The Returning Spring
Moira was raised as the child of a wealthy farmer.
In any era, land was the foundation of wealth, so the fact that her parents owned vast fields meant that Moira lived a life of abundance.
Her parents possessed enough land to rival most nobles. Of course, only in wealth—they were still farmers. They had to bow their heads to the lord's illegitimate child and fill his purse generously each year when he came under the pretense of tax collection.
But such matters were of no concern to Moira.
She was a child, and as a child, all she needed to do was run about happily and grow up healthy.
The only people she needed to know were her father, her mother, and her younger brother, two years her junior. Beyond that, it was enough to know where her room was and how far she was allowed to go outside the estate.
Still, even a young girl had things that caught her interest.
"What name have you come under today, brother?"
That man was a strange one.
"This time, call me Vinicius."
He was an outsider who visited from time to time, a man whose name changed constantly. As far as the girl knew, he had more names than she had fingers on both hands.
His appearance also changed every time they met. Once he had grown a beard down to his chest; another time he came with his cheeks sunken thin; another time he shaved his head entirely and even etched odd tattoos onto his skin.
His transformations were so excessive that the siblings—Moira and her younger brother Akean—often failed to recognize him. At one point, they even suspected that every outsider might actually be him.
"Why do you keep changing your name?" her brother Akean asked.
"Because too many people are looking for me," he replied.
Though he was skilled at disguising himself, there were traits that gave him away.
He slept deeply—and he loved tobacco.
Like a bear hibernating in winter, he could sleep for days on end. There was even a time he slept from one summer all the way to the next. When the mischievous siblings left him alone, spiders built webs over him.
And when he finally woke, he would smoke incessantly. Nine out of ten times they saw him, he had a cigarette in his mouth.
"If you see someone smoking, it's him," the sister declared confidently to her brother.
He was truly someone who fit the word strange.
But no matter what kind of person he was, to the siblings, he was someone special.
Their hometown was remote, a place where outsiders rarely came. Aside from pilgrims and merchants, there were few visitors, and the siblings had little chance to meet or speak with anyone from beyond.
He was the only one who brought them news of the outside world.
"This is a fruit called Terna. It's widely cultivated in the subtropical regions of the southwest, but it has a strong bitterness, so it's used only in small amounts as a spice."
Whether he returned after months or after a year, he always brought gifts. Often they were fruits or other foods, but sometimes they were weapons or books.
Though such gifts were excessive for children who had not even come of age, he treated them as nothing special and taught them freely.
Moira and Akean learned from him—how to hold a sword, how to handle mana, even how to read ancient scripts.
He was a man who seemed to know everything.
Even when they heard news from afar or encountered something unfamiliar, if they asked him, he would explain it in detail, more thoroughly than anyone else.
A god of abundance who had toyed even with evil gods in the age of deities, a dragon who built a kingdom in human form—his stories were full of things that might have been doubtful, but to the young siblings, they were simply fascinating.
Whenever he left, they eagerly awaited his return, hoping for more gifts and stories.
"I must leave."
But one day, when he visited, something was different.
To others, he might have seemed merely calm—but the girl, who had seen him many times, knew better.
There was urgency in his expression.
"The dead are approaching. They'll reach this place before the day is over."
Later, the being known as the Lord of the Dead would rise.
A mage who had pursued immortality and failed—reduced to a skeleton, stripped of reason, and filled with hatred for the living.
But at that time, no one knew the depth of that hatred, nor how great a disaster the dead would bring.
People had merely heard that a rebellion had broken out in one corner of the country. Even the girl's parents only clicked their tongues at the news.
He was different.
Arriving early that morning, he urged them to abandon everything and leave immediately.
It sounded absurd—but her parents did not doubt him for even a moment and hurriedly began preparing.
"What will you do?"
"This is growing too large to simply watch."
He was not alone.
There were many he had saved from the tide of the dead, and they followed him with a single purpose—to confront the one responsible for summoning that tide.
He was their leader.
At that time, he went by the name Mergius, clad in gray armor.
"Go ahead. I'll buy you time."
While the siblings' parents hurriedly packed, he left with his group to face the approaching dead.
But her younger brother followed him, hiding in a supply wagon. In the chaos, no one noticed.
Only his sister realized.
And though she had always been the one to stop him, in that moment, she chose to follow him instead.
"Blood will tell, after all."
When he discovered the two children belatedly, he simply smiled.
After that, the siblings followed him and the knights, chasing the Lord of the Dead through countless battles.
As the years passed, they gained experience—and with it, fame.
And with fame came danger.
Half-siblings they had never even known of reached out, and the secret he had never told them was revealed.
Threats came—not unlike those from the dead.
And each time, he stood in the path of death itself to protect them.
Years passed again, and the girl became an adult.
She became a woman, and their journey neared its end.
"What will you do now?"
She asked him—Mergius.
Sitting on a tree stump, applying oil to the surface of his armor, he placed a cigarette between his lips, as calm as ever.
Though she disliked the smell of tobacco, she endured it and crouched beside him, watching quietly.
"For now, I'll take you back to your homeland."
"Which homeland?"
Instead of answering, he smiled faintly.
She studied him.
Just as she had grown in those years, so too had the knights who followed him changed. Their number had become eleven, each of them…
Their appearances had changed.
