86—Eighty-Six
“M-my—I apologize for any disrespect…!”
The girl’s reply was respectful yet despondent. Watching the conversation between the two, who didn’t seem to mesh quite right, Lena couldn’t help but giggle, albeit with pangs of guilt. She’d wondered what kind of man this King of Corpses would be, but seeing him frolic about with his friendly attendant made him seem like nothing more than a boy their age.
“…How do I put this? I suppose one’s reputation really is removed from reality.”
She whispered this so only Shin could hear. But no response came. Looking up at Shin, she found his expression was oddly stiff as he stared at the lord and his servant standing near the door. Specifically, his gaze was fixed on Lerche, the girl in the crimson uniform.
“…Captain? What—?”
Shin spoke up, cutting off Lena’s query.
“…Your Highness.”
Vika narrowed his eyes with interest—the Imperial violet eyes of an ill-natured tiger or perhaps those of a vicious serpent.
“I’ll say it again, but Vika will do, Nouzen.”
“Fine, Vika… What is
that thing
?”
“Captain…!”
When Lena realized the “thing” Shin was referring to was Lerche, she chastised him. Vika, on the other hand, gave him a thin smile.
“Ooh. I see your title of Reaper is well-earned, indeed… Lerche.”
“Yes.”
“Show them.”
“Very well.”
Lerche rose to her feet briskly, as if she were a knight taking off her helmet…
…removed her head, and held it up in the air.
No one in attendance could blame Lena for taking a frightened step back.
“What…?!”
Frederica’s large eyes widened in shock, and Raiden and Shiden leaned forward from the wall they’d been standing against. Even Shin, who wasn’t one for flinching, narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Vika alone remained composed.
“Allow me to properly introduce her. This is the first unit of the Artificial Fairies—the Sirins. The pinnacle of the United Kingdom’s technological achievements and the crux of our national defense.”
With a wave of Vika’s hand, a sensor located somewhere in the room reacted, projecting a hologram near his slender form. That was likely the Alkonost. The three-dimensional model displayed a Feldreß that was more slender than the Juggernaut, so much so that it made them doubt if it was armored at all. Its torso included a small cockpit hardly large enough to contain a human.
“This is the central processor of the semiautonomous combat machine Alkonost.”
The Eighty-Six weren’t considered human, so any machine they piloted would be considered not a manned one but a drone. It was the same concept…as the Republic’s Juggernaut.
Lerche’s detached head was connected to her torso with tubes and cords that looked like blood vessels and nerves.
“Is she…human?”
Vika snickered wryly.
“You ask that question after seeing what you’ve just seen, Bloody Reina? Recall what Nouzen just said. And consider…how did he so easily see her for what she is?”
Lena swallowed nervously. Shin could hear the voices of the Legion—or rather, the voices of the war dead who remained trapped mechanical ghosts. But the girl in front of them couldn’t be a Legion, since they never fashioned weapons in human form. They were forbidden from making a weapon that looked too similar to a human being.
In which case…
Shin spoke, as if to not let Lena voice her conclusion.
“It uses a dead person’s brain…or rather, a reproduction of one, as its central processor.”
His bloodred eyes glared at Vika with an intensity Lena had never seen before.
For Shin, who’d heard the voices of his comrades after they’d been captured by the Legion and who’d even had to gun down his own brother, who’d been trapped in that condition, the United Kingdom, which had made the girl standing before him, was guilty of unparalleled heresy.
It carelessly walked all over the line that separated the living from the dead. Capturing the souls of those who had earned their eternal rest and using them once again for the sake of battle meant…
It was an icy glare that would make any normal person falter, but Vika didn’t so much as wince.
“Bull’s-eye, Reaper of the Eighty-Sixth Sector. All of these girls’ central processors are reproductions based off human brain structures.”
They bore an odd resemblance to—or perhaps were inspired by—the intelligent Legion, the Shepherds.
“Wait a moment… If those were originally human brains, then…”
Lena’s voice was so stiff and sharp she had trouble recognizing it. The United Kingdom was the only despotic monarchy on the continent. The citizens were all essentially property of the nobility.
