The Returning Spring
"Rejuvenation… something like that?"
Roberta narrowed her eyes as she looked at Ulrich.
"It's not like a magician slowing down aging—it's more like becoming younger, as if returning to the past."
"That's right. You understood correctly. Moira was one of the few who chose that path—and she succeeded. No… I suppose I can't call it a success. It wasn't the agelessness or immortality she desired."
Moira had been exceptionally talented. Through solitary study of the materials left behind by the lord of the dead, she discovered a path he himself had not found—and reached it. She did not merely slow aging; she reversed it.
Even if it wasn't true agelessness or immortality, becoming young again and continuing life could be seen as approaching eternal life. At first glance, it seemed better than the other two cases Roberta had witnessed.
The alchemist killed by the old knight Rashid had turned into something else entirely, as a parasite consumed his body. And the lord of the dead had lost his reason through resurrection.
Compared to them, Moira's method—regaining youth without becoming a monster—was, aside from one flaw, undeniably appealing.
"But she failed to preserve the most important thing."
That flaw was the loss of memory.
As her aged body regressed into that of an infant, her memories disappeared.
"At first, they say she didn't lose much. She became a child while retaining most of her memories. Though she couldn't articulate properly, her mind remained entirely that of Lady Moira."
Everyone forgets. Forgetting is natural. We live in the present while gradually losing the past, though it rarely causes more than mild inconvenience.
But what if the forgetting were immense?
If what is forgotten is small, one doesn't even realize it. But if it is large, one feels the void. That was what Moira experienced.
Her loss was not caused by the natural flow of time—it was neither gradual nor minor. Compared to the whole, it may not have been everything, but it must have felt as though entire portions of her memory had been torn away at once.
Even if memories are lost, existence does not vanish. Moira was the emperor's sister, one of the eleven knights, and the lord of Roslayen.
But how would she herself feel?
"From that point on, Lady Moira recorded everything."
The old man, Padnan, rose and led the guests to an annex on the north side of the estate.
The annex was about a third the size of the main building, and it contained only a single room.
That room was filled with books.
Padnan called it a study, but Roberta thought of it as a library.
"Don't tell me all of these books are hers?"
"It would be more accurate to say most of them are."
Roberta walked between the shelves, scanning the books.
She had once visited a nobleman's library alongside Bishop Alonso. Compared to that place, this one was larger—but far less ornate.
That noble had collected books as a hobby, and each volume had been a work of art—some bound in silk, others decorated with gemstones, and some even encased in metal like armor.
The books here were different.
They were simply bound stacks of paper. Some lacked covers entirely; others were wrapped in plain leather without decoration. From the yellowed pages and worn bindings, Roberta felt the weight of time.
He said she recorded everything…
She picked up one book. Numbers were engraved at the top of its cover—two dates, marking a span of time.
She returned it and searched for the earliest and latest volumes.
The earliest dated back about 800 years. The most recent was from around 100 years ago.
The records grow sparse…
There had been no new books compiled in nearly a century.
And the closer the books came to the present, the fewer there were.
At first, several volumes had been written each year—but toward the end, even fifty years had not produced a single one. The final book itself ended mid-sentence.
She even forgot the will to preserve her memories.
Why had the records diminished?
Roberta guessed that Moira had forgotten even her obsession with memory. No matter how precious a memory is, once it is gone from the mind, it loses its meaning.
Could recorded memories restore the emotions that once accompanied them?
Roberta thought not.
Hidden memories deep within the mind might return—but memories that no longer existed could not.
Even when reading the same book, people react differently. That is because of both their innate nature and the personality they develop over time.
As Moira lost her memories, the personality she had built through experience also changed. And so, even when reading the records left behind by her former self, they would no longer move her the same way.
The obsession with recording memories must have had a source. A memory that gave rise to that obsession—but one she gradually forgot.
Even if someone recorded their hatred of another person, losing that memory might mean no longer feeling that hatred—or abandoning the desire for revenge altogether.
"According to the records, after regaining her youth, Lady Moira spent several years reciting her writings. But at some point, she compiled an abridged version and read only that. And now… she no longer reads even the abridged version."
"Does she refuse to read—or does she not understand?"
"Both."
Padnan gave a bitter smile.
"To begin with, she no longer knows that she wrote them herself. When she lost all her memories, we tried to teach her that she was Moira—but she asked us not to do so anymore."
The old man walked to one side of the shelf and took out a single book, handing it to Ulrich.
It was the abridged version.
A life that filled an entire annex had been reduced to a single volume.
How much had been omitted? And how much of what remained was truly essential?
Roberta looked at the book with shining curiosity.
Ulrich then passed it to her.
"I've already read it. I organized it when she still remembered me for the last time. It may not contain much of what you're hoping for, but it's better than trying to read everything here."
