Seraphina has spent three years building a quiet life in the lower district of the royal capital—running a tavern with four companions who feel like family, hiding the elven blood in her veins, and guarding a secret that would mean her execution if anyone discovered it.
She remembers a previous life. A life as a forty-year-old woman named Sarasa Seta.
In this world, those who carry memories of another life are called the "Inscribed"—and they are hunted by the Ring of Silence, a shadow organiza
Invitation Addressed to Sarasa Seta - Five Shadows Before Dawn — The Ghost at the Door and the Quiet Morning
The ground floor of the tavern "Lamplight." The quiet after closing had already stretched on for a long while.
The candlestick on the counter flickered thin and slender. Now and then a spark snapped. Wax melted, ran down the rim of the holder, and fell in drops. No one wiped it away.
Seraphina sat in her chair, head bowed. Her long, pale-gold hair hung down on either side of her face. Her deep green eyes, swollen from crying, were fixed on a single point on the floor. The knot in the floorboard doubled in her blurred vision.
The trembling in her fingertips wouldn't stop. Her hands, clasped in her lap, shook faintly. The words that had just left her own mouth echoed over and over in the back of her ears.
—I was a forty-year-old woman.
Her name from a previous life. Sarasa Seta. A plain office worker in the accounting department. She'd never known love, had grown quietly older, and died in a traffic accident. Hiding that memory, she had lived on in this elf's body.
She had told them everything.
She couldn't bring herself to look any of the four in the face. She didn't have the courage to check what expressions they wore. Head still down, only her ears desperately searched out their presence.
(Maybe this is the end.)
This warm place. The gentle days she'd shared with these people.
And yet—
"Come here."
A low, calm voice broke the silence.
Seraphina lifted her head.
Iris, who had been standing by the door, uncrossed her arms and lightly tapped the chair beside her. Her long, near-black indigo hair caught the candlelight and shone glossily. Her narrow violet eyes watched Seraphina quietly, as always.
"Huh...?"
Her voice came out hoarse. The back of her throat was dry.
"Sit here. Or can you not stand?"
Iris tapped the chair again. There was no hesitation in the gesture. It held a soft, undeniable strength.
Something inside Seraphina's chest lurched.
(Why?)
(Why are you so... normal about it?)
Her legs moved. Staggering, Seraphina rose. The chair legs scraped the floor and let out a short shriek. Still seeing the world through tear-blurred eyes, she lowered herself into the chair beside Iris.
The wooden chair creaked.
In that instant, a hand reached out from another direction.
It was Marguerite.
Her black hair tied back, the thirty-one-year-old former fallen noble. She came to stand beside Seraphina, and without a word, gently drew Seraphina's shoulder against her.
Warm.
There was a faint scent of tea leaves and firewood. Seraphina's forehead rested against Marguerite's chest. She could hear her heartbeat. Slow, steady, reassuring. It beat in a rhythm utterly unlike Seraphina's own pounding heart.
"Marguerite... I..."
"It's all right. You don't have to say anything now."
Marguerite's fingers slowly combed through Seraphina's hair. As if soothing a child who wouldn't stop crying. Each time her fingers passed through, she stroked the same spot once more.
The back of Seraphina's eyes grew hot again.
(No. I'm going to cry again.)
She bit her lip. But the tears wouldn't stop. They spilled softly down her cheeks and soaked into Marguerite's apron. She could feel the damp spreading against her cheek.
"Finally got to hear it, huh."
A light voice came flying from beyond the counter.
Seraphina looked up to see Lazuli watching her with that usual breezy grin. Her blue-black hair hung loose and unkempt, and the three piercings in her left ear caught the light and glinted. Her lapis-lazuli blue eyes were narrowed kindly.
"Man, that took forever. Do you have any idea how long we waited for you to tell us yourself?"
Fiddling with a copper coin between her fingertips, Lazuli went on in her casual way.
"Well, I figured it out from the start, though. You use weird words sometimes, right? Stuff like 'copy' and 'overtime.' Those aren't words from this world."
Seraphina's eyes went wide.
(She... noticed.)
Lazuli flipped the coin into the air. It spun round and round and dropped into her palm. The coin jingled between her fingers.
"But if the person herself won't talk, it's only proper not to ask. That's what I decided, anyway."
At those words, something in Seraphina's chest tightened.
(She knew, all this time.)
(She saw through my lies.)
(And she kept quiet and waited for me.)
Her vision blurred again.
Just then, heavy footsteps sounded against the floor.
It was Gilda.
Short-cropped auburn hair. Sharp amber eyes. An old scar at the corner of her mouth. A rugged, fierce-faced warrior of twenty-seven. She stood before Seraphina and slowly bowed her head.
Deeply.
Like a knight swearing loyalty to a king. The nape of her neck showed between strands of auburn hair.
"...I'm sorry."
Her low voice sank into the tavern's stillness.
"Gilda... what are you apologizing for? You have nothing to be sorry about."
Seraphina shook her head in a fluster.
Gilda kept her head bowed and went on.
"I knew you were carrying something all alone. And still, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't ask. I couldn't help. ...I'm sorry."
Seraphina's throat closed up.
(No.)
(That's not it, Gilda.)
(You were always protecting me.)
(You picked me up when I'd collapsed in the street.)
(You stayed beside me without a word.)
(That alone saved me more than enough.)
Feelings that wouldn't become words churned in her chest.
"No... that's not it... I'm the one who's always been protected by all of you..."
The tears wouldn't stop. A sob caught in the back of her throat.
"That's all right."
Marguerite's voice rang softly by her ear.
"Being protected isn't a bad thing. We're here because we want to protect you."
In Marguerite's arms, Seraphina cried aloud.
Like a child.