“…where, and for what reason, did you gather the people those brains belonged to?”
Vika tilted his head in an amused fashion.
“Are you insinuating that we arrogant despots dismember our citizens against their wills? Then you may be disappointed to hear the Idinarohk line isn’t quite that foolish. We know well enough that all that awaits us at the end of mindless tyranny is the guillotine’s kiss… The components are all given voluntarily and are extracted only after they die in battle. Strictly speaking, it’s right before their deaths. If
a soldier who voluntarily donated his body in advance is marked as black during triage—and under those conditions alone—he’s sent to have his brain scanned. Even those who volunteered aren’t sent to the scanner if there’s a chance of saving their lives, and volunteering is entirely optional.”
In a place as dangerous as the battlefield, there were more injured soldiers in need of treatment than there were doctors to treat them. To handle such situations, a method was established to ensure as many lives were saved as possible; that was triage. It was a measure to segregate those injured who weren’t at risk of death or didn’t require treatment right away from those who required immediate resuscitation.
Among them were black tags—those categorized as being in a condition in which they were beyond saving even if they were treated. The name came from the color of the tag attached to them. They were the ones who were found too late or the ones who were still alive but were injured to the point that they would die in a matter of moments.
“The digitized brain structure is reproduced via artificial cells, and after their memories are erased and their pseudo-personalities are installed, they’re transplanted into the Sirins’ skulls. In other words, they may be based off the war dead, but they’re not the dead themselves. I am a bit surprised you can still hear them, Nouzen.”
“But…why?”
The Legion used the brains of the dead, too, but they were weapons. They didn’t have any perception of ethics and justice, of right and wrong, so it was understandable. But Vika was human…or rather, he should have been human.
“Why? I think it’s quite obvious. Unlike the Legion, who keep coming no matter how many times you beat them back, humans are finite. Our ability to reproduce is limited. So if we can’t lower the numbers of those who’ll die, we need only recycle those who have already passed away. Send wolves to hunt wolves. Vampires to hunt vampires.”
Ghosts to hunt down ghosts.
It was a perversion that made chills run through Lena’s body—utter
desecration. And unaware of Lena’s aversion, Vika smiled. Like a serpent. Like a heartless beast, removed from the concept of emotions.
The King of Corpses. Devoid of sympathy and hence detached from humanity—the cold-blooded ruler of the dead.
“A-and…you call that…a drone…?!”
“Your words cut to the bone, but this is something you’ll have to get used to. The weapons and soldiers the United Kingdom will add to the Strike Package will be Alkonosts and Sirins. Namely, the regiment under my direct command.”
With that said, the prince of the north smiled calmly, regarding Lena as she shivered and Shin, who glared at him harshly, as if they were rocks on the wayside.
“Until we wipe out the Legion or until they exterminate humankind…I hope we will enjoy each other’s company.”
In one corner of the castle of the country that held the entire northeast under its thumb sat an Imperial villa. It was being used as a lodging house, and its rooms were pleasant, luxurious, and beautiful.
As she lay on a bed and compared the plumage inside it to the shabby ones she’d had back at the frontline bases and the internment camp in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, Shiden pondered how far they had come. While she couldn’t say this bed was uncomfortable or something she couldn’t get used to, she got the feeling sleeping on it too long would make her go blunt. In both mind and body.
Slapping her palms over sheets that smelled of flowers or some other herbal scent, the Brísingamen squadron’s vice captain, Shana, leaned over Shiden, who lay faceup on the bed.
“Hey, Shiden.”
Not bothering to turn her gaze toward Shana, Shiden gave a noncommittal response.
“Mm.”
“Is it all right?”
“Yeah…”
She didn’t specify what “it” was, but they’d been together long enough for Shiden to understand even without any explicit statements. The shock was probably too much. Ever since she’d met the prince that afternoon, Lena had been crestfallen, and Shin, who had walked up to her when he saw her sunken into the lodging house’s sofa and lying still, would be by her side right about now.
“Not much we can do. Her Majesty made her choice.”
“But…”
Shiden fixed her two-colored eyes on the window located right above her.