***
Roberta stepped out of the annex and sat beneath the shade of a tree in the garden.
Roberta placed the abridged volume she held onto her lap and examined the cover.
There was nothing inscribed on it. It had been bound long ago and passed through many hands, leaving it worn and tattered. It looked as though the pages might come loose at any moment.
What kind of record would someone leave behind—someone who had lived for nearly a thousand years, the emperor's sister and one of the eleven knights?
What intrigued her was not Moira herself, but the figure of Ulrich as seen through Moira's eyes. He must have used a different name back then, and must have treated the siblings, Moira and Akean, under a different identity.
He said there wouldn't be much of what I expect…
Still, Roberta hoped to learn more about Ulrich through this abridged volume. He might dismiss it as insignificant, but when had she ever been given enough of the full story to be satisfied?
Even one alias—one past tied to that alias—would be enough.
Carefully, she opened the first page.
—
I leave this to the me who is no longer me.
The very first sentence began that way.
—
Even if you read this, you will not feel as I do. And yet, I leave it behind. As time flows on, my memories—and the self that I am—will fade away. Still, I leave this in the hope that you may find yourself again.
It was Moira's message to her future self—the one who would lose her memories.
She had known. She had foreseen that one day she would live without even knowing who she was. After all, someone unaware of themselves would never read through an entire library like that. That was why she had condensed her life into a single volume.
Roberta lingered on the wish contained within those words, then turned the page.
The first story was her oldest memory.
It began with the tale of when she was about six years old—on the day spring began, a knight had come to visit, wearing silver armor so radiant it dazzled her eyes.
"Hello?"
At the sudden greeting, Roberta lifted her head.
It was a face she had seen three times already today. Miriam—the middle-aged woman—had approached the shade and was looking down at her.
Just as she was beginning to learn about the knight, the flow was interrupted. Though slightly annoyed, Roberta rose with a polite smile.
"Hello, sister. Is something the matter?"
"That book you're reading… it looks familiar."
Miriam pointed at the abridged volume.
"That book isn't usually shown to outsiders."
"Oh, Padnan granted me permission."
"My brother did?"
She blinked, muttering to herself, "That's strange."
"That's curious. There should be quite a lot in there that's not meant to be shown outside. As far as I know, even the servants aren't allowed into the annex because of it."
"I suppose it contains private records."
"Probably. I don't know the details."
Her tone lacked certainty. Roberta noticed the slight hesitation at the end of Miriam's words.
She was Padnan's sister—a direct member of the count's family. Had she not read it?
"My brothers told me I should read it, but I just couldn't get interested. It felt like a long, drawn-out diary, so I stopped after a few pages."
Roberta glanced at the book, then looked back at the woman.
"…I see. Come to think of it, Lady Miriam, there seems to be quite an age difference between you and your brother. Forgive me if this is rude, but…"
"It's alright. I hear it often. We don't resemble each other, and with such a big age gap, it's obvious, isn't it? Even if we say outside that I was born late, everyone knows—I'm illegitimate."
The woman smiled.
Roberta returned the smile, though not innocently. Her lips curved, but her eyes remained fixed on the other woman.
"My apologies. I hope I'm not prying, but… when did your mother begin showing those symptoms?"
"My mother? Hmm… it hasn't been that long. Just a few years ago, she would forget things often, but her mind was still clear."
A few years ago.
Roberta turned those words over in her mind.
After Ulrich had been introduced to the old woman and Miriam in the reception room, he had asked Padnan, "Since when has she been like that?"
What had Padnan said?
That it had been that way since his great-grandfather's time.
And yet, the woman before her said it had only been a few years.
Roberta felt her lips go dry and wetted them with her tongue.
Now that she thought about it, there was something else she had overlooked.
—
I witnessed her becoming a child at the end of aging. To me, she was like a grandmother, yet I saw her babble, unable to remember anything.
—
Padnan's words.
She had assumed he was referring to an elderly woman with dementia—but what if he wasn't?
What if she had truly become a child?
Padnan was an old man nearing sixty, yet the old woman had appeared even older than him. How could he have witnessed her as a child—unless she had not aged normally?
On the other hand, Miriam appeared about twenty years younger than Padnan. Which meant—it was possible she had become an infant when Padnan was around twenty.
"Do you know someone named Moira?"
The woman tilted her head.
"Isn't she the one who wrote the book you're holding?"
"Do you know anything more about her?"
After a moment's thought, she shook her head.
"No. Like I said, I don't know much. I've asked my brother and my mother before, but they always just told me to read the book. So all I know is that she's an ancestor from long ago."
She looked at Roberta curiously.
"Why do you ask?"
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE : https://beastnovels.com