Some had wrinkles etched across their faces, some had hair turned white, and others bore countless scars.
But he was the same as when they first met.
No—since he changed his appearance each time, it would be more accurate to say he remained exactly as he had been on the day they left their hometown.
"They say you don't age."
"If you mean outward appearance, then yes."
When she asked why, he replied that he did not know. The one who had taken him in had given him something he had not asked for—so he merely accepted what had been given.
"Then… you'll live forever, won't you?"
"I don't know. If something without a known end is called eternity, then perhaps."
"Compared to eternity, this journey must be very short."
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.
"Whether time is long or short doesn't matter. Something can be endlessly long and yet meaningless. Something can be fleetingly short and yet more valuable than anything long."
She hesitated at his firm answer, then asked,
"Do you remember all those valuable things?"
"No. I would like to, but I cannot stop forgetting."
At that answer, she lowered her head.
"If you wish, even after this journey ends, you can come with me."
"To where?"
"Well… I'll think about that when the time comes."
"As always?"
"Yes."
She raised her head and looked at him quietly, then shifted her gaze to his neck.
She was certain it had once been cut while he was protecting her—yet there was not even the faintest trace of a scar.
Seeing that, a thought suddenly crossed her mind.
Would she become like this too?
He did not remember the distant past. Even valuable moments were swept away by oblivion. What little he did remember was already faint, as though it would soon fade entirely.
Over the endless flow of time—long enough to be called eternity—he would forget.
If she died and time passed, would it be the same?
Like a vanished wound, would she be forgotten without even leaving behind a scar?
She hated that.
Wouldn't it be better, even if only as a scar, to remain until the moment of death?
Miriam opened her eyes.
Sitting in the chair with her arms crossed, she blinked as she stared ahead with a hazy gaze.
She must have dozed off. She had only meant to recall the dream for a moment, but it had lulled her into sleep.
She exhaled softly and ran her hand over her face—then sensed someone's presence.
Her older brother, Padnan, was beside her. He was bent over, holding their mother's hand on the bed.
"When did you come? You should have woken me."
"I only came to see Mother," he said, shaking his head.
"Did you have a dream?"
"…Did it look like that?"
"You always do, don't you?"
She gave an awkward smile.
Not always.
When she was young, it had been nearly every day, but as she grew older, the frequency lessened. Sometimes she dreamed, but not of Moira—or the dreams were so faint that she couldn't recall them upon waking.
It had been a long time since she had a dream as vivid and long as the one just now.
And it was the first time it had continued all the way through, without breaking into fragments.
Before, they had always been like scattered pieces that she had to assemble one by one.
"Brother… you told the guest about my dreams, didn't you?"
He nodded silently.
For a brief moment, she saw tension pass across his face. Knowing why, she smiled again.
"I never said it before, but I already know everything. I know what the source of my dreams is—and whose they are. It's because of memory. Moira… her memories dwell deep within me, and that's why they appear as dreams."
"…Then do you also know why those memories are within you?"
When she first realized who she was in those dreams, Miriam had wondered why Moira's memories resided within her. She had formed her own hypothesis.
At first, she thought it was because Moira was among her ancestors. Moira had pursued immortality and failed—perhaps that influence had remained in her blood, passed down as memory to Miriam.
But she had dreamed things that contradicted that theory.
In those dreams, Moira had not gained immortality—yet she had not died either. She had been punished, stripped of everything, and forced to remain in this world, yet she continued her research.
"My father… before he passed, he told me that Lady Moira dwells within me. I thought he meant it in the sense that her blood runs in me—but that wasn't it."
"Miriam, whether something dwells within you or not—that doesn't matter. Who you originally are doesn't matter. Haven't you lived your life just fine until now?"
That was why she had disliked going to the annex, and why she avoided Moira's records.
Each time she dreamed, the being within those dreams seemed to overwrite her. If she also exposed herself to the records, it felt like she would no longer be able to resist it.
"If you don't want to dream anymore, you have to erase what lies within you."
"Yes. I know."
But then she added,
"It's alright. I'll leave it as it is."
"Why? Isn't it troublesome for you?"
"It was until now. But… I think I understand now."
The three guests, having accomplished what they came for, left the next day the same way they had arrived.
Old Padnan saw them off, glancing repeatedly at his sister Miriam, as if worried she might do something unexpected.
But Miriam did nothing unusual.
She simply approached the young man named Ulrich and said one thing.
"Will you come again next time… in a different form?"
At that, he gave a faint smile on his calm face and replied,
"Yes. As always."
That was the entirety of their exchange.
The three mounted their horses, pulled the reins, and rode off without looking back.
Miriam watched them—or rather, watched Ulrich—for a long time before turning back toward the mansion.
The reason they said nothing more was simple.
Nothing more needed to be said.
"I'll see him again… someday."
Now she understood.
Why Moira had so desperately longed for immortality—and what it was she had truly sought.
She had seen the ending she had never witnessed before.
And she had realized that the person in her dreams was not merely someone from the past.
She had thought she had grown numb as an adult—but that was a mistake.
She hadn't grown numb.
She had only forgotten.
"I don't know if the one I'll meet then… will still be the me I am now."
She let out a deep breath and, for the first time in a long while, made her way to the annex.
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