Ugly and unabashed.
But there was no longer any need to hide.
The guilt she had shoved deep into her heart for so long melted away little by little, along with her tears. The drops ran down her chin, down her neck, and were swallowed one after another into the fabric of the apron.
(I don't have to hide anymore.)
That sensation slowly filled Seraphina's whole body.
After a while, when Seraphina's crying subsided, Marguerite brewed fresh warm tea.
The five of them sat down on the floor.
In a corner of the tavern. On the wooden floor. The candlelight cast five shadows on the wall. The shadows overlapped, looking like one great mass.
A cup of tea was passed around in turn. With each sip, warmth spread from the core of her body. The rim of the cup touched her lips. The steam tickled the back of her nose.
"So, tell me more about your past life. What does an accounting department even do? Count numbers?"
Lazuli needled her lightly, passing the tea along.
Seraphina smiled a little. Her cheeks felt tight from crying.
"That's right. I calculated the company's money. Wrote numbers on documents, kept the ledgers... it was plain work."
"Huh. So you're good with numbers, then. You should look at our tavern's books sometime. I'm terrible with figures."
"No way. You're skimming off the sales, aren't you?"
"That's harsh! As if I'd ever do that!"
Lazuli clutched her chest in exaggerated offense. The coin jingled in her pocket.
Marguerite giggled. Her shoulders shook slightly.
"But what kind of place was the accounting department? Your workplace, in your past life."
Cradling her cup in both hands, Seraphina gazed off a little into the distance. The heat of the cup seeped gently into her fingertips.
"...A cramped room, with piles of documents. Fluorescent lights—oh, things like glowing tubes—were always on. A place where the smells of paper and ink and coffee all mixed together."
She spoke slowly, searching for the words.
"On nights I worked overtime, I'd buy a canned coffee from a vending machine—a machine where you put in money and a drink comes out. I'd hold the warm can in both hands and look out the window. The city lights stretched far into the distance. ...I loved looking at those lights."
The four of them listened in silence. Even the sound of Lazuli fiddling with her coin had stopped.
"I had one junior colleague. Her name was Minato. She was always looking out for me. During overtime she'd give me snacks, buy me coffee. ...I knew how she felt, and I could never give anything back."
Her voice trembled a little. Her fingers tightened around the cup.
"I pretended not to notice. I pretended I didn't know. Because I was forty, and she was young, and surely she'd meet someone far more wonderful. ...So I ran. That's how I've always run."
Seraphina hung her head.
The tea in her cup rippled faintly. The candlelight reflected on its surface, distorted.
"You lived a full life, didn't you."
Marguerite said quietly.
Seraphina raised her head.
Marguerite's blue eyes were gazing straight at her. There was no pity in them, no contempt. Only deep empathy.
"You say you never knew love. But you're suffering this much over not being able to accept someone's feelings. That's proof enough that you lived with a full human heart."
Something deep in Seraphina's chest grew gently warm.
"...You can just be yourself."
Suddenly, Gilda spoke.
Seraphina looked at her.
Her amber eyes caught Seraphina straight on.
"Whether you had a past life, whether you were forty—none of that matters. What I know is the you right now. A weak little elf who'd collapsed in the street. And even so, you smiled at me and said, 'It's fine, I'm used to it.' A stupidly strong woman. That alone is enough."
Seraphina's eyes flew wide.
(That alone is enough.)
Tears spilled again. This time something warm ran down her cheeks.
But these tears were different from before.
Not sorrow. Not pain.
Something warm welled up from deep in her chest. The tightness in her throat slowly came loose.
"...Thank you."
Her voice shook.
"Thank you... everyone..."
Wiping her tears, Seraphina looked at each of the four in turn.
Gilda. Lazuli. Marguerite. Iris.
All of them were looking at her.
With kind eyes.
The night deepened.
The candle flame grew short, and the shadows stretched long. The melted wax had formed a small white lake at the base of the holder.
"...Time we slept, I suppose."
Iris rose quietly. The chair made a small sound as it left the floor.
Seraphina felt a little lonely. That this warm time was about to end.
But Iris didn't head upstairs. She stood before Seraphina.
And without a word, she took Seraphina's hand.
"Iris...?"
Iris's hand was cool. But her fingers held Seraphina's firmly. Her bony fingers rested gently against the back of Seraphina's hand.
Iris drew Seraphina's hand along and pointed to a spot on the floor.
Beside herself.
The wooden floor in the corner of the tavern.
"Stay here."
Just one word.
That was all.
But to Seraphina, those words pierced deeper into her heart than anything.
(Stay here.)
(It's all right for you to be here.)
(In this world. In this place. Beside us.)
Seraphina's throat clogged with a hot lump. She opened her mouth to say something, but no voice came.
"...Okay."
Seraphina finally managed only that, with a small nod.
Iris said nothing more and sat down on the floor. Then she tapped the floor beside her once more. A dry sound echoed, just once.
Seraphina lowered herself beside Iris. The floorboards were a little cold.
"Oh, nice. Let me in on this too."
Lazuli flopped down on Seraphina's other side. Her arm came to rest at a distance where it might or might not touch Seraphina's back.
"Then may I join you here as well?"
Marguerite sat down gracefully beside Lazuli. Knees together, she smoothed the hem of her skirt.
Gilda, without a word, planted herself heavily on the outer edge of the five-person circle. By the wall, in a position where she could move at any moment. But her eyes rested softly on her companions.
The five of them lay lined up on the floor.
Their shoulders touched.
Warm.
Seraphina closed her eyes.
Iris's body heat. Lazuli's soft breathing. Marguerite's scent of tea. Gilda's quiet presence.
All of it wrapped around Seraphina. The grain of the f
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