Father has become busier than before. I hardly see him anymore.
Ophelia comes to chat with me every day, though. Sometimes she talks about work. Other times, she just tells me what's been happening in Port Podesta lately.
Ophelia is a strange one.
She complains about work, but she clearly cares about it. When the topic comes up, she can keep going for hours.
I don't really understand much of what she says about her work. I also don't know what I'm supposed to say about it. So I just nod when she pauses, or say something like "I see" or "That does sound like a lot."
At least she brings macarons. The first time she set the box on my bedside table, she only said casually, "The old you hated bitter things."
After that, whenever she sits by my bed frowning at her documents, complaining about something, I just nibble on the macarons she brought.
The gustatory module is all I have left for taste now. But I genuinely love those cloyingly sweet things.
The sweetness feels good right away. It doesn't take any thought. It's like a kind of comfort that seems too simple to work. But somehow, it does.
When the conversation runs out, she always looks at me awkwardly. I usually don't know what to say either. So my eyes wander around the room and eventually land on the diary sitting on my bedside table.
It didn't take her long to notice I was keeping a diary.
Ophelia seemed genuinely interested in what I wrote, though. She read through all my ramblings from beginning to end.
According to her, there was a citywide writing competition when we were kids. We both entered. Ophelia won an award, while I didn't even get an honorable mention.
She held onto that memory all these years, because... it's one of the few times she ever did better than the old me.
The old you would never have kept a diary. She remembered everything down to the last detail.
With how far technology's come, it's almost funny people still do this.
But... maybe feelings are just too complicated to figure out. That's why people still need to write them down.
This sort of thing feels more like something I'd do, honestly.
She laughed, like she'd just thought of something. Then she grabbed the pen from my bedside and scribbled down a list. She called it "The Helentine Code".
She wrote down many things the past Helentine would do.
For example: 1. Helentine wakes up early.
2. Helentine refuses anything bitter (especially coffee and kale).
3. Helentine rarely cries. (Though that doesn't match what I remember.)
4. Helentine is far too kind for her own good!!! (Ophelia suggests I fix this bad habit.)
Trying to become someone I used to be really is as hard as it sounds.
Before she left, I asked if she could bring me more macarons next time. The yellow ones were really good.
She paused for a moment, then smiled at me and said:
Before, it was always you buying them for me. I don't actually like sweets that much, you know. But if you want them...
You'll be out soon, right? I'll have some ready at home. See you.
My first task after being discharged came sooner than I expected.
Ophelia stood at the door, already dressed, a bouquet of white flowers in her hand.
Her expression was more distant than usual.
Come with me.
Where are we going?
She offered no explanation, and I didn't ask for one.
I followed her into the car.
The streets outside the window grew more crowded. White flowers began appearing along the roadside, and more and more people dressed in black. It was only then that I began to realize where we were probably headed.
A memorial service for the victims of the Atlantic Calamity.
The flowers stretched from the cemetery outward along the walls. The white bouquets spread like rising tidewater around the ruined city.
She led me out of the car, and we joined the line of mourners in silence.
I'm really sorry... about your daughter...
He held a bouquet of white flowers in his hands.
You watched her grow up.
If things had gone right, she would've started college this year.
Her tone was calm, like she was talking about someone else entirely.
But now... there's nothing left. I couldn't even... get her ashes back...
The woman lowered her eyes, her tone quiet and flat.
I'm sorry.
Bringing her flowers... is the last thing I can do for her as her mother... What about you?
I came to bring flowers for my brother. He was on the rescue team.
We weren't exactly close, but...
The woman glanced back and scanned the crowd. Her gaze stopped when it found us.
Are they... Spelmins?
Tavis' two daughters...
They both... survived...
...
If it weren't for the World Government and those big families... the Atlantic Eye would never have existed. None of this would have happened.
And in the end, we're the ones paying for it?
What about... my daughter?
Perhaps it's because a Construct's hearing is too sharp. I could hear every whisper from the crowd with perfect clarity.
Ophelia just held my hand a little tighter.
...
Their hushed anger drifted over with each gust of wind. The smell of damp earth mixed with flowers, and somehow, that only made it harder to bear.
We walked slowly forward. The stone steps of the cemetery were cold underfoot, still slick with dew left by the morning mist. Each step made an unpleasant, wet sound.
The largest monument in the cemetery was covered in names.
