply.

The sixth iteration of Professor, the sixth iteration of Deculein, had already buried himself in magic theory, his eyes locked onto the lines, circles, and spells drawn across the page.

"Then I’ll be going," Idnik said, and without another word, turned and walked out.

Bang—

The moment the door shut, thin grains of sand spilled down from the ceiling.

And...

Every minute dragged on like ten, every ten like an hour, every hour like three, and the silence just kept building.

“

Snooooore...

Snooooore...

”

As Jukaken slipped back into sleep, his snores rising in strange rhythms, Deculein read through his theory for a spell—then suddenly, he raised his head and looked directly at Arlos.

“... How strange,” Deculein said.

"What exactly do you find strange?" Arlos asked, tilting her head slightly, though the question settled uncomfortably in her chest.

"Along the corner of this theory, it seems the previous iteration of myself left behind a sentence."

“... A sentence?”

“Indeed,” Deculein said, though his voice bore the weight of suspicion, his eyes narrowing at the sentence left by his previous iteration. “Should inspiration fail... Arlos, it says to look for your face.”

“... What?” Arlos muttered in pure disbelief.

However, before Arlos could say a word, Deculein's voice continued, already a step ahead.

"And also, it says I should place my trust in you, as if scribed in the dying light of a final testament."

At that moment, Arlos’s face stiffened, and without meaning to, she bit down—as if to keep something from slipping out.

Deculein looked at Arlos with a silence that seemed to see more than words ever could.

“

Sigh

,” Arlos murmured as she pulled off her mask.

When Deculein saw Arlos without the mask, he didn’t speak but gave a nod—not to her, but to the sentence left by the iteration of himself who had come before.

***

The very next morning, the sixth iteration of Deculein visited Sylvia at her home, and she said nothing, only looking up at him.

“Greetings. I’m Deculein, your assigned tutor,” said the new iteration of Deculein, offering her the contract.

Was that Deculein’s idea of a joke? Probably not,

Sylvia thought, his words almost making her laugh.

"Yes, come in," Sylvia said, but the words trembled, catching at the base of her throat.

“Very well.”

Sylvia remembered the kiss she had stolen from Deculein and how Yuara had betrayed him, but it was strange—he, the current iteration of Deculein, remembered none of it. But right now, Sylvia chose not to care.

"Have you reviewed your lessons and tended to them with the care they deserve?" Deculein inquired.

Nothing had changed in the way he spoke, as if he were the same person as the previous iteration of Deculein, and for a moment, it disoriented Sylvia in ways she hadn’t expected. It was difficult for Sylvia to say whether the fifth and sixth iterations of Deculein were the same man or someone entirely different, but for now, she really chose not to care.

“Yes, I reviewed like I said I would—it’s only been two days, though,” Sylvia said. “And you may not remember, but you promised me something if I did well on my review.”

Sylvia took a light step, closed the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around Deculein, burying her face in the warmth of his chest.

"You told me I’d get a hug as a reward if I kept up the good work with my reviews."

... And Deculein said nothing but stood there, his arms at his sides.

Maybe it could be that he just froze from what I just did to him. Or maybe he really believes what I said. But, either way...

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” Sylvia said.

My voice is shaking, drenched in tears in a way I can't quite control—but what can I do? You wouldn't know if I lied, and this memory would fade like all the others.

“But it’s true.”

Holding the thought close, Sylvia closed her eyes for a moment, resting against Deculein’s chest.