I immediately brought the Argent family along and returned to the studio.
Unlike the siblings, who looked around blankly, Cassdia stood alone outside the studio, watching us with an anxious expression.
"Uncle, what is this place...?"
"It's a studio. It was your father Edmund's most treasured place."
I answered Lyriette's question while glancing at Cassdia.
Seeing her quickly avert her gaze, it seemed my suspicions had been correct.
"Could this be my mother?"
"Yes. Viola Argent. My eldest sister-in-law, and your birth mother. Isn't she beautiful? She looks just like you, doesn't she?"
"Yes. I never knew she was so beautiful."
Lyriette approached the canvas carefully and gently touched the portrait.
Blood calls to blood, they say.
Even though it was a face she was seeing for the first time, the way she was drawn toward it left an impression on me.
"It's no wonder your father fell for her at first sight. She was a truly captivating woman. Beautiful face, kind heart. Though her health was a little frail."
"Frail health… I see."
Lyriette seemed to finally realize why her mother had passed away after giving birth to her.
Viola had genuinely been sickly from birth.
Even in spring, she always wore a thick woolen coat.
"But Uncle, why did you bring us here?"
"I'm about to explain that. First, I need to wake your father."
Answering Abel's question, I withdrew the mana I'd woven into Edmund's body.
"Mmm…"
Before long, as if regaining consciousness, Edmund opened his eyes drowsily.
"Darling! Are you all right?"
Cassdia rushed over in an instant to check on Edmund's condition, but—
"…Who… are you?"
"Ah…"
Thud.
At the feeble words that fell from his mouth, Cassdia simply sank to the ground where she stood.
"Father, what are you saying? This is Mother. Your wife, Cassdia Argent!"
Abel rushed over and grabbed Edmund's shoulders, shaking him urgently, but Edmund's eyes remained clouded and unfocused.
While silently watching the scene unfold, Lyriette approached me with anxious eyes.
"U-Uncle. What's going on? Could it be a side effect from the magic…?"
"…No, that's not it, Lyriette."
What I'd used was a simple sleep spell.
Side effects wouldn't appear from putting someone to sleep for only a few minutes—not unless you kept them under for years.
"Abel…? Why are you… ugh! Guh, aaargh...!"
"Father! What's wrong!?"
Edmund suddenly clutched his head and collapsed.
Abel ran to me, gripping my arm, pleading desperately.
"Uncle, something's wrong with Father! Please, do something to treat him…"
"No, it's fine. I released the spell expecting this to happen."
"What?"
Feeling that the time had come to explain, I walked over to the frames hanging nearby.
I gestured toward the three of them, as if inviting them to look.
"I'll explain now. Why your father has ended up in this state."
It was an absurd truth.
Once I'd realized it, rather than anger, I'd felt only a hollow, sickening emptiness.
"But first, look at these paintings. Doesn't something seem off to you?"
"Isn't this just a landscape of the estate grounds? What could possibly be—"
"The position of the stables is strange."
"Huh? Oh, now that you mention it…"
Hearing Lyriette's observation, Abel finally noticed the strangeness too and examined the painting.
"For reference, this was the painting that appeared to have just been finished and hung when I arrived at the studio. Look here—the paint is still smudged, not quite dry."
"I see…"
"And you may not know this, but the stables were located near the west annex, just as shown in this painting, up until about nine or ten years ago."
"Ten years ago? But then why would Father…"
He was probably about to ask if the painting had been made based on that era.
I deliberately cut Abel off and continued.
"And the next painting, and the one after that. They all seem to have been painted recently. But if you look closely, you'll notice something odd."
"……Huh?"
"The paintings…"
At my remark, the two of them widened their eyes.
"Yes. For some reason, they all feel like paintings from long ago, don't they?"
"Y-yes, that's right. My own portraits are only from when I was an infant…"
"There isn't even a single painting of me and Mother."
The mother Lyriette referred to was, of course, Cassdia.
Just as she said, nowhere among these frames was there a single painting containing Cassdia or Lyriette.
"It's as though time stopped right at the moment Abel was born, before Lyriette had come into the world."
Muttering bitterly, I drew out the small vial I had seen earlier.
"This is a drug called Tears of Memory. Have you heard of it?"
"This is the first I've heard of it."
"What a pretty name. I've never heard of it either."
"……"
Unlike the two of them, who shook their heads, Cassdia—still tending to Edmund on the other side—only bit her lip faintly and averted her eyes.
Without paying it much mind, I calmly continued explaining the drug.
"It's a dangerous substance traded only in the underworld. A hallucinogenic drug that can erase unwanted memories, or conjure desired memories to appear before one's eyes."
Explaining it in full detail would be complicated, but that's the basic gist.
Edmund had probably taken this drug every time he came to the studio.