“There’d be more to think about if the Li’l Reaper was more of a jackass. But all things considered, it’s fine, I guess.”
She’d checked only briefly that he was all right, but that was all. It was in no way an acknowledgment.
“…No one can tell when everything will end. Same as always, really. In which case…so long as I’m at her side, I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“—It is ever so dreadfully cold here… But the city flourishes! More so than one might expect of a capital in wartime, I daresay.”
The United Kingdom’s capital of Arcs Styrie was an old city with a history as storied as that of the country itself. The townscape told of prosperity, development, and the countless disturbances and upheavals in its past, with a peculiar view of many buildings, each built at different times across multiple centuries. The trend was that the exteriors were painted in bright colors, in a manner typical of a land under the cover of snow for half of every year.
Today, too, the Eintagsfliege’s clouds hid away the sun, and light snow flitted down from the heavens. The main thoroughfare was full of passersby, with colorful shops and stands making up the market. Wearing a Federacy coat over her Republic uniform, Lena looked around
at the lively town with her eyes wide. Annette, also in a coat, as well as Grethe, Frederica, and Raiden, who’d come as their escort, looked around curiously, too.
That day after breakfast, the chief of the technology division—a man so thin he was almost skeletal—had proposed that since they had some free time, they should go out and see the capital, pointing out that the ladies would also get a chance to shop that way. Half of the offer stemmed from consideration, and the other was meant to uplift diplomatic relations.
And indeed, they wanted to show off the abundance and prosperity of their country to the first field officers visiting from abroad in over a decade—and in so doing also casually stress the strength of their army.
Shiden and Shana had passed on the opportunity, while Shin had seemingly been called upon by Vika, so they’d stayed behind in the palace. The royal guards had invited Shiden’s group to take a tour of the military museum instead.
“Amazing… I guess that’s what one might expect from the thousand-year capital of the mighty country of the north, Roa Gracia…”
“I think we needed a break, so that officer’s offer came at just the right time. That technology really is a bit hard to swallow.”
“I’m glad both of our sides had something to teach the other about the Para-RAID, but… Even if they say they used willing volunteers, it’s one record of human experimentation after another… It’s a little, kind of, really… You know…”
Exchanging bitter smiles, Grethe and Annette discussed the Sirins and their related technologies. Hearing that this technology couldn’t quite be adopted by the Federacy made Grethe cradle her head despondently.
Some of the structures making up the glamorous town were barracks, armories, and other military installations used by the capital defense division headquarters, and many of the people walking about were clad in the United Kingdom military’s purple-and-black uniform. Just like in the Federacy, soldiers were seen as subjects deserving respect.
A young Beryl female soldier walking nearby was greeted with a polite nod by an older, violet-haired Iola man.
Looking around, Annette said, “Viola are the citizens, and the other ethnic groups from conquered territories are serfs, right? But all things considered, serfs get to live normally.”
Pureblood Viola children—that is to say, citizens—were playing about with a ball, but serf children from other ethnicities were playing by their side as if there was no difference between them. A pair of people of different colors were sitting at the same table in a café, chatting over coffee. An old Celesta lady running a stall was currently ardently arguing over the price of a large jar of honey with a Taaffe woman. The negotiations concluded with a tight shake of hands, after which the two exchanged a bill for the merchandise and parted with smiles. “I’ll come again” and “You’re always welcome,” the two said with pleased expressions.
Overall, the serfs were the working class, and the citizens were the middle class, and as such, there was a difference in the quality of their clothing and personal belongings, but the serfs weren’t considered slaves or untouchables—there was no indication that some children were treated as a lesser race, like the Eighty-Six once were.
The palace guard assigned to Lena’s group as their guide and interpreter smiled. The United Kingdom’s official language was different only in dialect from the Republic’s and the Federacy’s, but since some of the serfs were descended from conquered territories that had different cultural spheres, a number of them spoke in entirely different languages.
“The citizens are expected to give military service, while the serfs are expected to handle production,” explained the guard. “In a way, it’s a difference between conscription and tax liability. But with the situation the way it is right now, the royalty is encouraging the serfs to voluntarily join the military.
