She was a woman who resembled a piano.

Black strands mingled with her snow-white hair, and though her fingers were white, her nails were painted black. Composed of black and white alone, the woman who so resembled a piano looked at Najin and introduced herself, like a performer greeting her audience.

"My name is Violet. What did you think of my performance, stranger?"

She introduced herself as Violet, then gazed at Najin with shining eyes. She seemed eager to hear his impressions of her performance, but Najin found that expectant gaze rather daunting.

"I don't know much about music."

"That's all right! You don't have to understand music to enjoy it. I'm asking for your impressions, not a critic's review."

"In that case..."

Najin searched his memory of the performance he had just heard, then told her exactly how it had made him feel.

"It was powerful. I thought the rain would interfere with the music, but it didn't. If anything, even the sound of the rain felt like part of the performance..."

Haltingly, Najin described his impressions of the music. Violet listened attentively, nodding at every word.

"I can't explain it very well, but I liked it. Enough to applaud without thinking."

"That's the highest praise a performer could receive. Not every performer feels this way, but when someone applauds my music, it makes me feel that being alive is worthwhile."

Violet smiled.

"Tell me, do you have any other plans today?"

"No. Nothing in particular."

"Then could you give me this day?"

When Najin tilted his head, she added,

"I'd love for you to listen to a little more of my playing. And I'd be even happier if you shared your impressions as you just did. If you can't spare the whole day... could you at least stay until the rain stops?"

Najin looked out the window. The rain that had begun so suddenly was a passing shower. Listening to her play until it stopped was hardly a difficult request.

"All right."

At his answer, Violet's face lit up. She sat down again and rested her fingers on the keys. With her eyes closed, she felt her way across them, then began to play as though humming to herself.

Pure, beautiful music rang through the old, dusty, abandoned tavern.

"Hey, where are you rushing off to..."

Merlin, who had followed Najin into the tavern a little later, looked between him and Violet, then fell silent. She quietly took a seat beside him and listened.

For all her usual chatter, Merlin knew when to be silent. Throughout Violet's performance, she said nothing, as if to say that this was the courtesy owed to a performer.

When the music ended, Merlin rose and applauded. She seemed genuinely impressed, rather than merely being polite.

"The seventh movement of Leconte's concerto, right?"

Violet's eyes widened at Merlin's words, as though she had never expected anyone to recognize the piece.

"To think there was still someone who could play this! You weren't just playing the original, either. I think you added a few variations... and I loved those, too!"

Najin was just as surprised. When he looked at Merlin with newfound appreciation, she noticed his gaze, shrugged, and lifted her chin.

"What's that look for? I'm a cultured woman. Classical music is the very height of culture. Believe it or not, I can play a few instruments myself."

"That really is unexpected."

"What do you take me for?"

Well, he had thought of her as a somewhat inept archmage. Since there was no chance of that thought reaching Merlin, this once it could remain unspoken.

"Do you have anything else? Could you play more? It's so lovely to hear this after so long."

"Of course. Then, this time..."

Violet continued to play.

She had said she would play until the rain stopped, but it kept falling endlessly. The shower they had expected to pass quickly lasted late into the night.

Likewise, the concert they had expected to be brief continued without pause until deep into the night.

The sound of rain. The sound of a piano. And silence.

No bells rang that day. Ladon did not appear, and Viola Ordina did not march out. There was no sound of shattering glass, nor any flood of praise and applause for Viola.

Only the sound of a piano rang through the old tavern.

Similar days repeated themselves.

Whenever the sun shone brightly, Ladon invariably appeared. Viola imprisoned him behind the glass again, and the streets filled with voices praising her.

"..."

On sunny days, Violet was nowhere to be found when they visited the old tavern. Only the piano stood there, all alone.

But on rainy days...

SHHHHHH.

Piano music rang out amid the patter of raindrops. Whenever they visited the tavern, Violet was always there, playing the keys.

"Welcome, strangers!"

As though she had been waiting for Najin and Merlin, she had even set out chairs beside the piano. Her wishes were the same as before: listen until the rain stopped, then share their impressions.

Merlin recognized her pieces precisely and offered detailed critiques, while Najin knew nothing about music... and for that very reason, shared his unfiltered impressions exactly as he felt them. Listening to them both, Violet smiled happily, as though she could not be more satisfied.

Those days continued. At some point, Violet began offering them more than music. She began to talk.

"Fairy tales paint such a beautiful picture of heroes... but sometimes I wonder."

She murmured as though talking to herself, delivering a monologue.

"I wonder if heroes are actually all mentally ill."

"Why do you say that?"

"Think about it. The heroes in fairy tales risk their lives fighting. And not for themselves, but for others. They shed blood fighting for complete strangers whose faces they've never even seen, let alone spoken to."

Violet smiled. It was not her usual smile.

"Does that make any sense? Fighting is exhausting. Bleeding hurts. I simply can't understand enduring that pain solely for other people. I can't really relate to it, either. I don't know why they do it."

