Deculein was gone, but his legacy remained—Etynel words inked on parchment, theories of magic crystallizing in diagrams, math problems solved in the margins, and, above all, the indelible lessons lasting within Sylvia's mind.0

However, not a single trace of Deculein remained. Not a fragment of cloth, not a single hair—nothing remained, as if it had all burned away. But even fire leaves ash, and he had dissolved like ink diffusing into the sea.0

Alone, Sylvia lightly tapped her finger on her lips, and the sensation brought back an unforgettable memory as the scene replayed in her mind.0

“… Fool,” Sylvia muttered.0

The courage that drove Sylvia to press her lips to Deculein's was impulsive—more desire than decision. Though regret welled up in the moments that followed, the idea that she had left a memory in the fabric of their story for herself brought a sense of peace.0

Tick, tock— Tick, tock—0

Sylvia watched the clock tick its rhythm into the room before pushing herself up and opening the window.0

“Deculein is dead,” Sylvia said to the scarecrow hidden in the forest's underbelly below the lighthouse.0

Then, without a word, the scarecrow stared up at the lighthouse, turned its back, and walked into the fading light.0

Sylvia closed the window and pressed her back against the wall.0

Swish… 0

Sylvia's back slid down the wall until her hips landed hard on the floor, her legs falling open without thought, like petals wilting after rain.0

“This isn’t very dignified,” Sylvia muttered.0

Sylvia tried to push herself up, but her body refused as the room spun, a sensation reminiscent of mana exhaustion, a throbbing ache pulsing in her temples, her eyelids drooping, and sleep pulling her under.0

As Sylvia closed her eyes, Deculein's...0