Immortality stole death from the world—but it could not steal the ruin of the mind. When the heart corrodes beyond repair, only one answer remains: the Rite of Termination, carried out by the pale-eyed Executors of Calm Finis.
Daria has frozen her heart to carry that blade. Emotion is a flaw to be purged, attachment a weakness to be erased—and she has mastered both disciplines better than anyone. But the writ placed in her hands names a target she cannot erase: Ethan, the boy who once broke a s
Executor Dahlia — Before the Last Bell Rings - Frozen Paradise, the Maiden Embracing the Sword
The morning light did not fall equally upon the gray ruins.
In the valleys between crumbling buildings, along the rubble-strewn path that had once been a main thoroughfare, the clamor of the morning market swelled. Emaciated women spread out tattered cloths, old men lined up rusted scraps of metal, young men hoisted bottles of murky water and shouted themselves hoarse. Everyone wore threadbare cloaks, their faces and arms mottled with livid blue-black spots of decay. And yet their eyes gleamed, and smiles even played at the corners of their mouths. A feverish, almost manic heat enveloped the entire market.
The "Ash Market"—the only place in Remna Grease where barter was permitted.
Daria stood at the market's entrance, watching the scene with an expressionless face. Her narrow, blue-tinged eyes remained still, like the frozen surface of a lake. From beneath the collar of her black long coat, the silver emblem of an Executor pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light.
*(No.)*
She murmured it deep within her heart.
This fervor was not vitality. It was a festival of deception, devouring life itself. Ethan's teaching—the "Eternal Paradise"—had birthed this madness that called itself the acceptance of death.
And yet, Daria thought.
She understood it in her head. But the shell deep within her chest held a faint warmth.
"Daria."
A voice reached her.
The crowd stirred, parting to the left and right. As if the sea itself were splitting open.
At its center stood Ethan.
His black hair, grown to his shoulders, was disheveled and unkempt. His golden eyes remained unfocused, yet they found Daria, and Daria alone, with unwavering certainty. A faint smile rested on his lips. She knew, rationally, that it was merely the fixation of his facial muscles caused by the Heartrot.
But still.
"I was waiting for you to come. Today, too."
At his neck, a small stone pendant swayed. A gray river stone, with clumsy cross-shaped lines carved into it by a child's hand. The stone Daria had picked up at seven years old, split in two, and given one half to him.
Her face still blank, Daria caught sight of the girl standing behind Ethan in the corner of her vision.
Mia.
Her fiery red hair was tied up in twin tails, and her large, light-brown eyes glared straight at Daria. Her freckled cheeks twitched faintly with hostility. The missing piece of her left earlobe spoke of a harsh struggle for survival in childhood. At her neck hung a charm woven from collected white scraps of thread.
She clung tightly to Ethan's back, observing Daria's every move as if appraising her. A thin sneer was on her face. But her eyes were not smiling. Deep within those large pupils burned a fanatical heat.
Daria took a step closer to Ethan.
"I want to talk with you. Today."
The crowd buzzed. An Executor, speaking to their founder. To the believers, that alone was a "miraculous scene."
Ethan's smile deepened.
"I want to talk with you, too. I knew you would come. I saw it in my dream yesterday."
Incoherent words. But his voice was eerily calm.
"As part of my investigation. For the stay of execution."
Daria stated it flatly. The words were also meant for herself.
*(This is a mission.)*
*(A necessary procedure to ascertain his true intentions.)*
*(That is all.)*
But Ethan slowly shook his head.
"The reason doesn't matter. You wanted to talk with me. That, more than anything, makes me happy."
His left eye suddenly turned in a different direction. A symptom of the Heartrot. But immediately, both eyes returned to Daria. His golden irises shone strangely in the morning light.
"Let's go, Daria. To the garden. No one will disturb us there."
He extended his hand.
On his left wrist, the pattern of black veins, surfaced by the Heartrot, crawled like ivy. Ethan called this the "map of paradise."
Daria hesitated for a moment.
*(If I take his hand, the boundaries of the mission will blur.)*
*(If I don't, it will seem unnatural.)*
Her face still expressionless, she did not take Ethan's hand. Instead, she gave a small nod.
"Lead the way."
Without losing his smile, Ethan withdrew his hand.
"You never change, do you."
The tone of his words shifted, suddenly.
Childlike. A hint of the first-person pronoun "boku" mixed in.
"Just like the old days."
Deep in Daria's chest, ice groaned.
*(Just like the old days.)*
No. I have changed. I became an Executor who freezes her emotions and carries out only her missions. You have changed, too. You became a mad prophet.
And yet—why do those words pierce my heart?
The two of them left the market and headed for the Garden of Silence.
Behind them, Mia followed in silence. Her gaze continued to bore into Daria's back.
The Garden of Silence, in the very midst of the ruins, was wrapped in an uncanny stillness.
Moss covered the stone paving, grass grew as high as the knees, and ivy crawling over every wall flourished with vivid leaves. In the center, the massive branches of an oak tree spread wide, dappled sunlight swaying beneath them. In this dead world, this place alone overflowed with green.
"This is the garden of the dead."
Ethan spoke as he sat down on a simple wooden chair placed at the base of the oak.
"The ashes of those returned through the Rite of Final Rest are scattered on this soil. When we do, strangely, green things grow. As if their end gives birth to a new beginning."
His words were still fragmented, carrying the echo of doctrine.
"All is within the green. The end is the beginning."
It was a phrase he often repeated.
Mia stood behind Ethan's chair, arms crossed, continuing to glare at Daria. Her presence was exactly like that of a guard dog, intent on expelling a foreign object.
Ignoring Mia, Daria stood before Ethan.
"I have questions."
"Ask them."
