C120: Gifts

“Izzy, Izzy all right, Izzy?”

“I’m alright.”

“Izzy all right, right? Truly, truly all right, right?”

“I’m alright, very alright. I promise.”

“...”

Isa cast her a concerned and suspicious look, her green eyes narrowing. Her cheek puffed slightly.

Izzy rolled her eyes, looking around the strange scenery of the Mindscape, momentarily speechless.

“Is there a need for this…?” she asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

“It is for Izzy’s recovery,” Isa insisted with a stubborn pout.

Izzy was currently lying flat on the theatre board.

Calling it a wooden board would have been inaccurate. The surface beneath her felt cool, almost like grass.

Around her, vibrant flowers bloomed in clusters, their petals shifting in soft gradients of color, releasing a calming fragrance.

A delicate wreath of azure flowers rested atop her head, carefully arranged as if someone had taken time to decorate her like a resting doll in some ceremonial scene.

Isa must have altered the environment in the Theatre. Since Izzy never showed much fondness for the amusement park Isa usually stayed in, Isa had relocated her here, reshaping it into this somewhat natural scenery.

“...”

“Izzy sure she’s all right?”

“Right. I’m sure.”

“Absolutely sure Izzy is all right?”

“Yes, Isa. Right. I am sure.”

Izzy relaxed her mind, allowing herself to sink into the natural comfort.

The tension that had once coiled tightly in her chest loosen, though not completely.

Isa, on the other hand, remained visibly restless. She kneeled nearby, occasionally sneaking glances at Izzy before quickly looking away.

The exact purpose of these glances was unknown, but it was funny. Izzy didn't comment on it.

Izzy understood that worry. If her young mind had suddenly collapsed, Izzy didn't think she would be able to keep her own composure either.

And what exactly was she supposed to say?

That she had just encountered something beyond comprehension? And almost had her killed, while she was supposed to be safe and sound with Isa?

“...W-what?! Almost got killed! Izzy! Tell Isa about it right now! Right now!”

“It’s just a joke, Isa,” Izzy replied flatly. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Did you just pry into my mind?”

“Ah, uh, Isa just remembered! She still has very important work to do! Isa will come back later!”

Isa stammered, flustered, her voice rising in pitch. She scrambled to her feet and vanished from the Theatre in a blur of green light.

“And make sure to rest, Izzy!”

“...”

Izzy let out a small snicker.

‘That girl is really bad at lying.’

She remained lying there for a moment longer before slowly sitting up, brushing a hand across her forehead as her expression shifted from amusement to serious contemplation.

‘Was that… really just a dream?’

She thought for a moment, letting out a long, weary sigh.

‘Is this what the monument meant… by “do not pry into what should not be pried into”?’

She had seen that warning twice. Or, more accurately, the black monument had displayed that warning twice across different iterations.

“Davis, the thug in the village, said it. You must not see what you must not. It risks losing control.”

That line belonged to her first iteration, the white text etched into the monument.

“And somewhere in the second iteration… I wrote something similar.”

Although the exact outcome of what happened to the second iteration after that point remained unknown, Izzy could assume the consequences were catastrophic.

It had clearly been an event so traumatic that even her previous self had not preserved the specific memory of the encounter.

Izzy leaned back again, letting her body sink into the grass-like surface beneath her. The flowers around her swayed, as if responding to her, telling her to relax.

“I shouldn’t be courting death so often like this.” she whispered to the empty theatre.

The existence of the black monument itself was proof enough, she had died before. At least twice, based on the records.

And if she thought about it more honestly, there were probably many times more. Countless failed attempts and deaths.

Only the most recent iterations had discovered the method of transferring information through the monument.

They all followed the same pattern.

“They all do the exact same thing,” Izzy muttered under her breath, her brows knitting together

Every version of herself had followed the same movements.

The first iteration had likely been a stroke of luck. They had created the monument in the Mindscape as a convenient way to store information.

The second iteration confirmed the details found by the first. That was why the purple text on the black monument sounded so hesitant, so plagued by doubt and a desperate need for validation.

And they all followed the exact same path: they would go to the Winterin village, meet the girl Mary, deal with the church, and encounter the Madam’s maid. Then, on the following day, they would invariably go to the school, meet the boy Bennet, confront the thugs, and face the investigators.

Afterward, things diverged.

On the third day, the first iteration had recorded a warning about something lurking in the forest, and whatever it was had killed them.