“Like him,” he said, gesturing toward a sentinel. He was a reserved Rubis man who looked about twenty years old, wore a brand-new second lieutenant rank insignia, and smiled at them with sheepish pride.
All this meant was that higher education was open to all, at least those with the means to afford it.
As Vika had said, the United Kingdom may have been a despotic monarchy, but it didn’t put any political pressure on its citizens. It did nothing that would stir up unrest or insurrection, nor did it create unnecessary class differences. Unlike the Republic, which, after taking everything away from the Eighty-Six by confiscating their assets to fund the construction of the Gran Mur and forcing them into conscription, had marked them as subhumans.
“…Milizé? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
Shaking her head vaguely, Lena then said doubtfully:
“By the way…I wonder what business Vika had with Shin?”
Shin was told to come with his coat on, and rightly so, as the underground staircase Vika led him down was extremely cold.
“The northernmost mountains in the United Kingdom are the Frost Woe mountain range. There’s an ice grotto there extending all the way to the Kingdom’s underground, where the royal mausoleum was built. The ice here never melts, so it’s frigid even in the summer… It’s a huge mess if one of the servants’ children sneaks in here carelessly.”
The staircase itself, which seemed to be carved out of glacial stone, drew a gentle spiral as it descended deep underground. The place was inlaid with great-green-turban shells shining in the seven prismatic colors.
The Federacy military’s issued trench coat was made for fighting in the frozen trenches of the Federacy’s snowy north and was both waterproof and protective against the cold. Still, Shin furrowed his brow as the cold stabbed into his lungs with each breath he took. Vika, who was walking ahead, was breathing out equally visible puffs of air.
“…In olden times, those of noble birth were naturally royalty. Kings were seen as living gods given flesh, gifted with unique powers. A Pyrope’s telepathy and psychometry, an Onyx’s martial prowess, a
Celena’s intimidation. Many of those lessened and faded with the mixing of blood and the passage of time, but they still somewhat remained in lands where royalty and nobility retained their authority and bloodline. That applied for the Empire of Giad and the United Kingdom, as well. Among those was the Amethysta’s augmented intellect—put simply, bloodlines that produce extraordinary geniuses.”
Only one pair of footsteps was audible; Shin made no sound as he walked, and there was no one around but him and Vika. Being a commander, if Vika had business with anyone, it would be Lena, but he’d called Shin alone. Shin, a single Processor who would usually be seen as nothing more than a pawn.
Vika’s intent here was unclear. With his voice thick with the strong aversion he’d felt upon seeing the Sirin, Shin asked a question with a terribly curt voice. He couldn’t be bothered to pay respects to one of higher authority to begin with.
“…Why are you telling me this?”
“Hmm? Because you are a Pyrope Esper, of course. Your bloodline on your mother’s side, the Maikas, died out during the persecution of the other Eighty-Six… I thought you would be interested in learning a bit about it. Was I wrong?”
“I don’t care for it.”
“Hmm?”
Vika turned to face him with a somewhat dubious expression but eventually turned around again and shrugged.
“Well, regardless of whether you’re interested, this is sadly a necessary preface to my main topic here. Bear with me patiently, even if you find it boring.”
Vika descended from the last stair in the long staircase, the sound of his military boots resonating heavily. At the end of the aged passageway was a sudden shift into a new, state-of-the-art metallic door, which recognized something Vika was carrying and opened automatically. Frigid air, even compared to the chilly staircase, poured out silently from the doorway, but Vika paid the cold no mind as he crossed the threshold.
“The royal family is the last Amethysta bloodline to carry Esper abilities, and we are at the same time guardians of much knowledge and wisdom that would otherwise be lost to the ages.”
Light illuminated the unknowable darkness, radiantly shining and twinkling over all. The place was a huge dome that seemed to be fashioned entirely out of ice, filled with transparent blue as far as the eye could see. The ice was so thick the rock face behind wasn’t visible through it. An endlessly transparent, bottomless blue.
Countless icicles extended down from the dome’s ceiling, which felt like some kind of pagan chapel, and a path of ice extended farther in from the spacious area they were in. Almost annoyingly, even here the ice was inlaid with malachite and amethyst in the shape of a peacock’s feathers, which twinkled from the surface of the icy walls.