As far as I understand, some of those names belong to the civilians who lost their lives in the disaster. Others belong to those who gave their lives during the Styx Crossing rescue operation.
The rescue was organized by the Transatlantic families, together with ordinary citizens from the surrounding areas.
People called it the Styx Crossing. The name alone tells you enough about how brutal it must have been.
The operation did save many lives, but some... never came back.
One by one, the mourners ahead bowed, laid down their flowers, lowered their heads, and left.
It seemed that no matter how angry people were, stepping into the cemetery quieted them all the same.
When our turn came, Ophelia let go of my hand. She bent down and laid her white flowers before the monument.
She stared at it, as if searching for something.
Do you remember Cassie?
I shook my head.
The assistant you hired for me. She wasn't with me for long. That girl was always clumsy... mixing up files, forgetting appointments, turning the simplest things into a crisis.
I always thought I'd have much more time with her.
She seemed to find what she was looking for. Her eyes settled on that name.
If I could've saved Cassie back then... and talked you out of it...
Would things be different now?
...
I think I'm starting to understand the way you used to live.
If I could give everything I have to do something... leave something behind...
Is that why you chose to save me? Father told me what happened.
Ophelia tucked her hair back and managed a faint smile.
It's so hard to figure out what I really want.
Honestly, I don't know the answer either. I just felt it was the right thing to do.
I'm just like anyone else. I'm not that brave, Helentine.
I'm afraid of dying, of pain, of things that cut too deep. When you're actually face-to-face with them, an ordinary person can't just stand there and take it...
Seeing you in that hospital bed... it hurt, every time.
People who'd give themselves up for others always end up dying so easily. It's just not fair. That's why I said yes when Father asked.
You're brave too, Ophelia.
Let me follow your lead for once. Otherwise, people will keep saying I don't seem like your sister.
So... are you happy with the outcome?
If it were the old you, you'd probably say that as long as you did everything you could, that's enough.
And I don't actually mind the way you are now. Come on, let's go.
She lowered her head, took my hand, and walked quickly toward the exit. The murmurs around us hadn't stopped, but she pressed on at a defiant pace, not looking at anyone.
We passed through countless bouquets left in mourning.
Wait, Helentine.
Just as we were about to reach the end of the line, a child's voice suddenly piped up from the side.
This flower is for you.
She fumbled a little, picking a flower from the bouquet in her arms, and gently placed it in my hand.
...
The girl looked nervous, but the look in her eyes was earnest, as if she'd gathered every bit of courage she had just to walk up to me.
Do you know me?
Mm! You're the one who brought my dad back to the hospital. I know it was you!
Dad always said you should repay people who help you... He can't get out of bed yet, so I came to give this to you for him!
I stared blankly at the flower in my hand. If it were the old Helentine, what would she say at a moment like this?
I only did what I could. Thank you. How is your father?
He's still recovering, but the doctor says he's out of danger now. Thank you for saving him, Helentine!
Ophelia bent down and gently tidied the remaining flowers in the child's arms, her expression softening.
Thank you too, for giving her a flower. What's your name?
My name is Enid. Ah, coming!
In the distance, an adult called the girl back.
I stood there, staring at the flower in my hand. I was suddenly at a loss for words.
So I pressed it into my diary, the same way I'm trying to keep the old me in these pages.
A heavy rain came after the memorial. As we parted, Ophelia told me I didn't need to represent the family in anything today. I should just rest.
Though she looked more like the one who needed it.
The rain grew heavier through the afternoon, forming a lead-gray curtain beyond the window. As I stared blankly outside, there was a knock at the door.
Ophelia came in, followed by a woman who looked strangely familiar.
She wore a dark, sharply tailored military uniform. Her stride was brisk and steady, but there was a faint stiffness to her movements that most people wouldn't notice.
She came bearing her injuries, just like me. Just like before...
Before? But what before?
While I reached for the memory, she was already at my bedside, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
Helentine.
She said it softly, like calling to someone who wasn't really here.
I reached instinctively for the notebook on my bedside table, but her hand stopped me before I could.
Don't.
Her fingers were cold. Fresh scabs covered a few of her knuckles.
I'm not in there.
I'm here.
Something in her eyes went out the moment I reached for the notebook.
It only made me more desperate to find something to hold onto. Anything... I didn't want to see that look in her eyes.
Ms. Helio, she's still recovering... and so are you.
