For a ti, Scarlett walked through an empty expanse, each step resonating with a strange, weightless gravity. The air was thick yet hollow, pressing against her like an unseen presence. Shadows flickered at the edges of her vision — wavering mirages that gradually coalesced, shaping themselves into sothing familiar. A wide, open space took form—Freyadow’s square—its periphery dissolving into an encroaching abyss. At its heart, indistinct figures of children played, their laughter thin and distant, like imitations struggling to reach her.
On the porch of a solitary house, Arlene sat with a grey, leather-bound book resting on her lap. Her appearance was now unmarked, pristine, absent of the wounds that had been there before. As Scarlett approached, Arlene lifted her gaze, her expression calm. Scarlett hesitated at the foot of the porch, studying her, then stepped onto it and settled into the chair beside the woman.
A brief silence stretched between them, filled only by the imagined rustle of wind and the ghostly laughter of the children. Scarlett’s gaze lingered on the figures in the square, their movents slipping just beyond the grasp of certainty.
“I never thought about having children when I was younger,” Arlene said after a while, her voice tinged with a quiet introspection. “It felt like such an abstract notion, sothing foreign to . Back then, I was consud — either with the thrill of mastering my next spell, fulfilling my duties, or preparing for the next battle. Always another step forward.” Her eyes were on the children as well, her words trailing with a hint of sothing wistful. “But as I grew older… I suppose I realised I wouldn’t have minded it. By then, of course, it was far too late.”
Scarlett glanced at her but said nothing, turning her attention back to the square.
“The sa was true for having a student,” Arlene continued in a slightly lighter tone. “I never thought I had the temperant for teaching.”
“That is true,” Scarlett said. “I could undoubtedly have secured instructors elsewhere — ones less inclined to gamble so recklessly with my survival.”
The other woman chuckled, the sound dry but not without warmth. “Ah, but I daresay it served you well in the end. Tough love, as they call it, hmm? Or would you claim to regret coming to for guidance?”
“…I did not mind it,” Scarlett admitted after a while.
Arlene chuckled again, softer this ti. For a mont, she was quiet, then she reached into her robes and withdrew the [Eternal Flaweaver’s Atha]. The dagger’s hilt glead in the sunlight, the scales along its grip catching the light. She extended it toward Scarlett. “This is yours now.”
Scarlett accepted the weapon, its weight heavier than she rembered. As her fingers closed around the hilt, a faint shimr surrounded her, and a notification appeared before her eyes.
[Side-Quest completed: The Emberbrand Baptism]
{Skill points awarded: 11}
She dismissed it without a second thought, her focus remaining on the dagger. Arlene watched her.
“The Flaweaver has its quirks,” Arlene said, “but you’ll figure them out in ti, I’m sure. I hope it will be of at least so use to you.”
Scarlett glanced up. “The ‘Baptism’… Is it over, then?”
“It is.”
“And yet, here we both sit.”
A small, knowing smile curved the woman’s lips. “There may not be any bending of the rules for you, but I found a way or two myself. Temporary as they are.”
She gestured towards the square, where the edges of the mory were unravelling, the darkness inching closer, slowly erasing more and more of the village.
“This mory is fading,” Scarlett said.
Arlene nodded. “For good.”
“So this is my last visit.”
“Yes.”
Scarlett watched as the scene continued to disintegrate. A fleeting thought crossed her mind—of using the Anomalous One’s power to change it—but she pushed it away. She knew she couldn’t do that. For many reasons.
“You will manage,” Arlene said lightly. “If nothing else, this frees up more of your ti, doesn’t it? No more trekking through the woods to visit a cantankerous old lady more inclined on knocking you down than building you up. Isn’t that cause for celebration?”
“…I would have preferred otherwise,” Scarlett replied.
The words lingered in the air, surprising even herself that she’d spoken them aloud. She cast another glance at Arlene, half-expecting a wry response. Instead, she was t with a steady, asured gaze.
“So would I,” Arlene said.
Scarlett’s eyebrows arched faintly. “Do you truly an that?”
“Yes,” Arlene answered simply. A shadow passed across her face. “But that was never a real option, I’m afraid. My fate was decided ages ago.”
Scarlett watched her for a mont. “…Is that why you pretended?” she finally asked.