But what caught Shin’s attention straight ahead was no collaboration between the natural and the artificial. Running along the dome’s icy walls and on both sides of the passageway, like formations of crystals, were countless…
…coffins made of ice.
The coffins were egg-shaped and crafted out of silver and glass. Each of them contained a figure clad in a purple-and-black uniform or dress. Most of them were adults, but some coffins contained children or infants. Others contained what looked to be only pieces of bodies wrapped in bindings or some personal effect buried in their place. The interior was filled with highly transparent ice, and the emblem of a unicorn carved into the glass’s surface using a laser was entwined with a thin layer of frost.
Standing among the coffins, Vika turned around, the hem of his white coat spilling forward.
“And as a symbol of that legacy, our remains are preserved. All those descended from the Idinarohk line are enshrined in this frozen mausoleum. The earlier generations are already more or less mummified by now, of course… Now, then.”
He gestured toward a coffin standing right behind him. The one
next to it was still empty. Within that casket was a woman spreading out her hands as if floating on water with her eyes gently closed.
“This is Mariana Idinarohk—my mother.”
The remains of the woman sealed within the coffin closely resembled Vika, who stood right in front of her. Had it not been for the differences of age and sex, they’d have been spitting images of each other. She seemed to be in her late twenties or her thirties and was dressed in a magnificent violet dress, the color of the United Kingdom’s royalty, and on her forehead was a silver tiara set with cut gemstones.
But it was then that Shin felt something wrong. The delicate silver tiara set on Queen Mariana’s remains. Of all the deceased lined up here, she was the only one to wear a crown. And even Shin, his knowledge of adornments being as meager as it was, could tell its position was off. A tiara wasn’t worn right above the eyes, after all.
And right below the silvery gleam of the tiara, a straight red line was cut into her white forehead. Unlike the living, a wound inflicted on a corpse never healed—a part that was cut open never truly closed.
Vika smiled faintly.
“So you’ve noticed… That’s right. My mother’s corpse is missing its brain. Because I extracted it. Thirteen years ago.”
There was no way Shin wouldn’t realize upon being told that. The Legion had been developed twelve years ago. And also…
Mariana.
“The Mariana Model…”
“Yes. The artificial intelligence that was the basis of the Legion, the blight of humankind. The component that composed it…was my mother.”
Or rather, her brain.
So this was how, Shin thought bitterly. This was how the Legion had come up with the absurd idea of assimilating humans’ neural networks to replace their central processors. If they were originally based on
a human brain, in an attempt to reproduce one, then they were simply functioning as designed, in accordance with the hypothesis.
But one question remained.
“…Why?”
That one question was overflowing with doubts. Why make such a thing? Why go so far as desecrating your own mother’s remains? Why use your mother—even if only her corpse—as a guinea pig?
But Vika simply shrugged plainly.
“I wanted to meet her.”
Despite them being the same age, and contrary to his graceful appearance, he spoke with the tone of a small child.
“Mother passed away soon after giving birth to me… I was a difficult delivery, and she lost too much blood—something that can happen during any childbirth, and as far as Father investigated, there was no foul play involved. And yet…”
Breaking off, Vika looked up at his mother in her casket. Those white hands, which may have never even held him.
“…I never knew my mother’s voice.”
The words spilling from his lips were filled with a longing for something he’d never had—and so they resonated with terrible loneliness.
“Even the Idinarohks’ Espers can’t remember what happened right as they were born. I’ve spoken to Father, Brother Zafar, and my wet nurse, asking them to tell me all they could remember of her. But it couldn’t fill the void.”
“…”
“—But if that’s the case…”
His thin lips then suddenly contorted upward in a lurid, vicious smile. Vika grinned, his Imperial violet eyes shining with reminiscence. Like a monster. Like a demon. Somehow Shin knew that thirteen years ago, a Vika so young Shin couldn’t imagine him had had the same smile on his lips.
That all-too-innocent smile.
“If I don’t know her—if I lost her—I need only bring her back.