......
She'll have all the time during her recovery. Another day would work just as well.
Ophelia's voice sounded tired, and it carried a hint of urgency.
Ophelia... give us a moment? Just a cup of coffee.
Helentine...
Miss Ophelia, the delegation from Jareit has arrived.
The words made Ophelia's already slight shoulders sink a little further. She shot me a worried look, then turned her gaze to the woman across from me.
...Ms. Helio.
...You have my word.
She didn't say what she was promising exactly, but the words seemed to lift something from Ophelia's shoulders.
After she left, it was just the two of us in the room.
Ms... Helio?
I tried to greet her, using the same form of address Ophelia had.
"Ms. Helio"...
She lingered on the words for a moment, as if they called up something from the past. A past I know nothing about.
I see... So Arakna, and you as well... both of you...
Arakna?
A friend. "Our" friend.
If she were here, the two of you could trade those weird little jokes again.
I don't know if I can follow them the way the old Helentine did...
It's all right. Even now, she'd still get a laugh out of you. She was the talkative one, much better at lightening the mood than I am.
She'd clap you on the shoulder and say something careless, like, "Worst comes to worst, just treat it like a brand new life"...
The corners of her mouth lifted, almost on their own. I saw a little warmth there, and something bitter too.
...She "was"?
She gave her life protecting students during the Atlantic Calamity relief. Fought to the very end.
The woman before me closed her eyes in silence.
I lowered my head, thinking to myself: she knows my memories have slipped through my fingers like sand, yet still she offers these precious pieces of the past to me.
Can you tell me what happened back then?
When the disaster broke out, I was closest to ground zero. You and Arakna were the first to answer my distress call.
She paused longer between sentences than Ophelia did. Each silence felt deliberate, like she was carefully choosing what I could handle hearing at this moment.
A few words could never capture the horror of it. People who refused to resign themselves to fate charged into hell itself. They pushed upstream against the River Styx, ferrying their people back to the world of the living.
Your signals went dark, one by one... but I couldn't stop. I just kept pushing toward the epicenter.
When I made it back to the surface, I heard you were dying. Two days later, you'd undergone Construct conversion.
Whatever it took, you're still here. That's enough.
After she said that, the room went quiet.
If it were "Helentine"... she would know you. And everything you've told me. And "our" friend.
...I'm sorry.
Don't be.
Her tone was gentle, but it left no room for argument.
My name is Adelyde. Adelyde Helio.
When she mentioned her family name, something complicated flickered through her eyes. It was there and gone in an instant.
You used to call me "Ade"...
But you don't have to now. Don't force it.
Then... Adelyde?
Yeah. This is fine.
We talked about other things for a while after that. She mentioned she might go to F.O.S.
She didn't seem to want to discuss matters between her and her family, and I didn't feel it was my place to ask.
She asked what I'd been doing lately.
I listed off the work Ophelia had assigned me: budget approvals, project execution, security deployments...
If this were Ophelia, she would have lit up by now and said something like, "That's just how you used to be."
So I expected Adelyde to nod too, but she only listened in silence.
Father, Ophelia, the rest of the family... they all want me to become who I used to be.
So I should be trying to become her.
She got up from her chair and walked over to the window, standing with her back to me for a moment.
You're trying to become the old Helentine because others expect it of you...
Or because you want to?
I couldn't answer. I'd never asked myself that question.
Adelyde turned around. The look in her eyes... it was no longer searching for the person who should have been here. She was looking at someone new.
I remember the Helentine you were... but I didn't come here to turn you back into her.
What matters is what you think. Right here, right now.
She took a card from her pocket and placed it on my bedside table.
This is my number.
Whether you've figured things out or you're still lost, you can tell me. Anytime.
I'll pick up every time.
She didn't stay any longer. She turned and headed for the door.
Helentine.
She paused for a moment.
Mm.
Take care of yourself. Keep moving forward.
"Keep moving forward..." The words rung out like a brief, sharp echo.
As I watched her leave, that familiar sense of deja vu stirred inside my M.I.N.D. Fragments of who Helentine used to be rose to the surface.
Perhaps, in some past I can't remember, she too had walked toward the future... with that same resolve.
Raised voices had already echoed through every corner of the Marigold Council Chamber.
That's how he always is. What do you expect me to discuss with Arius' lapdog, Marco?
