Before he knew it, Dason's field of vision had shifted to a room in another noble house. In the very middle of a lavishly decorated drawing room stood the old piano he had seen in the antique shop.
"Papa! Please watch me play the piano!"
A light, cheerful voice rang out. The little girl pressed the keys with her tiny hands and began to play merrily. Her small, delicate fingers skipped lightly over the piano.
In time with the child's playing, a beautiful and wondrous melody flowed out, the kind found only in fairy tales. It was like the notes a fairy might weave in a forest. Old as the piano was, its sound was clear and pure.
"How is it? I practiced all night!"
All the while she played, a rosy blush colored the girl's cheeks.
"How truly wonderful."
Her sparkling eyes were brimming with delight and happiness. The face of her father, watching her, was full of pride as well.
"Thank you for letting Papa hear such good music."
Clad in armor, he looked every inch a knight. As his daughter's playing reached its climax, the father smiled, moved.
-Hum!
Then the sight of the performance reflected in Dason's eyes changed in an instant. The drawing room that had been so warm and cheerful only a moment before was now engulfed in flames.
"Ar...... Arhan! Arhaaaan!"
From outside, the father's anguished scream rang out.
He reached out desperately toward the sight of his daughter, visible beyond the collapsed roof.
The girl's frail body, pinned under a heavy rock and unable to move. Seeing it, the father screamed.
"Count Deven, you must evacuate at once!"
"The castle will collapse any moment. We must hurry!"
The knights shouted urgently. But Count Deven's feet did not budge.
He lunged like a madman toward his daughter, left alone inside the collapsing house.
"Let go! I said let go! My daughter is in there! I have to save my daughter!"
Count Deven struggled to reach his daughter, but the flames all around barred his way. Shedding heavy tears, he cried out his daughter's name. But it was no use.
The knights could no longer talk the Count out of his stubbornness.
"Forgive us, Count Deven!"
In the end, they seized the Count by the arms and dragged him out of the mansion by force.
Count Deven thrashed and resisted, but it was no use. At the moment the merciless flames swallowed the mansion, he was forcibly evacuated by his knights.
His daughter's fate, sealed within the ashes scattering on the wind. Right up to the moment she breathed her last, pinned beneath the fallen heap of stone.
The father could only watch that sight. And so the tragedy of House Deven, engulfed by the fire, was sucked down into deep darkness.
-Whoosh!
And once again Dason's vision shifted, and the scene of the memory changed.
"......Dispose of this piano as you see fit."
Amid the ashes left by the ruins of war, the figure of Count Deven appeared, wretched.
He wore old, rusted armor, and there was not a trace of life in his eyes.
With an expressionless face, he set the piano down in front of the antique shop. Once it had been an instrument of memories shared with his beloved daughter. Yet to forget Arhan's death, Count Deven spoke coldly.
"......Dispose of this piano as you see fit."
Not a trace of the warmth of life could be found in his voice. As if he had lost his soul, too, on the battlefield.
And so the father's love for his daughter was buried in deep, dark oblivion. All that remained were hollow eyes and a ravaged body.
"Ha."
A desolate murmur escaped Count Deven's lips.
"A territory with the very same name as my lovely daughter...... How utterly wretched."
Thinking of his daughter, he let out a bitter laugh. The territory's name alone was enough to make a corner of his heart ache.
But the Count soon steadied his wavering heart. The moment he handed over the piano, he firmly resolved that he would long for Arhan no more.
He vowed that rather than be buried in the sorrow of the past, he would devote himself to his duties as a count.
Every trace of emotion vanished from his tightly closed face, and only coldness remained. His love for his daughter, locked away in a deep abyss, would surely be slowly forgotten.
-Hum.......
And with the Count's departure from the Arhan territory as its final scene, the old piano ended the playback of its memory.
Ding!
And then it made a request of Dason.
[Arhan's soul, which remains in the piano, asks you to play for her father the piece she once played.]
[A Reward will be given if this Quest is completed.]
To soothe a father's sorrow with the music his daughter had once played.
***
When the playback of the sad memory dwelling in the piano ended, Dason's face was a tangle of emotions. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Sob......."
Count Deven, who had loved his daughter with all his soul but lost her in the end. That harrowing scream felt as vivid as if the pain were his own.
'These are...... Arhan's emotions.'
Dason gazed at the piano for a long while, lost in thought. The sorrow and regret he was feeling now were Arhan's emotions, whole and unaltered.
The fragment of Arhan's soul that had seeped into the piano had not simply shared her memories. It had passed on to Dason, whole, even the despair and longing she had felt at the moment of her death.
"Haa......."
