Chapter Text
You feel the impact of the boulder before you can comprehend what is happening. The reverberating slam of stone hitting the frozen floor of the House is a terrific noise in itself, but you can't help but think you heard something else along with it. The snapping of bone, the splattering of meat.
The boulder landed where Siffrin was standing mere moments before. And so Siffrin is gone, unless you want to count the darkish liquid seeping out from under the stone as him. It's been maybe 20 minutes since you entered the House, and Siffrin has been obliterated.
You’re not sure what to call the sound that escapes your mouth.
(You received a CRUSHING MEMORY!)
(You’ll always remember this.)
[Memories are like items. Each Memory is specific to one of your party members, and can give them special abilities.]
[This Memory is associated with your Rogue, exclusively. When he has Crushing Memory equipped, nearby pillars make him anxious, giving -10 DEF and +10 ATKSPD while in close proximity.]
[You equip Memories mentally by keeping one in the forefront of your mind while thinking of the relevant party member.]
Your trembling body freezes as you hear the voice, startled out of your reaction by the sheer absurdity. Who…? And what are they talking about?
No one else in your party reacts to what sounds to you like a very clear voice, out in the open. And they’re busy, just like you were, but you noticed. Surely the other’s would’ve at least reacted? Even just physically? But no, they’re all just horrified. Like they should be.
So it's all in your head, then. Wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful wonderful. It only took one (admittedly major) traumatic event for you to start hallucinating. The sudden onset of hallucination isn’t a good sign in general, but in your current situation, it could potentially be deadly. Any misstep could be deadly, as had just been… very efficiently proven.
…But that voice at least doesn’t sound like your party members— you’re the only one with a Ka Buan accent, after all— so if it continues to sound distinctly not-like-them, you’ll know what it is. You’ll be able to distinguish it from reality.
If you indulge yourself for a moment and extend the possibilities of what the voice could be past the realm of hallucination… It could potentially be the King? Telepathy wouldn't be the weirdest ability for the King to have, considering he somehow figured out Time Craft. But even if you have no idea what his voice sounds like, you are fairly certain the King is not from Ka Bue. If he was, someone would’ve commented on it at some point during your journey. It’s probably for the best to continue to think of it as hallucinatory.
Right. Although it’s definitely an inconvenience, if this hallucination comes back in the same form, it will hopefully not confuse you into a deadly situation. You try not to think about how unlikely it seems that if you do continue to hallucinate, it will continue to just be a voice... rambling about remembering things? With this same voice you’ve never heard? You may be much less than an expert on the subject, but you have a feeling that’s not how it usually works.
Hold on, what did the voice say again?
It doesn’t matter, you probably shouldn’t dwell on it— you feel like that could make it worse— but what else is there to dwell on? Boniface sobbing hysterically into Isabeau’s vest? Isabeau’s own defeated silence? Mirabelle’s wails? Gems forbid, your own feelings? No, no, your stupid hallucination is the safest bet, isn’t it.
Memories are like items. What does that mean. You shouldn’t take it seriously, obviously, but even if you did. You cannot hold a memory in your hands. It has no physical component, no hidden craft properties. And the rest of it was just… battle theory nonsense! Why would keeping this memory in mind affect Siffrin… at all? Siffrin isn’t the one with the memory of seeing their own death. Siffrin doesn’t have any memories anymore. THEY. JUST. DIED.
Hm. It seems like distraction isn’t working very well. Did you really think you could avoid thinking about what happened?
At some point between the boulder falling and now, you've sat down. You don't remember doing that, but it's probably for the best. You don't trust yourself to do much at the moment. Gems.
…
…
…
But you're going to have to do something eventually, aren't you? You're the oldest, you're the coldest, and this can't be the end. There are still three adults in this party.
“Mirabelle,” you say. It's pathetically quiet, your voice is hoarse. You must've shrieked more than you remember.
She's on her knees, not too far in front of you. Neither of you moved too far outside of your usual spots in the single file line, not like Isabeau and Boniface. She looks back as you call her name, and she doesn't look any better than her wailing implied.