Thanks to it, he'd been able to gaze upon the image of his deceased wife within this studio, painting her portrait with that pathetic, wretched face of his.
"If it were only once or twice, that would be one thing, but this drug is highly addictive. And in cases of overdose, it induces the kind of memory confusion you just witnessed. In the worst case, the memories can be completely destroyed."
"So you're saying Father took that drug, and that's why he couldn't recognize me and Mother?"
"Yes. And his indifference toward Lyriette was likely repeated for the same reason."
"This can't be…"
Abel stared at me with disbelieving eyes, then turned to look at his sister.
Lyriette, too, seemed deeply shaken.
Of course she would be.
If she learned that the father she'd believed hated her all this time had, in truth, forgotten her existence entirely—how would anyone react to that?
"B-but Uncle! Isn't that strange? There were certainly times when Mother and I had pleasant conversations with Father. He even spoke of Lyriette occasionally."
"That point confused me as well, but it seems his memories haven't been completely destroyed yet. To be precise, when the side effects are weaker, he vaguely recalls his memories, but when the side effects flare up, he reverts to that state."
It's a somewhat different category from Alzheimer's.
He seemed able to carry out other everyday matters without issue.
"Such a horrifying thing to happen."
"U-Uncle. Then is there no way to fix it? My father—"
At Lyriette's earnest gaze, I couldn't help but give a bitter smile.
A child this sharp would surely have already understood.
Just how much my words would wound her, and how cruel the truth I'd spoken truly was.
"Lyriette, let me ask you this. Do you truly wish to save your father?"
"Yes, of course—I'm his daughter, after all."
"That's not the formulaic answer I wanted to hear. You already understand now, don't you? The meaning behind what this uncle is saying."
"……!"
Lyriette's eyes widened.
Abel, not yet understanding the meaning, blinked as he looked back and forth between me and Lyriette.
"What meaning is hidden in Uncle's words? Please, tell me too."
Asking me to say it aloud myself—now that's quite the difficult request.
But I supposed it had to be done.
If only to hear the answer from Lyriette's own mouth, and to make certain she truly grasped the fact.
"I told you already. Among this drug's effects is the ability to erase memories one does not wish to keep."
"Yes, I heard that."
"Then what memory would your father, Edmund Argent, wish to forget?"
"Well, that would be… Mother's passing… huh?"
Abel's head snapped to the side.
It happened so fast I could almost hear the whip of wind.
And his gaze turned to Lyriette.
Lyriette stood with her small fists clenched tightly against her dress, her lips pressed firmly shut.
Like someone confronting a truth she hadn't wanted to face.
"Don't tell me…"
"Yes. The day your mother, my sister-in-law, Viola Argent passed from this world—you already know quite well what that day corresponds to."
How bitterly ironic, that day had been one where birth and death coexisted.
The day a woman a man had loved with his entire life departed this world,
was the very day the fruit that woman had left behind with her final strength was born into it.
"In other words, Father… erased the very fact that Lyriette was born?"
"He had no other choice. Otherwise, a distortion in his memory would have occurred."
The human brain is remarkably delicate.
There's no way a single drop of a drug could erase and create memories exactly as one wished.
There's no convenient way to remember that Lyriette was born while only forgetting that Viola had died.
The two are two sides of the same coin.
Opposite to each other, yet inseparably bound to coexist.
Which meant there was only one possible choice.
To erase the very fact of Lyriette's birth into this world,
and deceive himself into believing Viola still remained among the living.
Of course, I don't know if Edmund understood it would go that far.
Perhaps he'd only wished to erase the fact of Viola's death, never imagining it would erase Lyriette's birth along with it.
But whether intentional or not, the outcome didn't change.
The fact that Lyriette had been wounded remained the same, regardless of the reason.
"That's why I'm asking you, Lyriette. Do you agree to have your father treated?"
"O-of course he must be treated! It's true that Lyriette suffered even more persecution from Mother and me because of Father's indifferent behavior. But he's still my precious father too! I can't just watch him fall apart like this…"
"No, that's not what I meant, Abel."
Reflecting that my explanation had been insufficient, I continued.
"Whether your father can be treated depends on Lyriette."
"On… Lyriette?"
"Did you truly believe I could restore your father completely with a single spell?"
"W-well, Uncle, you are an 8th Circle mage, so…"
"How foolish."
Magic is versatile, but it is not omnipotent.
If a single spell could heal everyone hovering between life and death,
and instantly restore a mind and memory that had been slowly destroyed over nearly a decade—every profession besides mage would have vanished from this world long ago.
Magic, simply put, is a force that invites miracles.
It is not a force that creates miracles.
It merely serves as a path, allowing the existence of miracles to draw near to humans.