Arlene’s gaze didn’t waver. “And what, precisely, do you think was ‘pretending’?”
Scarlett motioned to the square, the porch, and everything around them. “The Arlene I t here — the one who never recognised . She reset each ti. Or so I thought. Was it all an act?”
For a long mont, Arlene was silent. Then she gave a slow nod. “Yes.”
“Why?” The question left Scarlett almost imdiately.
She had long suspected Arlene knew more than she let on — that she understood the loop’s nature and the peculiarities of her own existence better than had been made clear in the ga. Yet, much like Arlene’s hidden lineage, Scarlett had not considered the possibility that her forgetting had all been a deception.
Arlene’s gaze drifted, as if she was looking towards so distant, illusory horizon. “…Why? Because the act could just as easily have been the truth, maybe? Or perhaps it would have been better if it were.”
She fell silent for another mont, her words seeming to press down on the space between them.
“I wasn’t certain anyone like you would ever co,” she continued in a quieter voice. “But if you did, there was only one thing I wanted from you. And from your perspective, it would ultimately have been easier—more rciful—to face soone who forgot you completely every few days. Soone who was little more than a fleeting shadow in an already fractured mory. Wouldn’t you agree? There would, if anything, be less hesitation.”
Scarlett stared at her.
Arlene showed a wistful smile. “At least, that was the plan. But you—” She exhaled softly, shaking her head. “You have a way of complicating things. I certainly never expected being drawn into those other mories of yours, let alone that ss with the Anomalous One. After that, well… Maintaining the act beca much harder.”
“…Was any of this necessary?” Scarlett asked.
“You know it was,” Arlene replied without hesitation.
“I do…” Scarlett said. “Yet still, I cannot help but ask — was it truly necessary?”
Being here in Freyadow, trapped in this endless loop. Unable to leave or bring it to an end.
Arlene studied her for a long mont, sothing unreadable in her eyes. “neth once asked sothing similar.”
Scarlett’s attention sharpened at the na.
“I considered alternatives,” Arlene said. “More than you could imagine. But so paths are decided the mont you set foot on them, whether by fate or design. Mine was sealed the day I entered Freyadow.”
Scarlett frowned. “With that, do you an literally?”
“Literally, figuratively — either or.” Arlene gave a faint shrug, dark hair slipping over her shoulders. “Maybe it was simply the way I was, and my path was decided from the mont I was born. In the end, the choice was mine. And though I have regretted many things, that is not one of them. I would not be here, now, if it weren’t for that choice.”
Scarlett considered her for several seconds. At last, she spoke. “I cannot say I understand.”
Arlene smiled soberly. “I never expected you to.”
The woman’s posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on the book in her lap. The weight that usually clung to her seed to have eased, even if its shadows still haunted her eyes.
Why had Arlene chosen this? To be trapped within this loop, reliving the sa events endlessly? Was it punishnt? Scarlett had believed that at first, but it didn’t seem to fit entirely.
Arlene brushed her fingers over the book’s worn cover. “I won’t try to explain it to you,” she said, glancing downward. “In fact, I hope you never co to understand it. The strange emptiness that lingers until you learn to laugh, to smile, to live among others — but forget what it is to feel whole. When aimlessness becos part of your purpose and core, even the most senseless things begin to make sense.”
Scarlett’s fists tightened slightly at the quiet resignation she could hear in the woman’s voice.
Arlene let the silence settle again before releasing a light breath. “At the end of the day, though, it truly isn’t any more complicated than this — I was presented with a choice, and I made it. I believed it was both what I deserved and what I needed to do.”
“…And when was that?” Scarlett found herself asking. “How long have you been here?”
Over two centuries had passed in the outside world. For Arlene, trapped in this place, how long was that? How could anyone endure that?
Another faint smile played at Arlene’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes this ti. “It’s not as terrible as you might fear. But not as tolerable as you might hope, either.” Her gaze turned distant again, as if sifting through long-buried mories. “I have started forgetting things. Small things — the colour of my childhood room, the sound of my mother’s voice, the way I once scolded Delmont for chasing yet another pretty face.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
She looked back at Scarlett, her smile lifting. “Your mories helped with that. They brought back pieces I thought were lost. And showed what beca of Delmont, after I last saw him. For that, I’m grateful.”