Daria recalled her duty as an Executor.
Investigate the actual state of the Heartrot. Accurately assess the subject's mental condition and determine the feasibility of execution. That was her mission.
"How do you perceive your current self?"
A standard question. No room for emotion.
Ethan was silent for a while.
A long silence. The wind rustled the grass, and a bird sang somewhere.
"I am broken."
He said it quietly.
"I know it myself. My thoughts are fragmented, my memories are vague, and at times, I don't even know who I am anymore."
He stared at the black veins on his left wrist.
"This is proof that my heart is rotting."
"Then—"
"But, Daria."
Ethan cut her off.
His golden eyes suddenly came into focus. Both eyes caught Daria at the same time.
"The things concerning you—I remember all of them."
He smiled. It was a distorted smile, yet terribly gentle.
"The underground passage in Fortuna. Do you remember? We made a hideout there together. Brought in old blankets, set up candles."
His first-person pronoun shifted to "boku."
The shell in Daria's chest grew warm.
"You always followed behind me, never saying a word. But your eyes were always shining. Even though you were scared, you absolutely refused to turn back."
*(I remember.)*
Daria kept her face blank and murmured it deep in her heart.
*(I remember, too.)*
Memories that should have been sealed away by the emotional freezing training.
And yet—when he spoke of them, they came back vividly.
The damp air of the dim underground passage. The shadows of the two of them cast on the wall by the candlelight. Ethan's face, smiling as he turned back to look at her.
"Why do you remember such things?"
Daria asked the question. Her face still expressionless.
Ethan touched the stone pendant on his chest.
"Because you gave it to me."
He traced the stone with his fingertip.
"That day, you picked up this stone. Among all the shattered rubble, the only one that had kept its shape. You split it in two and gave one half to me."
"I traded it for a shell."
Daria's mouth had moved unconsciously.
She felt as if her own voice had trembled, ever so slightly.
Ethan's golden eyes wavered with joy.
"That's right. You gave me a shell. In the basement of a ruin with no sea, for some reason, you alone had a shell. A beautiful, white shell, like moonlight."
He gazed at Daria's chest.
A leather cord. At its end, a small fragment of a shell.
"You still have it, even now."
"And you still have that stone."
"Of course. It's something you gave me. The only fragment of memory that lets me remain myself."
The black veins on his left wrist surfaced, pulsing.
"Daria. I want to end by your hand."
Ethan's voice suddenly grew heavy.
The mask of madness peeled away, just slightly.
"I don't want to end by anyone else's hand. When I learned you had become an Executor, I was truly happy. I thought—that someday, you would come to end me."
Daria was at a loss for words.
Beneath her expressionless mask, the cracks in her frozen emotions spread wider.
*(He wishes for it.)*
*(He is serious.)*
"Founder!!"
A sudden shout.
Mia leaped out in front of Daria.
Her small frame, a mere hundred and forty-eight centimeters, was trembling. Her large, light-brown eyes were wide with anger and terror.
"What are you saying, Founder?! I won't—I won't allow such a thing!!"
Her voice was shrill, almost a scream.
And then, Mia turned to face Daria.
"What did you whisper to the Founder?! Do you think the Executor will grant your wishes?!"
A sneer. But the depths of her eyes were bloodshot.
"I'm watching everything. The Founder created paradise and saved us. And yet you're trying to kill him!! I'll kill you—I'll absolutely drive you out of paradise!!"
She rattled off the words at high speed, breathless.
Daria looked down at Mia. Her face remained blank.
*(This girl is serious.)*
*(Behind her fanaticism is the terror of being abandoned.)*
"I am not an enemy of the cult."
"Liar!!"
Mia screamed, her hand reaching for the rusty knife at her hip.
At that moment—
"Mia."
Ethan's hand was placed casually on Mia's head.
His long fingers slowly stroked her red twin tails.
"Don't frighten her."
Mia's movements froze.
"Founder…"
Trembling, she looked up at Ethan. Tears spilled from her large eyes.
"It's all right. I am here. Because you protect me, I can still be here."
Ethan's voice was terribly gentle.
There was no heat of madness in it, only a pure, compassionate love.
"I… without the Founder, I… I can't go on living…!!"
Mia let out a sob.
Daria watched the scene with an expressionless face.
*(This girl is an orphan Ethan picked up.)*
*(He gave her a reason to live, and now she is ruled by the fear of losing him.)*
It was—a little similar to the ache deep in Daria's own chest.
Caught between mission and emotion.
*(No.)*
Daria told herself.
*(I am an Executor. My emotions are frozen.)*
But the shell was still warm.
"Mia is entrusted with being the commander of Torno de Espina. She is desperate to protect me."
Ethan smiled at Daria.
"Please forgive her."
"Obstruction of my mission cannot be tolerated."
Daria stated it flatly.
Mia wiped her tears and glared at Daria.
"I'll be watching properly. What the Executor is trying to do to the Founder. If you try anything strange, even one step—"
She cut her words short.
A thin sneer on her face, she clutched the charm at her neck.
"I will take that as a warning."
Daria said.
*(Torno de Espina. A militant faction of about two hundred.)*
*(And their commander is this girl.)*
As she etched the information into her mind, Daria turned back to Ethan.
"This is enough dialogue for today."
"I see."
Ethan smiled, looking a little lonely.
"But will you come again tomorrow? The time I spend talking with you is more enjoyable than anything."
For a moment, Daria was at a loss for an answer.
*(Enjoyable.)*
*(A mad prophet calls dialogue with me "enjoyable.")*
"If it is necessary for the mission."
She answered curtly and turned her back.
As Daria left the garden, Mia's sharp gaze stabbed into her back.
Evening.
The Ash Market showed a different face
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