Because of that, he could do nothing but weep his eyes out for a long while. But even after his crying stopped, Dason felt no displeasure.
'Thank you.'
If anything, he offered Arhan his gratitude. For wringing out the last of her strength to share her memories and emotions with him, a complete stranger.
Before she died, Arhan had left a part of her soul in the piano.
With it she left an earnest plea to whoever would someday play the piano, asking them to comfort her father's sorrow.
"......."
At the same time, Dason was troubled. Over whether he was really qualified to grant that earnest plea.
Could he soothe the Count's deep sense of loss and despair? What would he have to do to release that knotted, long-held grief?
He seemed far too inadequate to fathom the heart of a father who had lost a child.
'Can I do it?'
Dason agonized for a long while and soon shook his head. He could not be sure, but he could not give up without trying.
"Hmm......."
After agonizing for a long while, Dason muttered.
"I'll have to get hold of the sheet music first."
The first thing he had to do was track down the piece Arhan had played.
'I think Sorakan would know.......'
Sorakan, who had promised to make a piano for the Spirit of Music, was well versed in music.
The odds were high that she would know about the piece Arhan had played, too.
"I'd better go pay her a visit."
Having reached that conclusion, Dason decided to go and see Sorakan right away.
***
Sorakan's house stood on the outskirts of the territory.
Clip-clop! Clip-clop!
To go and see her, Dason rode there on horseback himself.
By rights he ought to have used a carriage, but he did not want to trouble Kemen and the others, so he set out alone.
'I've lived long enough to go horseback riding, of all things.'
In truth, Dason had never ridden a horse. But thanks to the body's memory, he had been able to pick up how to ride.
It was a peculiar feeling: mounting a horse for the first time, and yet taking the reins and guiding it with practiced ease.
Snort!
As he rode, Dason found himself enjoying it more than he had expected.
The speed and freedom of racing along, cutting through the wind, gave him a feeling of exhilaration.
With a sense of rhythm added to the motion of the horse as it surged forward, kicking through the air, Dason was smiling merrily before he knew it.
Tap!
After galloping merrily with the horse, Dason finally arrived in front of Sorakan's house.
The building that stood there was a typical house of the Middle Ages.
The stone building with its rising chimney looked as if it had leapt out of a fairy tale. But it gave off an air quite different from the medieval architecture of history.
Perhaps because it was imbued with magic, the whole house felt neat and charming. The roadside in front of the building was spotless, without a speck of filth, and softly glowing ores adorned the entrance in splendid fashion.
"Hoo......."
Dason let out a short breath as he looked over the outside of the house. Then he stood in front of Sorakan's house.
Knock, knock.
The sound of knocking echoed into the house. A moment later, he sensed someone stirring inside, and the door opened.
"......Young Master Dason?"
Her voice trembled slightly at the unexpected visitor. Perhaps she had just been preparing dinner, for a faint smell of soup drifted from the kitchen.
"What brings you here?"
Sorakan studied Dason with uneasy eyes. Might the new side of him he had shown at the antique shop be nothing more than a passing change?
The worry that he might have come to make trouble again took hold of her.
Dason, for his part, picked up on what Sorakan was thinking. It seemed he had flustered her by turning up so suddenly.
"Um...... I apologize. I did not mean to disturb you......."
Embarrassed, Dason offered an apology. But he had an important favor to ask, so he went on.
"The truth is, I came because there is something I must ask you, ma'am. I need to play a certain piece...... and I would be grateful if you could find out which piece it is."
At Dason's earnest tone, Sorakan's eyes went round.
"......."
Sorakan gazed deeply at Dason, then nodded a few times. With that, she pointed inside and spoke to him.
"Come inside for now."
It was a decision reached after some hesitation. Having shown Dason into the living room, Sorakan pointed to one corner and went on.
"There's a piano over there."
Swish.
Where Sorakan gestured stood a piano of antique design. Dason's eyes fixed on the instrument.
"Play just the part you know. If it's a piece I've heard, I'll tell you right away."
At her words, Dason walked over slowly and sat down at the piano. The moment he placed his hands on the keys, a curious tension enveloped him.
It was then.
"This works out nicely. I was curious myself about just how well you play, Young Master."
When Dason swallowed, Sorakan smiled softly. But her eyes were another matter.
"If it was enough to captivate a spirit...... then of course I can get my hopes up, can't I?"
They sparkled with interest, and at the same time they were the eyes of a sharp judge. There was a fierceness in them that suggested she would pour out harsh criticism without hesitation if the playing did not satisfy her.
Grin.
"Of course."
But Dason was not one to be cowed here.