“I can lead the party from this point, if needed,” you offer.
Mirabelle blinks slowly as she considers this. It’s probably a bit early to move on but. Well. What else can you do.
“I’m fine,” she asserts, “I can lead.”
You nod. You worry about how she's handling it. Her voice is steady, but cold. Her hands are trembling. She's driven— angry, you think. You worry, but you don't have the privilege of acting on that worry. Something has to get you up to the King, and if that something is Mirabelle’s anger, so be it.
After a good few moments, she stands. looking back at you and the other two.
“Isabeau,” she calls, and slowly, without a word, he stands. Boniface remains in his arms, and you can hear them still hiccuping. You almost want to say it’s too early to leave, but you doubt Boniface will be feeling better in a time frame that would allow for actually defeating the King. So now is as fine as ever. Mirabelle, in silent agreement, starts walking down the corridor.
With Mirabelle leading and you in the back, you’re reminded of when you first joined the party, after Isabeau had very offhandedly mentioned that he and Mirabelle were the ones on a quest to save Vaugarde, just the two of them. You hadn’t been in the country for long, and you had been dreading having to leave so soon after you arrived. You thought you’d never be able to learn any of what you came here for before the country was frozen in time forever.
You wonder if any of that will matter. At the time, it felt almost serendipitous. You could’ve continued traveling on your own, but traveling with the party means that if you become frozen or die, it won’t only be because of your own reckless sentimentality. You’ve been fighting back.
For a long time, this has kept you confident in your decision to travel with the others, but right now, you just feel an irrational stab of homesickness in your gut. You’ll die here, most likely. You won’t ever see your home again. You wonder if Siffrin felt the same, moments before their death.
It’s probably some sort of sign when you enter the next room and immediately see what is very likely your next hallucination: a bell, hung from the ceiling. It’s fairly bright, not the lightless shade the rest of the frozen House has taken on. It’s a familiar size, a familiar shape. It’s round, bulbous, with a single slit at the bottom. You can’t see inside, but you know there’s no clapper. If it’s been made properly, there’ll be pellets inside that sound the bell when its rope is pulled. It’s around the size of an apple, the size of a bell one would find at the entrance of a shrine— one you’d ring when you didn’t have time to enter but still wanted to inform the shrine’s kami of your presence. Because that’s what it is, a Ka Buan shrine bell.
Mirabelle’s gaze is immediately on the locked door on the opposite side of the room, not the bell. You aren’t really expecting her to comment on anything, not right now, but a Ka Buan shrine bell in the middle of a Vaugardian House of Change? You would expect Mirabelle to react in some way, at least. So yes, it is probably a hallucination. At this point you aren’t too surprised.
Mirabelle leads you into a room on the left, there are enough tonics scattered around that she gets impatient trying to fit them into Boniface’s abandoned bag. She scours the room for a key instead, you try your best to help, but you find yourself adverse to touching anything, you barely feel present. It’s not long before she gives up entirely. There is another room to check, after all.
Exiting the room, the bell is still there. Mirabelle nearly runs straight through it.
The room across from the one you just left is comparatively very empty, and there's a key just sitting on the floor. Mirabelle makes a small frustrated noise when she sees it, and then you're backtracking into the room with the bell again.
It takes a few moments for Mirabelle to unlock the door, and you make a last minute decision; you ring the bell. No one sees you do it, no one aside from you hears it ring. You ignore how real the rope felt in your hand.
The bell doesn’t have an inscription, no name to clarify who it rings for. You figure the closest deity is the Change God, maybe? The location of the Change God isn't really something specified by the Change belief, at least not in the way you're used to. It’s said that the Houses are places where one is closer to the Change God, but that’s different from shrines and kami. You send an acknowledgement to the Change God anyway. You're running on instinct, habit.
[You can save your progress by ringing the bell.]
You ignore the voice this time. That meant almost next to nothing.