The second iteration had managed to survive longer, ending during the madness of the Rite. They had described a scene of horror where everyone was dancing in a frantic, blood-soaked trance under a violet sky, and all hope was lost.

‘...’

That explained why the second iteration’s records were the most detailed. It had survived just long enough to observe more before everything spiraled beyond recovery.

“The vile beast in the forest prevents me from escaping. The Herald is on his way here. The village is a death trap,” She summarized.

And now, there was the added complication of something on the ceiling in the mansion’s basement, a being capable of killing her with a single thought.

Furthermore, according to Benjamin’s diary, this was their last chance.

To escape, they had to destroy the “fake moon.”

Izzy pressed her fingers against her temple. A headache bloomed behind her eyes.

‘Let’s focus on what happened.’

Her memory of the encounter in the black and red void was… unstable.

‘Concentrate.’

Izzy closed her eyes tight, her fingers stroking her forehead to soothe the throbbing pain.

‘I met someone.’

Diamond pupils. The cold, jewel-like fingers that had pierced her eyes. The pain, an unbearable agony that had eclipsed everything else. It was the only vivid thing she could remember.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

‘...To think I am still this scared just by thinking about it.’

She clicked her tongue internally and pushed the memory away. There was no benefit in dwelling on it.

What mattered was what she could *extract* from it. What had that thing said?

‘Who is “she”…?’

‘What does “chess piece” mean?’

And that trumpet.

What was the deal with that emotionless, monologue-like warning that had echoed through the void? It sounded like a machine.

There were too many questions piling up. Izzy frowned slightly before dismissing the entire line of thought. Without more information, speculation would only waste time.

‘And… the “gift.”’

She knew exactly what sort of gift had been bestowed upon her, or rather, forced into her mind.

“...”

Izzy parted her lips slightly.

“My name.”

“Isidora.”

The words left her mouth naturally.

It was not Alan language, the common tongue of this world, nor were they in any language from her past life.

‘I was given a language? What language is this?’

It carried the memories of unfamiliar structure, grammar, meaning, and symbols. Strange and intricate shapes formed in her mind when she thought about it.

And yet, she could comprehend it as if she had known it her entire life.

She had been given the knowledge of an entirely new language!

What was the reason for such a thing?

“...”

Izzy conjured the image of Benjamin’s diary into her Mindscape.

Immediately, the leather diary appeared, floating in front of her. Together with it, five lines of strange symbols manifested in the air, which were all written in different languages.

The fourth line was written in the Alan language, the one she already knew.

‘Destroy the fake moon. Last cycle.’

But the other four…

“...”

She stared at them. They were still entirely unknown, a jumble of shapes and lines that defied her current understanding.

Izzy’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘This “gift”… It’s a language different from these four?’

A language that did not exist in any of the known records she had encountered so far.

It had been forced into her mind by that entity.

She began to write in this new, unknown language, her hand moving fluidity as the symbols bled onto the air.

[“How to destroy the fake moon?”]

“Hmm.”

Izzy stared at what she had written, her expression tightening.

‘This is absurd.’

An entirely new language system had been engraved into her mind. It now simply “existed” within her, as if it had always been a part of her.

‘What is the reason?’

Her thoughts spiraled.

A language… in exchange for something?

For revenge?

But revenge against whom?

Who was the betrayer?

The entity had not specified who she needed to kill in exchange for this "gift."

“At least be more specific!” Irritation creeping into her tone.

“Ugh…”

She leaned back slightly, rubbing her temple again.

Could she even use this?

The knowledge was already there, etched into her consciousness like a brand. It wasn’t something she could reject.

“This is risky.”

There had to be a cost, a reason for such a gift.

“Can I return it?”

And the worst part? She couldn’t give it back.

The thought alone made her head throb.

It sounded ridiculous. Asking “that thing” to take back its “gift.” The mere idea felt dangerous, like provoking something that should never be disturbed again.

“Let us meet again…”

The words echoed in her memory.

Izzy frowned. She felt as if she had been dragged into an extremely complex situation, far beyond her current understanding.

She hadn’t even left the forest yet. And already she was being treated like a piece on a board she couldn't see.

“Can’t you all just let me rest for a bit…?”

There were too many variables. Too many unknowns stacking on top of each other.

“...”

At the very least, the “gift” she had received wasn’t useless, since it was not only the knowledge of a new language.

There was more. Two more gifts that the entity had bestowed upon her.

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