That’s what I thought… Because her remains—her brain, with all her memories and personality intact—were preserved right here…!”
Fanatical delusion, completely absent of all restraint. He would defile a person’s remains, seal their memories and personality in a machine, and in so doing, transcend death… His eyes were absent of all guilt or dread at the prospect of having committed such a taboo. There was no distinction between good and evil. Nothing but the utter coldheartedness…which saw satisfying his desire as the one and only absolute.
A cold shiver the likes of which he’d never known before ran through Shin. He was unable to see his own expression but was well aware of how severe and tense it was. The thing standing before him wasn’t a human, but a genuine, innocent monster that knew neither humanity nor reason.
Swallowing his emotions, he asked:
“…And then?”
Vika shrugged casually.
“I failed.”
The dead can never again truly walk among the living. Even Vika couldn’t overturn that law.
“Mother’s brain was lost for naught, and I was faulted for desecrating the queen’s remains and stripped of my succession rights. Which was fine; I never wanted those to begin with, but…at the time, I hadn’t given up on my mother yet.”
He’d thought perhaps his mistake lay in being too young. Maybe his knowledge was lacking, or perhaps there was a hole in his theory—he’d failed because he’d gotten something wrong. That was how Vika still saw the world at the time. That if one were to employ the right method, the desired result would always occur. He innocently believed that the world worked in such a neat, satisfying way.
He believed that things would always go well.
“So I uploaded all my data to the public network.”
At the time, he didn’t imagine that it would be an act that would rattle the military balance of the surrounding countries. He may have
been the youngest child, but he was still the prince of a large kingdom. His name was well-known even though he was only five years of age. His writings had neither the appearance nor the linguistic composition of something worthy of being called a thesis, and given the absurd topic of resurrecting the dead, most researchers didn’t even spare them a single glance. However…
“That’s when you met Major Zelene Birkenbaum.”
“Yes. A few curious, whimsical people contacted me from different countries, and she was one of them.”
One of the few who, despite the writer’s age and childish writing style, recognized the potential of this new artificial intelligence model was Zelene. At the time, she was researching autonomous weapons in the Imperial military laboratory.
“I knew what Zelene was researching and what she was thinking when she developed those autonomous weapons—the Legion. But…”
He didn’t think she would end up turning that weapon against him. That the Empire would bare its fangs at all other countries. He never realized the consequence the actions he made to fulfill his dream would result in—
“…by the time the Empire declared war, Zelene had already passed away… Albeit indirectly, I’m the one who stole your homeland and family away. Do you loathe me for it?”
He spread out his arms. From the fluttering of his clothes, it was apparent that he didn’t carry any firearms. He was completely defenseless, without a single escort or bodyguard to defend him. That was probably his idea of good faith. After all, Vika never told Shin not to bring any firearms when he called him over. And Shin still carried his handgun on him, just as he had grown used to from years in the Republic.
But Shin answered, with his mind fixed on the familiar weight he was carrying:
“…No.”
He had never thought of the Republic as his homeland, and he hardly remembered his family or anything else from that bygone era.
If Vika said those had been stolen from him, he was likely correct, but for Shin…those no longer counted as things he had lost. It was the same as if they’d never existed to begin with, and if so, there was nothing to resent… Nothing to loathe.
“I don’t think they’ve been stolen from me… And even if they were, you had nothing to do with it.”
“…Once again, you speak indifferently, as if you never needed those things in the first place. Even though
you had a mother
, unlike me.”
Vika shook his head with a bitter smile. His violet eyes clouded over with envy and jealousy for a moment, before those feelings were washed away in a split second.
“Now, then. While you seem quite disinterested overall, this concludes my confession. On to the main topic, the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s headless Reaper.”
How could one describe Vika’s expression at that moment? It was both a look of entreaty and one of terror. As if he desired judgment and wished for hope. As if he desired both an affirming answer and words of denial and, while fearing them the whole time, couldn’t help but ask:
“Is my mother…still here…?”
He wished to hear of his mother’s eternal peace but at the same time wished to see her again.