“I do not know why you are thanking ,” Scarlett said. “Even I do not fully understand what transpired within those mories, nor how you ca to be drawn into them.”
Arlene tilted her head slightly. “Truth be told, I am no expert on such things either. mories like these…they are like echoes, tethered to sothing outside this world. Fragnts of what once was. Every being leaves its mark, no matter how small, and that mark is intrinsically tied to their existence. When you created those mories, I ca with them — even if it took so ti to find my footing, so to speak.”
Scarlett's lips pressed together thoughtfully. That did sound sowhat like what The Gentleman had told her.
“When you first sent to find Delmont and that necklace,” she said after a mont, “…did you anticipate this outco?”
Arlene shook her head. “If you an to ask whether I knew you would start working with mories, then no. I expected you to learn about Delmont, nothing more.”
“…I see.” Scarlett’s gaze dropped as she turned the [Eternal Flaweaver’s Atha] over in her hands. The divine artifact’s blade glowed gently, the molten patterns beneath its surface almost seeming to shift.
“Have you ever communicated with the fire goddess?” she asked eventually, changing the topic.
“I have,” Arlene replied.
Scarlett’s eyes returned to her. “And what was that like?”
“I suppose you’re curious about it?” Arlene said with light amusent, though her expression grew more somber as she continued. “But interactions with divinity are not what one would call ‘conversations’. They are rarely straightforward from how I understand it, and even less often pleasant. In one sense, my fate might have been sealed the day I arrived in Freyadow. In another, it was the day I beca Flaweaver’s master.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Divinity is far less omnipotent and far more constrained than most people imagine. That restriction extends, to so degree, to those tied to its power.”
Scarlett frowned.
“That reality, along with the nature of the Baptism, is why I would not have ordinarily passed the Flaweaver on to another.” Arlene’s gaze t hers. “But you proved to be a unique case. Soone who does not need to worry as much about either.”
Scarlett remained quiet for a few seconds, weighing her words.
“And is there truly no alternative thod for transferring ownership aside from the Baptism ritual?” she asked.
“Not without the fire goddess herself intervening,” Arlene replied. “Once the Baptism begins, it cannot be stopped until a victor is decided. And the ritual has, at least, a semblance of a chanism to ensure both participants remain invested in reaching that conclusion.”
Scarlett's fingers curled slightly around the dagger’s hilt. A small part of her found it distasteful, just thinking about how she got it. “…I might almost prefer never to have received it.”
“I know you do not an that,” Arlene said.
A humourless laugh escaped Scarlett. She inclined her head. “No, you are correct.” She let the Flaweaver vanish into the ether with her [Charm of Expeditious Change], shaking her head. “Yet it is almost amusing how, even now, part of my mind cannot help but dwell on the advantages this has afforded . On how best to wield it to my benefit.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Arlene studying her intently.
“And do you think that is the ‘Scarlett’ part of you or the ‘Amy’ part?” the woman asked.
Scarlett paused, turning her full attention back to her. Arlene continued watching her for a while. “Do you recall,” the woman said, “the conversation we once had about a similar subject? It was back when I first learned of your rather unique circumstances — your past life, your na, and this peculiar ‘system’ of yours.”
“Yes,” Scarlett answered. “I rember.”
“At that ti, you seed uncertain — unsure of where ‘Scarlett Hartford’ ended and ‘Amy Bernal’ began. Would you say that is still the case?”
“…Not to the sa extent, no,” Scarlett said.
“Oh? And what has changed?”
“I have simply grown accustod to it. The more ti I spend as Scarlett Hartford, the more I co to think of myself as her. It is not that I no longer question it, nor that I have ceased contemplating the matter, but…”
“It’s easier to accept the situation and live as you are,” Arlene offered.
Scarlett nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Pragmatic, but that is what I have co to expect of you.” Arlene considered her for a bit before adding, “If it provides any comfort, I believe you and the other Scarlett are considerably different from each other.”
Scarlett blinked.
“She was similar to you in many respects,” the woman went on, “but I would caution you not to underestimate the influence of you as Amy. From what I have seen, that part of you has shaped so of the most important decisions you’ve made. You are far from the unfeeling monster you once feared you might beco.”
Scarlett looked at the woman, not really sure what to say. “…Thank you?”