The next room is progress, but it also reveals just how much more of the House you all have to work through before you reach the King. This is the proper first floor, this is the start, everything else was just prologue. Sadnesses patrol on either side. Siffrin is still dead.
Mirabelle says the door ahead leads to the second floor. It’s locked as well, but she was expecting that. She leads you towards the right wing of the floor.
One of the sadnesses catches up to your small party. The battle isn’t quite as swift as it otherwise would be, but it’s not outrageously difficult. You win just fine. Siffrin should be here. You are not far enough in the house for his death to make any amount of sense. Siffrin should be here.
You feel your side start to cramp as you match Mirabelle’s determined pace, leading you all down a long corridor. It’s not as bad as following Siffrin at full tilt, but that was something they only rarely required of you. Mirabelle has been consistent with her determined speed. You can hear Isabeau's breath slowly becoming more labored as he carries Boniface, and it's a relief when Mirabelle suddenly stops after turning the next corner.
“...What's that?”
You can see what she's spotted as you massage your side; large, floating droplets of transparent liquid, hovering in a spot down the hallway. It isn't anything you've experienced on your journey so far, but even so, you can't help but think that they make sense. On a thematic level at least, if nothing else. They have the same sort of unnatural viscosity as the tears wept by the Sadnesses; large, shining globs that look like they’d burst the moment you touched them.
“Weird, floating water?”
Isabeau's weak guess comes with a tired exhale, but it's a decent enough summary, and it's not like any of you are really expecting conversation right now.
Mirabelle continues down the hallway, pace slowed as she approaches the liquid. You and Isabeau follow, of course, and the three of you are only standing for a couple seconds before Boniface decides that they're put together enough to at least turn around and take a look.
“...They’re Tears,” Boniface mutters, and Isabeau sets them down as they struggle to get a better look. “Or I think they are. They, uh. We should be careful around them.”
“Where did you get this information?” You ask, hoping the question isn’t too demanding. Boniface clearly doesn’t want to talk right now.
“Dormont,” they reply. That seems to be as much as they want to explain. That's fine.
You have no plans on touching them, but they are curious things. Unlike the flames of the torches on the walls, the Tears move. Gently wavering, suspended in space but not in time. You want to try something. You know there's no time, and Mirabelle doesn't seem especially thrilled that you want to stay here, but.
A simple experiment, that's all you'll do. You look through your bag, looking for anything you're willing to part with. It's not the easiest task, you've planned fairly meticulously for today, but you think you're okay with parting with Strange Vexillology: an Incomplete History of Mystery. It's your backup weapon, technically, but it's flimsy and meandering and there'll be plenty of other books in the House that could work if you're desperate.
Right, now you just need to toss it in without touching the Tear yourself. Shouldn't be especially hard, but you're fully aware of how bad your aim is.
“...What are you doing, Dile?”
Boniface sounds nervous, and maybe this isn't something you should be doing. Maybe your frustration is getting the better of you. But you remember, vaguely, a time around when you were Boniface's age. Nothing in your life seemed to be anything you could control, and so when a friend of yours showed off a little fire he'd made outside of your school, you took one of your schoolbooks and slowly fed it to the flame, watching it burn, page by page. You think this is similar. You need to watch something happen, a process. You need to know what the Tear does.
“Don’t worry, Boniface,” you murmur. You'll be careful.
You faintly acknowledge that Boniface has grabbed your jacket at this point, you think little of it. You line up your throw, and it seems like Boniface has figured out what you're doing.
“Stupid! Let's just go!”
Boniface tugs on your jacket as you heft the book forwards. As a result, your aim wavers to one side. You huff, stepping forcefully in the opposite direction. But Boniface, being a preteen, isn't particularly strong. Instead of just making the small correction you intended, you stumble forwards. Your eyes widen as you realize what you've just done.
“MADAME ODILE!!”
Mirabelle's anguished shout is the last thing you hear before you hit the surface of the tear. It shatters, more like glass than water, and everything stops.