So this is what he called me for
, Shin thought in an oddly hollow mood. His ability to hear the cries of the deceased who lingered after death. With that, he’d be able to tell whether Vika’s mother was still here or whether she’d gained the peace of death. Perhaps he would try again to resurrect her.
He’d attempt it or resign himself to give up…because he would know whether she was present.
Was that really something to be so fixated on? The thought crossed Shin’s mind faintly. Shin couldn’t remember his mother’s face, but he didn’t feel any lingering regrets over that fact. And still, Vika wished so deeply for a mother whose voice he’d never known, who’d never held him.
Standing eye to eye with Vika, Shin shook his head.
“No.”
His brother, Kaie, and the many Eighty-Six who’d died were trapped on the battlefield, with the Legion using their brain structures as central processors. Despite the fact that they’d died and should have gone back to where they belonged, they remained trapped.
There weren’t lingering thoughts or attachments, and they certainly didn’t have any affection to them. Emotions couldn’t overturn the rules of nature. The world…simply wasn’t kind enough to leave that much behind. It wasn’t kind to anyone, be they living or dead.
Kiriya’s wish to avenge Frederica had burned down with the Morpho’s destruction. And his brother—the brother who’d waited for him for so long—had disappeared once he’d lost the Dinosauria that had served as his container.
Gone. They weren’t anywhere anymore.
“Your mother’s remains are only a corpse. I can’t hear any voice coming from it… Your mother isn’t in there anymore.”
“What about Lerche, then?”
Shin furrowed his brow, as the next question surprised him.
“What about the Sirins? You could hear the voices coming from them, right? Lerche is… They’re inside those bodies. So do the souls inside those girls…long to pass on?”
“………Yes.”
Shin nodded, wondering all the while why Vika cared so much if they were only parts of a drone to him. But Shin could hear it from them. It wasn’t a scream nor a wail of anguish, but he could hear the lament in those voices. The voice of a girl he’d never met before and of countless unfamiliar soldiers.
“They keep crying…saying they want to pass on.”
Vika gave a faint, light, but bitter smile. A self-deprecating grin.
“…I see.”
Looking back at Vika, Shin parted his lips to speak. As always, he couldn’t understand or relate to the person before him.
“Can I ask you something, too?”
Vika blinked once in what seemed like surprise.
“…Yes. If it’s anything I can answer.”
“Do you really want to meet your mother this much, when you’ve never even heard her voice?”
He’d understood this man felt no aversion to cutting open her remains. But still, it was a person’s body, with the mass and weight of an adult woman. And the human skull was hard. And yet the then-five-year-old Vika still had to carry it away and cut it open. Had he really gone that far for no other reason than his desire to see her again? For someone whose voice he’d never known, someone he’d never met, someone who was his mother in name only?
Vika seemed dumbstruck for a moment.
“Well… Yes. Though they have different ways of expressing it, children love their parents. Especially so if they cannot meet them… Allow me to ask you in turn, but do you…”
Breaking off, Vika squinted.
“…not wish to meet your parents?”
“There’s no meeting the dead again.”
That was the irreversible cosmic law Shin—the one with the extrasensory ability to hear the voices of the dead—knew. He could hear their voices, but they were nothing more than the screams of one’s final death throes. There could be no dialogue, no communication, no understanding established… No matter how much both sides may wish for it.
The dead can never mingle with the living.
“I see. Hence, you don’t desire to remember them.”
It was Shin’s turn to narrow his eyes in scrutiny. Those words again.
It’s not that you can’t remember your childhood.
You don’t
want
to remember it.
“…What makes you say that?”
“You have no interest in your late mother’s genealogy. Despite the things that’ve been taken from you, you hold no resentment. But more than anything, the expression on your face tells of how you don’t wish to have that topic touched on—how you loathe to touch on it yourself. As if you suffer from a wound you don’t wish to even acknowledge is there.”
“………”
A
wound
.
Vika smiled, as if he’d seen through Shin. He unleashed his words cruelly, with a coldness that was almost merciful.
“But if that’s something you’re fine with, it’s not my place as a stranger to comment on it… Taken to an extreme, a child’s tendency to follow his parents is just another way of life. But if you deem it acceptable to forget even that…sure enough, you will see your parents again.”