And yet, she said,

"Heroes keep fighting. Why? Perhaps because of the duty forced upon them, whether they like it or not, from the moment people begin calling them heroes."

"Duty?"

"Yes, duty. Because that's how heroes should be. Because heroes willingly bleed for the many. Because it's the right thing to do. A duty imposed on them without their even knowing when. And if they neglect it? They're showered with condemnation. Somewhere along the way, goodwill becomes duty, and what people enjoyed through that goodwill becomes a right."

THOOM.

The keys sank, giving out a heavy note.

"Goodwill can't last forever. Even if you saved someone out of kindness, that was something you did on one occasion. How could you repeat it forever? Heroes need lives of their own, too. They weren't born heroes, were they?"

But.

"That goodwill has already become a duty. And you can't run away from something that's become your duty. Once a hero, you must remain a hero forever. Isn't that the perfect situation to drive someone mentally ill?"

A bitter smile formed on Violet's lips.

"Until your body wears away to nothing."

She looked at her fingers.

"Until you can't move anymore."

Her fingers had turned black. They trembled uncontrollably, regardless of her will.

"Endlessly, endlessly, endlessly..."

Rotten, decaying fingers.

Hiding the fingers that could no longer play the keys, Violet turned to Najin.

"That's why."

Her hair was no longer white. The hair that had been both black and white had, before they knew it, turned entirely black. Her eyes no longer shone, either. Instead of a natural smile, her lips bore one that seemed forced.

With a gloomy expression, Violet—no, Viola Ordina—spoke.

"Heroes are mentally ill."

She slowly moved. The rain that had seemed likely to last deep into the night stopped the moment she did. The sky cleared as though it had never rained, and bells began ringing through the streets as though they had been waiting for that very moment.

"A hero has no self."

Viola murmured expressionlessly.

"Because a hero is someone who has separated themselves from their own self for others—for others alone."

With those words, Viola walked outside.

The bells rang, the glass shattered, and Ladon appeared.

And Viola Ordina marched out.

Viola, who had vanished with Ladon as always, returned to the city half a day later. Cheers poured forth as she walked. Shouts, praise, salutes, and countless rounds of applause filled the streets.

And Viola, as always...

"Ah."

She did not head for the grand temple, letting those sounds pass her by as she always did. She stopped walking, then approached one of the citizens showering her with praise.

As the citizen flustered at seeing the nation's hero so close, Viola tilted her head toward him.

"Who..."

Viola Ordina asked,

"Who am I?"

"Pardon...?"

"I asked who I am."

"A-aren't you Lady Viola Ordina? The glorious hero of the Kingdom of Kassel..."

CRASH.

The head of the citizen who had answered shattered like glass. Blood splattered everywhere with a wet smack. The eyes of those beside him wavered, but they could neither scream nor flee.

Such was the oppressive force exerted by a transcendent being.

"You."

Viola Ordina turned her head. She asked her question again, this time of a middle-aged man drenched in blood from the head that had burst beside him.

"Who am I?"

The middle-aged man answered that she was Viola Ordina.

CRASH.

Once again, with the sound of shattering glass, his head blew apart. The same thing happened over and over. At last the knights moved, but there was no one capable of stopping a transcendent being. They, too, were asked the same question, and their heads merely shattered in the same way.

"I..."

With empty eyes, Viola looked down at her blackened fingers.

"I..."

She burst into laughter.

"I, me, myself? Ah, I. This person."

Her wavering gaze finally settled on an old woman. The instant she saw her, Viola's eyes widened. She seemed to recognize the woman. Rushing over, Viola seized her by both shoulders and asked,

"My sister, my darling little sister."

Viola asked,

"You know, don't you? Who I am. You know what my name originally was. Our mother's name was Olivier. Yes, I even remember your name! You're Mirentz."

Viola gripped the old woman's shoulders and shook her violently.

"Then what's my name? Will you tell me my name? You might not remember. I'll help you, so please tell me my name. What was the name of your older sister who loved the piano? The name of your sister who dreamed of becoming a performer..."

So, Viola pleaded with the old woman,

"Tell me my name. Please, please, I'm begging you, Mirentz."

The old woman Viola called her sister could not answer that question. Terrified, she merely looked at Viola with wavering eyes and replied that she was Viola Ordina.

At that answer, Viola's mouth stiffened. The others had died instantly, their heads shattering to pieces, but the old woman was not granted that good fortune. She slowly broke into fragments, beginning at her fingertips.

"Ah, ahahaha, ahahahah!"

Ordina laughed amid the old woman's screams. At some point, that laughter abruptly stopped without a sound.

"Who..."

Her lips opened and closed repeatedly.

"Am I?"

As for me, who am I?

The Star of Separation, Viola Ordina.

The Constellation with the power to separate herself from the world had finally separated herself from her own self.

DONG, DOOONG, DONG...

The bells rang. But the sky did not shatter. Even when they looked up, Ladon was nowhere to be seen.

What had broken was Viola Ordina.

Space shattered around her, like a pane of glass cracking into pieces.