Talk about his family head who blew up the Atlantic Eye? Or the lives my family lost because of it?
A great pity.
I'm simply stating the facts. Under these circumstances, solutions should take priority over grievances.
Perhaps you'd be better off consulting that butler mechanoid of yours. A mechanoid might be rational enough to actually hear what I have to say.
...
Leon remained silent, standing with his hands limp at his sides. His face held no more expression than a dead monitor.
All right, all right. Enough. Squabbling won't get us anywhere.
The Great Family Council has finally been reconvened after all this time. Don't waste it on petty bickering.
The conference room door swung open, and Tavis Spelmin walked in carrying a thick stack of documents.
Apologies. Some personal matters came up.
Everyone's here now. Shall we get down to business?
Leon, wait outside.
This is a family meeting from here on. It's not appropriate for you to sit in.
Yes, sir.
The mechanoid walked out expressionlessly, closing the door behind him.
Right, then. The Atlantic Great Family Council, convened for the first time in a long while. As you're all aware, there's only one item on the agenda today: the Atlantic Eye.
Arius Erhorn ignored Dominik's warnings and pressed ahead with the extraction of the "Understanding" Sefirah... resulting in consequences no one foresaw.
A holographic projection flickered to life. The miraculous mega-structure that once symbolized the Transatlantic Economic Community's glorious past and future materialized above the table, bathed in red from base to summit.
Energy and current power output centers. Undersea fiber optic and information distribution hubs. Atmospheric circulation control facilities... All damaged, all offline. Graphs charting direct and indirect economic losses cast the attendees' faces in deepening shades of dismay.
According to the few survivors, when the explosion occurred, the Atlantic Eye's central AI automatically activated a hidden system called "Ananke".
It contained the disaster and prevented further damage, but it also sealed off the entire facility completely.
Whether this was Arius' doing or Dominik's, it no longer matters.
What matters is that the Atlantic Eye is now a total loss.
At last, he folded his hands together and rested them on the table.
I called this meeting for one reason. Before the World Government steps in, we decide among ourselves what happens to the Atlantic Eye.
Once their investigation wraps up, we'll have even less room to move.
Does Dominik know about this meeting, Marco?
I have no interest in him or his research. Right now, my only concern is asset management. From that angle, Dominik is nothing more than a researcher we happen to sponsor.
Decisions like this should've been made by the Great Family Council from the start. But with Arius running everything, the Council was a formality. I had no say.
And as for the outcome... you've all seen how that turned out.
This is what happens when you let technocrats drive an investment.
Well, Erhorn? Anything to say? About whatever project Arius was running?
This is exactly why I opposed pouring more money into this project from the beginning!
And what did we get? Nothing. Not one worthwhile return. Instead, how many did we lose...?
Arius knew exactly how to stack the deck and shut out anyone he didn't like, didn't he?
I'm not here to discuss Arius. Mourning your family's dead or cursing his name, neither one will solve anything.
The acting head of the Erhorn family delivered the facts without a flicker of expression.
And the Control Court has already cleared me of any involvement in Arius' actions.
Today, I am simply here on behalf of my family to discuss what comes next.
I know why all of you invested in the Atlantic Eye in the first place. For tangible returns. There's no shame in that.
Even you, Cornis, profited handsomely from it.
Cornis fell silent for a moment.
...
But the Atlantic Eye has collapsed. After reviewing the situation, the only path left for everyone to recoup their losses from this project...
...is another certain project... that Dominik and Arius were working on together.
The projection displayed partial findings from the M.I.N.D. research.
The World Government claims this research was the direct cause of the disaster, but... we're out of options. It's the only thing of value left from our investment.
Particularly the M.I.N.D. research.
No. Our family is done pouring money into this project.
Cornis finally broke his silence.
Do you think the World Government are fools, Caspar? The Control Court—
I support it.
All eyes turned toward Tavis, who had held his silence throughout the proceedings.
Since you're all so eager to debate what's "worth it," perhaps you should hear from someone with actual expertise first.
I won't deny the economic losses this disaster has caused. But the technology itself has real value.
The projection switched again. This time, Helentine's medical records appeared on screen.
These are clinical cases I've compiled recently.
Case 1 was dying at the Atlantic Calamity site, already beyond what conventional treatment could reverse.
Both the brain damage and the destruction to the M.I.N.D. framework itself far exceeded what traditional methods could address.
