C113: The Forest’s cycle

‘This is bad. This is very bad.’

Izzy scanned the entire perimeter of the mansion again, her Field Vision pushing to its 150-meter limit, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

She looked around. The dusk was almost entirely overtaken by the night, the bruised orange deepening.

Shadows thickened between the trees, and the forest began to merge into one continuous mass of black.

“Izzy, Izzy!” Isa’s urgent shout forced her focus back to the attic.

‘Hmmm?’

“We-we are—!” Isa’s finger pointed directly at their own primary body, the painting.

‘?’

Izzy refocused on her main body. Her own portrait was as beautiful as ever, the girl with the flowing gray hair captured in a state of stillness, her expression calm, her navy eyes half-lidded in eternal sleep.

But beneath the gold frame…

A thick, viscous gray liquid seeped from the lower edge of the frame.

It trickled slowly down the wall, leaving streaks behind, before gathering into a thick puddle on the floor. It pooled on the floorboards, shimmering with a metallic luster.

‘Ugh, what is this?’ Izzy frowned.

Izzy hadn’t checked on her own physical state, foolishly assuming they would always be safe within the mansion’s wards. Since they, as a painting, possessed no physical sensation, they had never really needed to pay attention to their condition.

“We are bleeding!” Isa shouted, her spirit form hovering anxiously around the puddle of gray mud.

‘Is this our blood?’ The thought unsettled her.

What had they encountered in that blacked-out memory to cause their main body to bleed like this?

‘I’m a painting, for god’s sake!’ Izzy snapped internally.

Izzy focused on the floor beneath her portrait.

In the midst of the gray sludge, something familiar stood out.

“‘Why is that here?”

She exerted her Psychokinesis and slowly began to lift the object from the gray liquid.

*Creak.*

The moment it rose, one of its arms cracked and detached slightly from its body.

‘!’

“No!” Isa cried out, immediately taking control of her own Psychokinesis to catch and rebalance the severed arm, as well as the rest of the object. She steadied the doll’s body, preventing it from breaking further.

‘...’ Izzy stared at it with a complicated gaze.

It was the porcelain doll. Its glassy navy eyes were now closed, as if in deep slumber.

The small figure was entirely coated in the gray liquid. Several thin cracks spiderwebbed across its once-perfect porcelain skin. Its gray dress was soaked through.

‘...’

Why had it appeared in this state? And why was it here?

“Izzy?”

‘?’

Noticing the green spirit-Isa hovering around the doll, Izzy tilted her head.

“What is it?”

“Can I take care of it?” Isa asked softly.

‘?’

Hadn't Isa always harbored a strange, instinctive hatred for this doll? Why the sudden change of attitude?

“I just think… it is a little too miserable to be left like this,” Spirit-Isa said, approaching the doll where it hovered in mid-air. She looked at the broken figure with a pitiful gaze.

‘...’

That was true. The doll looked like it had been subjected to a fall or a crushing pressure. It was a ruin of its former self.

“It's a pity to die like this…” Spirit-Isa murmured, her hand reaching out to gently stroke the doll's cracked porcelain head.

Izzy’s brows furrowed.

“Die?”

Why did she use that word? Die? Wasn’t it just a doll? Was the doll really alive?

Izzy had held her own suspicions before, but she had never been able to confirm them. How did Isa know?

She cast a sharp gaze at her younger counterpart.

The spirit-Isa’s finger paused mid-caress. For a brief moment, her form trembled slightly.

“Ah! Isa means… being ruined like this! It is like it is dying! That is it!” Spirit-Isa frantically waved her small hands, her voice rising in pitch.

“Hmmm.” Izzy narrowed her eyes, watching as Isa’s spirit quickly averted its gaze, using her psychokinesis to move the doll and herself toward a nearby wooden table, avoiding further questioning.

‘…’

Was the young mind hiding something from her?

‘Well, no matter. ’ Izzy didn’t press further.

Isa was her young mind, after all. It was not as if she would ever do anything to intentionally harm herself, or their shared existence.

Izzy withdrew her attention from the matter, letting the thought sink to the back of her mind.

There were more urgent things to focus on. They needed to locate their female vessel.

Without wasting time, Izzy returned to her mindscape and recorded everything she had learned onto the black monument standing at the center of the amusement park.

Once the record was set, she shifted her focus to the mansion's basement.

She reached outward and repossessed Jack, feeling the thrum of the vessel’s dead heart.

‘My energy…’ Izzy could feel it. Her reserves of energy were dangerously low.

At this rate, she could barely sustain herself for five days at most.

The moment her consciousness settled into his body, Jack straightened and began walking out of the basement.

“There is no one in the mansion,” Jack muttered as he stepped into the mansion. He changed into a black coat and black trousers for a warmer and better attire.

He began moving through the mansion, checking each room, each hallway, scanning for any abnormality, any trace that might explain where Erin and Arriet had gone.

Near Arriet’s room, he noticed a thin layer of dust on the floor.

Further down the corridor, a few pieces of furniture had been knocked over. A small table lay on its side, and a chair had been pushed awkwardly against the wall, a vase shattered against the floorboards.

The chaos suggested a struggle or a panicked flight. Either the girl had run through here in a panic, or someone had purposely thrown these obstacles down while chasing her.

Jack crouched slightly, observing the arrangement.

“But the traces look more like she ran away of her own accord.”

He tapped his chin lightly.

If a true intruder had intruded the mansion while they were unconscious, then their main body—the portrait—would surely have been the first thing abducted.

Or, there was another more precious thing in this mansion, even more precious than their portrait.

“What did she encounter?”

Or was it simpler than he thought? Had Erin just simply panicked and fled on her own?

Jack traced the trail toward the mansion’s exterior.

