The mutated sun seemed to possess a peculiar allure.
Like automatons, the townspeople gathered around the square, their heads tilted back, eyes vacant, fixed upon the sun.
A smile of release curved their lips as they clasped their hands in prayer, as if that celestial body were their true home.
“How truly ironic it is,” Konehl-Ghervil scoffed, “to live under the Goddess’s grace yet foolishly worship a monster.”
Konehl-Ghervil shrugged off the Baron’s supportive hand and settled against the cross to rest, her expression unyielding.
The scene unfolding before her was unmistakably the apocalypse depicted in the illustrated notes.
Everyone had been devoured.
Yet, there were exceptions.
Of the three who remained alive—no, only two, as the Baron’s true state was still unclear—they stood unharmed and untouched, perhaps having become worshipers or servants of the mythical creature.
Their actions fell short of even the townspeople’s, and they had certainly failed Father Aylmer, who had sacrificed his life in reality to seal the heart.
“Indeed, it might appear as mere cunning in your eyes,” the Baron admitted, a hint of weariness tracing his features.
“However, it was one of the few things we could do, for the time left to us was agonizingly short—less than three months.”
“Father!” Penelope interjected, stepping forward to halt him.
“Of course, my daughter, the same applies to you,” the Baron continued, his voice heavy with remorse.
“I owe you so much.
After all you’ve endured, you still call me Father.
If not for me, you would never have joined the expedition team, and then you wouldn’t have…”
“You will always be my father,” Penelope whispered, her eyes welling up.
“Please, say no more… Sister Konehl-Ghervil doesn’t know the truth yet.
It’s better to keep it hidden.
I don’t want my brother to ever learn that a monster has been his companion all this time…”
As the Baron guiltily reached out to stroke her hair, Penelope’s eyes reddened further.
What in the world was happening?
Konehl-Ghervil stared, utterly bewildered.
The truth…
A monster…
Was this the price of becoming a mythical creature’s servant?
“Dandelion is no longer a child,” the Baron stated, his gaze hardening.
“He bears the future of our entire family.”
“But…”
“Trust me, and please, trust your brother.”
These words seemed to sway Penelope; she ceased her protests and buried her face in the Baron’s embrace, weeping.
Konehl-Ghervil, being a woman of understanding, refrained from interjecting with any sarcastic remarks about the poignant scene.
A vague suspicion began to form in her mind.
Less than three months ago, she mused, likely tracing back to June, when the expedition team met its disaster.
The Baron’s own misfortune had occurred two years prior.
What distinction lay between these two points in time…?
Ah, right…
Dreams.
In the memories Govet-Ghervil had shown her, Father Aylmer’s dying words mentioned that he had drawn the mythical creature into the dream realm.
Gradually, the mythical creature’s corruption had taken hold, seizing control of the dreamscape and becoming its master.
“I shall explain everything to you,” the Baron promised.
Having soothed Penelope, the Baron sat down cross-legged.
The other two went off together to gather the ripe Blood Roses, distributing them among the townspeople.
Konehl-Ghervil noticed he was wearing the attire of the former Mayor Genipa-Berber.
Thus, the Mayor’s true identity was, in fact, Baron Cambaton.
His magnificent robe, now stained with mud, conveyed a strange respect as he spoke to her at eye level.
Her perception of the Baron shifted slightly; she had simply sat on the ground due to her weakness and the already soiled state of her white dress, a little more dirt making no difference.
To show such deference to a ‘prisoner’ was certainly unexpected.
“Do you believe in resurrection?” the Baron began, his tone almost that of an old mystic.
As a nun of dubious devotion, Konehl-Ghervil found herself truly at a loss for a response.
“…Is the price becoming a monster?”
Her lips parted, and she decided to voice the question that lingered from Penelope’s earlier words.
“Strictly speaking, true resurrection is impossible,” the Baron explained.
“After a prey dies, its soul merges with the creature, becoming entirely subjugated.
That is the price we paid for our revival.”
“How am I to confirm the veracity of your claims?” Konehl-Ghervil questioned, her voice laced with suspicion.
“Even if they are true, how can I be certain that it is not *it* speaking to me now…?”
She paused,
“…and not merely a new deception?”
Beneath her wariness, a hollow feeling began to spread.
Though reluctant to give up hope, it was difficult not to believe.
The friend she had intended to help had been dead from the very beginning.
Penelope’s secrecy had only served to keep Konehl-Ghervil from discovering the truth of her demise.