A brief silence followed before Arlene leaned back slightly in her seat. “I find myself curious,” she mused. “I never had the opportunity to hear too much about your old life. Your old world.”
“…If you were so curious, you might simply have asked,” Scarlett replied. “I would have answered.”
“Is that indignation I hear?”
“Am I to be grateful that you have been deceiving all this ti instead?”
Arlene shook her head, a trace of apology in her expression. “No, that would be too much to ask for, wouldn’t it? Sorry.”
Scarlett turned her gaze forward. The mory had shrunk further, the village square’s borders steadily eroded by the encroaching void. “…What exactly is it that you were curious about?” she asked at last.
Arlene seed to consider it for a few seconds. “I recall you ntioning that you were a ‘content editor’?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Not terribly. It was rely the occupation that I found myself in.”
“Hmm.” Arlene made a faint, thoughtful sound. “Was there sothing else you wished to pursue?”
Scarlett hesitated. When she didn’t imdiately answer, Arlene smirked. “Should I take your silence as a confession? Is it sothing that cannot be spoken of in polite company? If you’re worried that I would share it with your pet bard, that’s unlikely to be an issue.”
“It is nothing of the sort,” Scarlett said curtly. “It is rely a term unfamiliar to you, so I see little point in discussing it. Besides, it was only a dream I had in my early childhood.”
“You could explain it,” Arlene suggested.
“It was a trite and unremarkable aspiration.”
“I doubt I would find it so.”
Scarlett glanced at the woman, debating whether it was worth indulging the question. Finally, she let out a long breath. “…When I was young, I wished to be an astronaut.”
Arlene’s eyebrows rose. “You are right in that I have not the faintest inkling what that is.”
“It refers to an individual who travels into space,” Scarlett said, earning a skeptical look in response. “Inside a spacecraft. A vehicle that flies beyond the boundaries of this world.”
“…And you consider that ‘unremarkable’?” the woman asked with more than a note of incredulity.
Scarlett gave her a dry look, then sighed before launching into an explanation — detailing what an astronaut was, what lay in the vastness of space, the Apollo space program, and the marvels of her old world’s technology. Their conversation continued, andering into remnants of Scarlett’s old life mixed with ntions of the culture, innovations, and the quiet routines that had once seed unremarkable but now felt like relics of a bygone era.
Arlene listened closely, her reactions a blend of subdued disbelief, humour, fascination, and the occasional flicker of disbelief or horror.
Scarlett wasn’t entirely certain why she was sharing these things or why Arlene had asked in the first place. This was likely their final eting, their last words to each other, and here she was, wasting them on trivialities and idle recollections of a world that had no bearing on this one.
And yet, strangely, she didn’t mind. It was…comforting in a way. A fleeting mont of simplicity, reminiscent of the first ti she had confided in Arlene.
But it would all end soon.
The darkness had reached the first step of the porch. The echoes of children’s laughter had faded entirely, and only a small patch of the square remained intact. Arlene turned her gaze towards the void before them, her expression reflective. Then, after a long mont, she looked back at Scarlett, her eyes moving towards her finger.
“Have you learned how to use that yet?” she asked.
Scarlett followed her gaze.
[Hartford Garnet Ring (Unique)]
{Blessed by an unknown power, this ring has been passed down through generations of the Hartford family, often worn by its head. There appears to be a slumbering fla burning within}
The sight stirred a faint, bittersweet pang within her.
“No,” she admitted.
Arlene leaned forward slightly. “Would you like to show you?”
Scarlett was silent for a brief mont, her thumb brushing over the ring’s gold surface. Then, finally, she nodded. “Yes.”
Arlene gestured for her to extend her hand. Producing a small blade from her robes, she drew a thin line of blood across Scarlett’s thumb and pressed a drop to the garnet’s surface, staining the stone a deeper red. “Now, conjure a fla and recite these words: ‘By the fla that guards us, awaken’.”
Scarlett eyed her, then complied. She summoned a small fla and let it brush the ring as she spoke. “By the fla that guards us, awaken.”
The garnet flickered, its dormant fla stirring to life with a steady, rhythmic glow.
“This ring was crafted by my father’s father alongside my master,” Arlene explained. “It strengthens pyromancy to a degree, but its true value lies in its ability to detect and warn of imminent dangers. A subtle safeguard for those who wield it.”