He stepped out onto the damp garden soil, his Field Vision scanning the earth.

He lowered himself and examined the ground.

There were many overlapping footprints scattered across the area. But among them, only two sets of distinct tracks led toward the main gate.

One belonged to Arnold from his earlier departure, and the other… that had to be Erin.

Jack studied the distance between the footsteps, his fingers hovering over the mud as he calculated the depth and distance between each boot print.

“She was carrying something heavy here.”

The spacing between her footprints was shorter, and the impressions were significantly deeper than Arnold’s.

“Did she carry Arriet out?”

That was a possibility.

Since Izzy had lost connection to all vessels, it meant those bodies had likely stopped functioning.

To an outsider, they would appear as if they had died.

Erin, seeing her mistress suddenly collapse and turn cold, must have been seized by panic and carried the "corpse" out of the mansion.

“The destination…”

Jack rose slowly. His gaze shifted toward the distant treeline.

“The village.”

Erin would run toward the only safety she knew. Likely to Otto’s apothecary shop.

That man dealt with herbs, remedies or some other nonsensical cure, whatever passed as medicine in this place.

To Erin, Otto would be the only hope.

“Hmm.”

Jack straightened himself.

If he wanted to retrieve Arriet, he had to follow Erin.

He put on his coat, took one of the lanterns in the mansion, and his eyes fixed on the darkening treeline.

Without hesitation, he turned toward the forest and began walking out.

—

The forest at night was as calm and eerie as usual.

There was nothing that stood out amongst the twisted roots and the canopy. Branches creaked in the wind, leaves whispering against each other.

Jack walked through the forest, following the familiar path that led toward the village. His boots crushed the dry undergrowth. Before long, the outlines of rooftops and chimneys began to appear through the thinning trees.

‘Hmm?’

The village… somehow it felt different today.

The moment Jack stepped onto the path leading into the village, he frowned.

Jack expanded his Field Vision and scanned the perimeter.

Every house in the rear of the village was dark. There was no trace of smoke billowed from the chimneys, no flickering candlelight danced behind the windowpanes. It was as if no one were home.

‘But isn’t it night?’

There should have been some activities. Maybe dinner fires, or lanterns light.

As he walked further into the village, a rhythmic, metallic noise reached his ears.

*Keng—keng—keng—*

It was music. Or rather, a percussive imitation of it.

“Music…at this time?”

Jack’s expression changed. He broke into a run, his long black coat snapping behind him as he bolted toward the village square.

He rounded the final corner and skidded to a halt.

“!”

The moment he arrived, he froze.

In front of him, surrounding the weathered Moon Maiden statue, was everyone.

The entire population of the village had gathered.

They were dancing.

“The Rite?”

‘Why? Is this a rehearsal? Why is everyone suddenly dancing?’

Jack craned his head upward, and his breath hitched in his throat.

‘When did the moon become so large?!’ his pupils dilated slightly.

Above the village hung a full moon.

It was a massive violet moon, hanging in the sky like an unblinking eye. It occupied half the sky, casting a pale light over the festivities.

And beneath it, the villagers danced.

A bonfire roared at the center of the square, flames crackling upward as sparks scattered into the night air. The firelight mixed with the pale violet moonlight, casting strange overlapping shadows that stretched across the ground.

Laughter rang through the air.

Children clasped hands, forming circles around the age-worn stone statue that marked the center of their world. Their bare feet pattered rhythmically against the cold ground, each jump synchronized with the beat of the village drums. Their rosy cheeks were flushed with feverish joy, their giggles floating like fireflies in the crisp night wind.

Adults joined them. Men and women linked arms, spinning around the ancient stone figure. Their movements were fluid yet erratic. Faces gleamed with sweat, eyes shining with a feverish brightness.

At the center stood the statue of the first Moon Maiden, a towering woman carved with flowing robes and a serene expression. She watched over them like a guardian, her stone eyes reflecting the leaping flames.

Everyone smiled. Everyone laughed. Everyone danced.

If not for what Izzy had discovered about the true nature of the Rite, this scene would have looked joyous and peaceful!

And the most disturbing part…, however, was their attire.

Their clothing was a chaotic mess of various questionable states.

Some wore their finest, most exquisite Sunday clothes; others had only a rough robe thrown over their shoulders. Some women were even in thin slip dresses, their hair disheveled. Some men were half-naked, their skin glistening with a sheen of cold sweat.

‘Why?’ Jack questioned himself.

Why were they like this?

They looked as if they had been dragged out of their homes in a hurry, forced into the streets just to dance.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Jack stepped closer to one of the villagers, a half-naked man who was swaying his hips in rhythm, sweat pouring over his bare chest.

He reached out a gloved hand and asked, “Sir, why are we dancing? Isn’t the Rite supposed to be… the day after tomorrow?”

“Ah! Indeed!” The man didn't stop moving. He turned a face to Jack that was stretched into a wide grin.

“The Rite is today!”

‘Huh?’ Jack blinked.

“No, sir, it’s—”

“The Rite! Today!” the man began to laugh frantically, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “It’s today! It’s today!”

“W-what?”

Jack’s mind stopped working. The internal gears of Izzy’s logic ground to a halt.

Today?

‘That made no sense.’

Unless…

A realization struck Jack.

‘Don’t tell me…’ They, perhaps they hadn't just been unconscious for a day…

They—

‘?’

Suddenly, Jack felt a tug at the hem of his shirt.

He looked down.

Standing beneath him, reaching barely to his waist, was a kid.

She craned her head up, her face radiating with a genuine happiness. Her wide eyes, gleaming with the reflection of the violet moon, looked directly into his.

Her lips parted into a radiant smile.

“Sir! Let’s dance together!”

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