For things that seem utterly impossible by human strength alone,
it is nothing more than a crude means to raise the odds by a mere 0.1 percent, in order to resolve and overcome them.
"What I can do is, at most, ease his addiction symptoms and delay his memories from sinking further into oblivion."
"Then the memories already forgotten…"
"Yes, they cannot be restored by my strength alone. Even if you asked Lady Grita, the answer would be the same."
Grita Primad.
A woman said to be the foremost expert on the continent when it comes to mind-related magic.
Even if I brought her here, I could confidently say this would be impossible for her too.
Not because I looked down on her, but because I clearly understood the limits of magic myself.
"Memories don't disappear. They are only ever sent somewhere beyond the veil of oblivion. If you try to force your way in and pry them out through external pressure, the mind will inevitably break."
But because they are not destroyed, only temporarily forgotten, there remains a possibility of recovery.
And the key to that possibility is Lyriette.
"If even a single grain of awareness as a father still remained within him… even if he wished to erase the memory of losing his wife, he wouldn't have wanted to erase the memory of gaining a daughter as well."
Among the memories Edmund had lost, these were the two most conflicting.
Viola's death.
Lyriette's birth.
And the only key capable of opening both at once is Lyriette herself.
"So, Lyriette, if you truly wish to save your father, it means you must be the one to do it. You must make the joy of gaining a daughter grow larger in his heart than the desire to forget the loss of his wife."
"Could I really do that, Uncle?"
I placed my hand on Lyriette's head as she asked in a trembling voice.
"Yes. It's not impossible. But it won't be easy, either. It depends entirely on your effort and your heart."
At my gaze, silently asking what she would choose, Lyriette clenched her fists firmly.
The resolve radiating from that small frame was considerable.
Even I found myself momentarily transfixed by that look in her eyes.
"Then please help me, Uncle."
"Your father forgot you, and yet you intend to save him? Why?"
At my question, Lyriette's fists trembled faintly.
It didn't seem to be from worry or conflict.
Nor did she appear to be grieving.
Taking a steady breath, she calmed her trembling hands, unclenched them, and placed them over her heart, breaking into a bright smile.
"Even if he's forgotten that I'm his daughter, I still remember. I remember that he is my precious father."
"I understand. If that is your will."
The instant I heard Lyriette's resolute answer, I immediately approached Edmund, gripped his head, and began chanting the incantation.
Vwoooom…!
"Guh! Gu, aaaaaaargh!"
As my mana flowed into him, a scream of agony tore from Edmund's mouth.
Naturally so.
It was essentially akin to purging ten years' worth of concentrated poison in a single second.
Moreover, forcibly holding on to memories on the verge of slipping into oblivion,
while also trying to piece back together, even slightly, the fragments of memory that had been slowly scattering apart over ten years—it was an excruciating process.
"Hah, haaah…!"
After crying out in pain for a long while, Edmund raised his head.
Between strands of hair damp with cold sweat, his eyes—now open—held the image of Lyriette.
Not the rotten, lifeless eyes I always saw from him,
but, if only for a fleeting moment, a glimpse of the gaze of the Edmund Argent I remembered from the past.
"You… are…?"
"Father!"
"Who… no, Lyriette? You, no, I—what in the world…! Ngh, guh!"
His memory confusion hadn't been fully restored yet.
But perhaps thanks to the drug's fading influence, Edmund seemed to recognize Lyriette.
Even that small fact seemed to bring her joy, and Lyriette carefully clasped Edmund's hand.
That once-so-fragile child, now not wavering even slightly, as if resolved to protect her own father.
"That's right, Father. Lyriette Argent. Your daughter. The final piece that the woman you loved most left behind in this world."
At the gentle words offered with a soft smile, Edmund's expression went blank.
And then, little by little, the memories that had lain beyond the veil of oblivion seemed to come rushing in like a flood.
He pulled her in.
"Aah! Lyriette, Lyriette…!"
He embraced Lyriette fiercely in an instant.
Before long, hot tears were streaming down his face like falling beads.
"I'm sorry…! That I dared to forget you! That I tried to erase, with my own hands, the last treasure Viola left behind…!"
"It's all right, Father. Just remember from now on. That I am your daughter."
"Of course! Of course…! I won't forget again! Never again, I swear...!"
Lyriette calmly soothed her weeping, clinging father.
I'd expected she would cry along with him, but strikingly, she didn't shed a single tear.
Composed, one might call it.
She'd grown once again, it seemed, without my noticing.
She'd become able to wear such a fine expression.
"Even without me by her side, it seems there's no need to worry."
Muttering to myself without thinking, I turned my back to them.
Whoosh!
"…Uncle?"
Wind blew in through the wide-open window.
It seemed some conversation was passing between them behind me, but it was drowned out by the sound of the wind, and I couldn't quite make out the words.