Scarlett’s eyes widened slightly as she examined the ring. A warning chanism, essentially. That could prove invaluable. She turned her fingers, watching the ring’s faint glimr. “Thank you.”
“Consider it a gift from one Hartford to another,” Arlene said, leaning back.
Scarlett paused, turning back to her. “…But I am no true Hartford.”
“To , that barely matters.” The woman’s expression llowed. “I would be proud to call you a descendant of my house.”
For so reason, those words resonated more deeply with Scarlett than she had anticipated. She straightened slightly, collecting herself.
“…On that topic,” she said after a while, “do you not find it peculiar that, of all individuals for to inhabit in this world, it was a Hartford? The very family from which you hail?”
“Peculiar?” Arlene repeated. “Certainly. When you first ca to , I scarcely knew what to make of it. A stranger claiming my na. But I can’t say that it surprised .”
“And why is that?”
“Because fate has its peculiarities.”
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “And what, exactly, do you know of Fate?”
“Far less than you, without a doubt,” Arlene replied. “And perhaps only slightly more than what I have already shared. neth understood far more about such matters than I ever did.”
Scarlett’s expression darkened sowhat. “…And what do you know of neth?”
Arlene was silent for a mont. “I wish I could tell you,” she said at last. “Genuinely, I do. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
The woman’s smile was faint. “Because Fate has its peculiarities,” she repeated. “Those are not my words, but hers. neth was both a friend and an ally, but our relationship was built on necessary exchanges.”
Scarlett absorbed this for a few seconds. “Would I still be able to et her today?” she asked eventually.
“It’s possible. But I wouldn’t know how. If you want to find her, I can only offer you my best wishes.”
The darkness passed the first step of the porch. Arlene turned her head, peering into the void. “It’s getting late,” she said, her voice quiet. “You should probably leave.”
The words landed heavier than Scarlett expected. She stared ahead, watching the abyss consu the last remnants of the square.
“…There is still much I wished to learn from you.”
Arlene shook her head lightly. “The truth is that there is little left for to teach you. What holds you back now is not a lack of knowledge, nor skill. Even without the system and all that it grants you, you have surpassed much of what I could have expected. You are more than capable yourself, without guidance.”
Scarlett’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she did not argue.
“I would still have taught you more,” Arlene added after a pause, “had there been ti.” She glanced at Scarlett, a certainty in her tone. “But you will be fine. I trust you.”
With deliberate movents, she rose from her chair. For a couple of seconds, she stood there, looking over the last remnants of the mory. “…Now that the ti has co, it does feel rather strange, doesn’t it? Most of those who would rember are long gone, and I suspect the empire’s records aren’t particularly kind to my na.”
A quiet mont stretched out. When Arlene spoke again, she was more subdued. “There is sothing that has lingered in my thoughts for so ti now.” She turned back to Scarlett, her features touched by a gentle solemnity. “Once, you told you weren’t sure if you had ever cried for another person. As though that fact troubled you.”
Scarlett said nothing, waiting.
“I do not believe it is sothing you need to change,” Arlene continued. “But…if there ever cos a day when you do find yourself shedding a tear for soone, would you perhaps mind sparing one for an old teacher?”
Scarlett stilled. Her lips parted slightly, but no words ca.
Arlene only smiled. A true, genuine smile.
“For once, I’ll take my leave first,” she said. “Farewell, Scarlett Hartford. Farewell, Amy Bernal.” A small breath. “I hope that, at the end of that tempest of a life of yours, you find yourself in a place where you truly wish to be.”
She gave Scarlett one final nod before turning. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, walking towards the edge of the porch. The darkness swallowed her in slow, steady incrents, her figure dissolving into the void — until she was gone, as though she had never been there at all.
[Side-Quest completed: A teacher’s past]
{Skill points awarded: 7}
[Side-Quest completed: A teacher’s wish]
{Skill points awarded: 7}
[Side-Quest completed: A teacher’s blessings]
{Skill points awarded: 7}
The notifications flickered into existence, but Scarlett ignored them. She sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the empty space where Arlene had disappeared.
“…Farewell,” she murmured at last, the words barely above a breath.
[Quest completed: Farewell to Arlene]
{Skill points awarded: 20}
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