C100: Destroy the fake moon

Izzy moved into her crimson theatre and began organizing the information piece by piece.

‘First of all, the moon.’

If it was referring to the moon, then did it have anything to do with the Moon Maiden?

She replayed the tale she had heard.

[“At our village, we revere the Moon Maiden. Our Maiden personally escorted and protected Her Majesty when she was attacked by the vile beast. In return, she gifted Our Maiden her power, within which was her will to protect children and maidens alike.”]

“Our Maiden’ was the Moon Maiden, while ‘Her Majesty’, she must be another Monarch.”

Izzy conjured the mural from the basement into the theatre, reconstructing each panel in careful detail.

‘Let’s see.’

The first mural showed a lone figure descending from the heavens, a radiant full moon etched upon their head. Behind them, a swirling mass of darkness with uncountable eyes and grasping hands reached out, eager to ensnare the descending figure.

The next mural showed the same figure with the full moon symbol collapsed. A group of people emerged and protected them from the encroaching darkness.

The third mural showed the full-moon-marked figure offering a crescent moon symbol to the leader of the gathered people.

In the final panel of that sequence, the original full-moon figure was gone. In their place stood a woman holding a staff whose head resembled a scale. A half-crescent moon glowed upon her forehead. One hand raised the staff; the other stretched toward the sky, toward the writhing darkness filled with eyes and hands.

“The first lone figure must be ‘Her Majesty.’”

Her Majesty, bearing the full moon symbol, had been chased by the so-called vile beast.

Afterward, the villagers rescued Her Majesty. As a reward, she granted the crescent symbol to the leader, thus creating the Moon Maiden.

The Moon Maiden then became another shield against the vile beast.

Izzy shifted her attention to the opposite wall’s mural.

In that sequence, another figure appeared. But this person’s entire body had been nearly erased by scratches and time.

The half-crescent Moon Maiden was depicted handing a child to this eroded person. Then she lifted her staff once more, pointing it toward the sky.

The next mural had been destroyed entirely.

In the subsequent mural, the child was surrounded by a group of people, who knelt in worship.

‘This suggests the Moon Maiden role can be inherited.’

In the next image, the child had grown. She now held the scale-headed staff herself, guiding the people.

“Is this the current Moon Maiden?” The black monument had stated that the current Baroness, Madam Amanda, was the Moon Maiden.

There was also mention of the Moon Elf. According to the monument, The Moon Maiden would offer the Elf to Her Majesty to bless the village with harvest and dreams.

In the final mural sequence, the Moon Maiden led the villagers, her staff blazing. Yet her gaze was turned backward, toward the last mural.

There, the unknown eroded silhouette stood alone before the writhing darkness.

A vast storm of black liquid surged forward, swallowing the figure whole. The stone carving showed a vortex spiraling inward, devouring them as though they had never existed.

After that, there was no trace of the person.

“Who is this person that stood face-to-face with the vile beast?”

Whoever they were, they must have shared a profound closeness with the original Moon Maiden to be entrusted with such a task.

Izzy noticed something else within the faded murals.

The symbols.

The full moon and the half-crescent moon, both etched upon the foreheads of the key figures.

“…”

But there was no mention anywhere of the fake moon.

“What is the fake moon?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, watching the Theatre of Memory.

“Does the half-crescent moon count as a fake moon?” Izzy contemplated, turning the idea over. However, she soon shook her head, discarding the thought. She doubted it was the case.

For now, the information was still far too scarce. She couldn’t form a reliable conclusion without jumping to wild assumptions.

But did it even matter?

‘Do I really need to destroy the moon?’

And how could she possibly destroy it in the first place?

‘It is a fucking moon, for god’s sake!’ Izzy grimaced.

It was as if asking a mere ant to kill a god.

“Isa, do you know what it means?” She shot the question directly into Isa’s mind, hoping the younger mind's lateral thinking might grasp something she missed.

‘?’

Isa tilted her head in their shared space, her green eyes wide.

“Nope! Isa doesn’t know!” she answered cheerfully.

“That’s fair.”

