endbook_rogue_5_2_3

With the Placation complete, the memorial hall regains its former tranquility.

However, the forgotten has been forgotten, and time continues its flow.

Every tatter on the portrait enshrined within the hall represents an event lost to the ravages of faltering memory—

A late autumn sky filled with dark clouds—thunder and lightning roiling within them—letting out a dull thumping like the beating of a heart...

When the Tomb of Sui welcomed an unexpected guest, only she could hear the sound clearly. A beating from within the bowels of the earth, an omen of awakening. Not even her siblings could sense it.

And so she avoided the watchful gazes of the guards, and delved deep into the tomb.

A lightning flash, and amidst the trembling of the ground and the heavens, the portrait's heart falls apart and dissipates.

It is a cold winter's day, when ice crystals drift through the breeze. One falls upon the portrait's eye...

The great gate to the Tomb of Sui opens wide, and within stands Wang. She believed her elder brother had his reasons, but his entry into the tomb had roused the bestial Sui. This was also the first time a proxy had returned to Its side. Did Wang wish to free them of the shackles of the Sui, once and for all? It is not that she didn't believe in her brother's strategy, but... what if it failed? A chill ran up her spine.

She had to make ready her preparations.

Ice and snow conceal the portrait's eye, and like the frost, it melts away with the warmth of the new year.

Summer arrives quickly, the searing heat driving away all moisture in the air. Soon, cracks appear on the portrait's mouth...

The success she had hoped for did not come to fruition. No matter what contingencies Wang had prepared before entering the tomb, it seemed none of them could reverse this worrying situation. Its pulse quickens. Even the slowest of her siblings must have heard the thunderous drumming. The hour of Its awakening drew closer, but humanity would not sit idly by. They will certainly resolve the situation with swiftness and ferocity, much like how they first struck down the bestial Sui. Of this, she is extremely certain, but...

The last gasps of the bloody and dying, corpses strewn across the battlefield, battalion after battalion decimated. The tragedies of the past should not be repeated.

It is because she understood this that she did not tell a soul of what would come after.

The portrait's mouth is swept away by the heat wave, its unraveled fibers falling onto the altar.

Yet another autumn day, and a howling gale rampages through the hall, yowling incessantly. The wind rips through the holes in the portrait, tearing open yet another a large gash in the deteriorating paper...

The great stone gate of the Tomb of Sui had been cut open, and the immense bestial Sui coiled up beneath the earth. Long-prepared humanity launched their attack, attempting to limit the devastation the beast would cause within the tomb itself.

It did not seem as formidable as they had expected, even lacking in aggression. The men had some doubts, but while the beast was still half-asleep, its strength not yet returned, they redoubled the attack. Hemmed in by the Candleholders, Tianshis, and Imperial Guard, the Feranmut soon showed signs of fatigue. The Great Tomb Tree hammered into the Garden of Grotesqueries and the Arts of man had taken effect, trapping it where it stood. Then, a mass of Tianshis came together to cast the most powerful Arts they had, penetrating Its heart.

It was at that moment that all present saw the truth hidden within the body of the 'bestial Sui', but the very next instant, alongside 'Its' fall, that truth, alongside almost all the marks she had left upon this land, disappeared like a blot of ink wiped away.

The portrait can no longer bear the gale's rage, and a large portion of it is torn away. Where its shreds were blown to, none know.

The altar in front of the portrait never held any offerings, but today, a carved inkstick has been placed atop it. Like her painter of a younger sister, she too was proficient in the arts of ink. Presumably, this would be a suitable offering for her.

The sun shines down, dust floats in the air, and the portrait gains more signs of decay.

The erosion of memory cannot be stopped, as yet another scrap of paper sloughs off the portrait.

It drifts through the air, every flip and turn shedding a layer of intent none understood—

When she abandoned her name and took the place of 'Sui', she had personally wound the clock of forgetfulness.

But it was necessary, for her family to survive.

But it was necessary, for her duty to be fulfilled.

But it was necessary, for the future had been sown.

She had already entrusted all her wishes to others, even if they could not remember them.

And so, she calmly accepted being forgotten.

The scrap of paper rolls over and over and over in the air, before finally falling upon the inkstick.

Rain splashes down, soaking the paper through with the black of ink.

It does not fade, despite the turning of the seasons.