But through improved M.I.N.D. reconstruction protocols and Construct conversion, she survived. The technology itself is a direct extension of Dominik and Arius' research.
Tavis paused for a moment. His voice finally took on a suppressed, almost stubborn edge.
But... Dominik and Arius' true ambitions were never as economically valuable as they made them out to be.
Using improved M.I.N.D. technology to provide the World Government with more advanced Construct designs. Driving medical breakthroughs. Supplying experimental data for neuroscience...
If those two geniuses had truly been pursuing only those goals, today's disaster would never have happened. It could never have happened.
Tavis let out a sigh.
What were they really after? Does anyone at this table truly understand? To be honest, I don't fully understand it myself. What I know has always been limited to the technical side.
Click. Someone sparked a lighter. The small flame flared and threw a brief glow across a set of fingers resting near the edge of the table.
Humanity always overreaches when it chases miracles. That's the real problem.
As you all know, my work has always been about pushing research toward practical applications and applied science.
From Dominik and Arius' theories, if we can extract—
Let me stop you there, Tavis. You've misunderstood me.
...?
Tavis' hand stilled in the air. A brief look of puzzled uncertainty passed over his features.
What I'm proposing is this: we seal away these research findings and negotiate with Arius' assistant, that acerbic little man, Kurono. He may be willing to cooperate.
Kurono-San has far closer ties to the World Government than we do. And they're interested in the same technologies you mentioned.
I know none of you have ever thought much of him, but he was far closer to Arius than I ever was. Right now, this is the best solution I can offer that serves everyone.
Before Kurono-San takes over completely, I need you to halt your research as well, Tavis. The World Government already considers this project extremely dangerous.
How we position ourselves matters too.
The conference room fell silent for a moment.
Can you guarantee Kurono-San will accept?
He's already reached out to the Erhorn family several times since the disaster.
Cornis leaned back in his chair, letting out a short exhale that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
Tch. Kurono-San, then... Never thought we'd end up negotiating with a man of such... particular tastes.
You... you want me to just hand over my research?
Tavis brought his fist down on the table, his nostrils flaring with barely contained fury.
None of you can even follow the research briefings! What right do you have to decide what happens to this data?!
Perhaps Kurono-San will bring you on as a technical consultant, Tavis. With his backing, you might find yourself with better opportunities.
I don't think the situation we're in can be resolved by debating technicalities anymore.
We're out of options. The World Government is watching us closely over this. It's time we made our position clear, Tavis.
I have no objections otherwise... but I will be personally involved in the negotiations with Kurono-San.
Since we've all more or less stated our positions, let's follow the Great Family Council's tradition. All in favor of reaching out to Kurono-San, raise your hand.
You...!
The heads of the three families lifted their hands in unison.
Then it's decided. All ongoing research is to cease immediately. Formal negotiations with Kurono begin tomorrow.
The room fell quiet for a moment. The holographic display still shone, but Caspar and Cornis had left, and only Tavis and Marco remained.
On the wall, Helentine's medical file still hung in the air, marked with the recovery curves Tavis had traced and retraced countless times.
Tavis. I'm here today to represent the Helio family's position. But I want you to know that I'm not entirely against you.
...
Tavis kept his head down, gathering the papers from the table sheet by sheet.
I know you don't want to abandon years of research.
You think this is about the research?
Research can be halted and picked up again. Data can be lost and rebuilt. Even without Arius, ten years or twenty years... progress is only a question of time.
But... what about the people?
People?
My daughter, Ophelia. She accepted the legacy of the Consciousness Tide project.
If the research stops now, what happens to her? Marco? Does anyone care?
He lifted his head. The anger in his eyes had vanished, replaced by an exhaustion that bordered on emptiness.
Has anyone here ever truly cared about the people who've died because of this project? The ones who are still going to die? Anyone?
Have any of you ever said a single word of apology? Have you? Is it because there's no blood on your hands? Is that why you can sit in your offices and talk so grandly without carrying any of the weight?
The man raised his voice.
Do you have any idea how many people we could save if our research were made public? Open your eyes, Marco. Look at what's happening in Port Podesta!
Is this the Golden Age you wanted?
I'm sorry. But there's nothing I can do, Tavis.
It's too late, Marco. All of it... too late.
Tavis clutched a stack of documents. The name "Ophelia" was printed on the top sheet.