Depending on how they viewed it, this instruction might be the key point for them to leave the forest, or just a side objective that had nothing to do with her current situation.

Yet, it also did not make sense to ignore it. If it had nothing to do with her survival, then why did Benjamin’s diary feel the need to instruct her to destroy the fake moon?

The diary had gone through all possible languages—five distinct variations she had cataloged—just to communicate this specific demand to her, after all.

A headache bloomed on her head.

"We're still lacking information.” She shook her head in frustration. Maybe the secret study under the church, the one mentioned on the monument, might hold these missing pieces for her.

Izzy moved on to the second sentence.

“[The remain cycle: 1]”

This one, she had a better guess about.

‘The cycle… that must refer to the temporal loop I’ve been trapped in.’

Did that mean there was only one chance left? One final iteration before whatever reset mechanism was in place broke down, leaving her to face permanent death?

Was that what it wanted to convey?

She returned her awareness to the real world and looked skeptically at the copied diary resting in the attic corner.

‘What is this notebook?’

How did it know?

Why did it convey such information to her?

And more importantly—

What connection did this note have with Benjamin?

After all, this book had been his personal diary right up until the moment of his death.

Had he known about the loops?

“Hah.”

A sigh escaped from the painting, echoing in the attic room.

For now, since Izzy did not have enough information, she set it aside and returned her focus to Arnold.

—

With a folded map tucked under one arm and a chalk slate in hand, Isa controlled Arnold’s body as he walked out of the churchyard. He lifted a hand casually, waving back at the children he had just spent the afternoon playing with.

“Farewell, brothah!” The little boy waving energetically at him looked around ten. His short yellow hair stuck out in messy clumps, and uneven bandages wrapped around both his arms and legs as if applied in a hurry.

“Goodbye, Alex.” Arnold waved his hand back and smiled.

“Brother. Safe travels, see ye soon!” This one was Buster. Brown-haired, sturdy, and built like a small ox. Even though he looked twelve by his sheer size, he was actually only nine. He stood with his legs apart and hands on his hips, already carrying the air of someone destined to cause trouble.

“Goodbye, Buster.”

As Buster left, another boy came over. “Brother, let’s meet again.”

This little one was Finley, a small and timid boy. He rarely participated in games, choosing instead to stand at the edge and watch.

“Sure, Finley.”

Yet every time Arnold landed his gaze on him, the boy’s eyes always shone brightly, as though he experienced the fun secondhand through the others.

“Brother... p-please, accept this humble offering!”

Arnold looked down.

“Oh, what exquisite needlework. You will become a lovely lady in the future for sure, Miss Lera.”

“Th-thank you kindly, sir!”

This was Lera, a tiny girl with a brave heart. She had been one of the few to approach him during class and now shyly offered him a small, embroidered round patch with a crude but earnest flower. Isa, through Arnold’s hands, happily accepted it.

‘…’

In their shared mindscape, Izzy watched with a complicated expression. Her young mind was frighteningly skilled at conversation.

And playing with children, somehow.

Arnold stepped out of the churchyard and activated his Field Vision, scanning the surroundings.

‘There she is.’

Izzy took Isa's position. She controlled Arnold to turn around.

“Hey.”

“Hyyaaah!”

Mary yelped and jumped back.

“Pray, sir! Please don’t turn around so abruptly! I almost went and met my Mona!”

“…”

‘This girl. Hasn't she been trying to startle us just now?’ Arnold furrowed his brows.

Mary puffed out her chest, coughed lightly for effect, and raised her voice.

“Wow, sir, you really are—”

Arnold cut her off flatly.

“You want some quick coins?”

“Gasp!”

Mary’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“?”

‘Izzy…’

‘What?’

‘Language, Izzy, language…’

‘Hmm?’

Izzy cocked her head, a moment of genuine confusion in her mind. She looked at Mary through Arnold’s eyes, before realization struck her.

Mary’s face flushed bright red.

“Sir, I am not yet of age…”

Arnold’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, wait, that’s not what I mean.” He strongly justified himself.

—

(Moonday, four days left till Friday, when the full moon Rite starts.)

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