No body found in reality after her disappearance…
A mere mortal, yet able to recall and record the town’s calamity through dreams…
Everything suddenly made sense.
With seasoned insight that remained sharp even in the dream, the Baron perceived Konehl-Ghervil’s true thoughts.
He then used his cane to draw the strange symbol on the ground.
“Our ability to speak with you here, in human form, we owe entirely to Father Aylmer,” he explained.
“He dragged *it* into the dream realm, allowing our souls to return to ourselves and even granting us a portion of its power and dream dominion (TL Note: Refers to the authority or power one holds over the dream realm or dreamscape.).”
“As the degree of awakening deepens, we will eventually revert entirely to its control.”
“In these past few months, did none of you consider reporting this to the Royal Capital?” Konehl-Ghervil pressed.
“We tried, and we failed—an outcome we anticipated,” the Baron replied, shaking his head.
“Burdurka Town has remained undisturbed within the mist for years without the protection of The Order, a fact that has never drawn the attention of any major official organization.
Given the standing of Solis Abbey, I trust you understand more than I do.”
“No… I’ve lost my memory,” Konehl-Ghervil mumbled, resorting to her customary poor excuse.
The Baron paused in silent contemplation before speaking again:
“Then I must warn you,” he said, his voice grave, “be wary of those around you, especially your colleagues from The Order.”
“And I warn *you*, Baron,” she retorted, a grim edge to her voice, “we are about to die.
There is no longer any need for caution.”
She gazed skyward, where the sun had been largely consumed, leaving only a tiny core at its center.
The sky grew dim, and from the ‘sun,’ twisted, writhing tendrils extended, emitting a dark luminescence as it descended.
It grew larger.
And larger still.
A furious gale whipped up, snapping trees and carrying countless faint, indistinct whispers on its breath.
The townspeople, having consumed their roses, awaited the descent of the tendrils, ready to be used for their final purpose.
Of the nearly ten thousand roses, fewer than a hundred remained in a scattered ring around them.
If her guess was correct, these would be their final meal before death.
“Our fate is sealed, but you still have a choice!” the Baron declared, his voice ringing with urgency.
The Baron brushed the dirt from his magnificent robe, which billowed in the fierce wind as he rose to his feet.
From his side, a carefully chosen rose was offered to him.
“Father, it is ready,” Penelope said softly.
“Thank you for your effort, my daughter,” he replied, his gaze softening.
He raised the rose high, facing the descending ‘sun,’ then turned his gaze to the young woman who stood, gripping the cross, her body swaying precariously in the wind.
“We will bestow upon you the limited dream dominion we possess, so you may awaken prematurely and escape…”
His voice soared,
“Escape to a safe haven, save this city, and become a hero!”
The rose floated into the air, drawing in the blood that seeped from the fingertips of the three as they extended their hands.
“Would you trouble yourself to place a sprig of rosemary before my teacher’s monument?” the usually taciturn Dr. Blumberg requested, becoming the second speaker in this farewell.
“It was his favorite plant.”
“I will,” Konehl-Ghervil promised, her voice thick with emotion.
Then it was Penelope’s turn; she looked at Konehl-Ghervil with eyes full of apology.
“Knight Esli might have survived and returned to reality,” Penelope offered, a fragile hope in her tone.
“She was fortunate; it didn’t capture her.”
At her very first words, Konehl-Ghervil felt a surge of renewed vigor.
“I am truly sorry to tell you the truth only now,” Penelope continued.
“It is only during this ritual that we can briefly, completely escape its control.”
“If you would still consider me your friend…”
“You always have been my friend!” Konehl-Ghervil cried out against the wind.
“Thank you,” Penelope murmured.
The woman took a deep breath, a faint smile gracing her lips.
“As a friend, I hope you will convey a message to my brother,” she requested.
“Tell him not to set his sights too high; the sole daughter of the Illowyn family has always held an affection for him.
She would make a wonderful wife…”
Her voice dissipated with the wind; stripped of their dream dominion, their fates were now no different from ordinary mortals, to be consumed by the nascent, pulsating mass of flesh that was the heart.
“You are the ones truly worthy of the title ‘heroes’…” Konehl-Ghervil whispered, her voice choked.
Clasping the falling crimson rose in both hands, Konehl-Ghervil stared intently at the colossal, pulsating heart in the sky, then, without hesitation, swallowed the bloom.