There was silence in the room.
The man stared at him for a heartbeat. Then,
'I did,' he confirmed with a nod.
'All of it?'
'…For the most part, yes.'
Arin let out a disbelieving laugh.
'And yet, you did nothing,' he said. He almost couldn't believe what the man had said so nonchalantly. 'Besides asking me to go there, you did nothing at all!'
The white-haired man sighed softly at his words. 'Arin, I did not send you there,' he said, his voice gentle. 'I sent you to the orchard, and asked for you to return before the sun set. Had you managed to successfully follow my instructions, you wouldn't have encountered the cursed village at all.'
'You think that's what I'm troubled by? Going there for your dumb test?' Arin had to bite his tongue to keep his tone even. 'That's not the issue here.'
'Then please, enlighten me. What is?'
'Why haven't you helped them? The people of Lullwater aren't bad. They are kind, welcoming, and almost foolishly trusting. So why,' Arin paused briefly to collect himself, 'Why must they relive their… deaths? Why haven't you done something, anything, to alleviate their suffering?'
The man before him leaned back to rest against the backrest of his chair. He regarded Arin with his pale red irises for a moment before responding.
'I cannot,' he said simply.
'You cannot,' Arin repeated, eyebrows raised. 'You cannot? You, the master of this magic tower, well-known enough to have admirers who seek you out in spite of your voluntary exile, coming from a family with significant contributions to the Empire, cannot? Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.'
The man only smiled lightly. 'I see you have been gossiping,' he said.
Arin shrugged. 'I did hear quite a lot about you, back at the village.'
He hadn't. Not really. His attempt at digging for information had backfired spectacularly, but the man before him needn't know that.
'Even in a place as isolated as Lullwater, you were held in high regard. They knew about the 'House of Grace' from the last visitor they'd had, a few years ago. I know your decision was significant enough to have been widely discussed in the cities. Even the horse – Tarra – trusted you enough to bring me to you when I first got here.'
'A few years ago…' the man mused softly. Suddenly, he straightened up. 'Arin. What do you think has happened in the village of Lullwater?' he asked.
Arin frowned. 'I don't – '
'But surely you have a guess. A conjecture. What can you tell from the things you have experienced?'
Arin hesitated, clearly thrown off by the abrupt change of topic. 'I think,' he began uncertainly, 'that the last outsider they welcomed into their village did something. To, uh, curse and… kill, the villagers. That explains the hostility I witnessed at night.'
'It seems they don't remember any of this during the day, though, and act as they always did. For some reason…' Arin thought back to the tidy houses, golden fields, and all the cozy little signs of life he had seen when he had first entered the village. '…everything, even the inanimate aspects, are reset to how they used to be, at least until nightfall.'
'However,' he frowned, 'this only happens when an outsider enters the village. I don't think the villagers relive this every day. And when the outsider leaves, even if at night, they disappear once again. Then, Lullwater goes back to being an abandoned settlement, devoid of life.'
Arin shifted slightly. Something about making such detached statements regarding the dismal fates of the people he had conversed with, of the ones who had shown him kindness, ofLayla, made him feel heavy-hearted. He clenched his jaw, looking off to one side.
'An astute analysis. Thank you, Arin.'
The white-haired man leaned over to pick up a cup of tea from the desk. Movements graceful and unhurried, he offered it to Arin.
Arin accepted it, but didn't drink immediately. He hadn't really been paying attention, but he could've sworn the cup had been one of the inkpots until just a few moments ago. After an awkward pause, he slowly set it back down on the desk.
The man didn't seem to mind. He took a small sip from his own cup – that had appeared from who knows where – and settled comfortably back into his chair.
'The unfortunate fate of Lullwater,' he began, 'is the result of the convergence of a blessing and a curse.'
'Lullwater was, as you stated earlier, an isolated settlement. Cut off from the bustle of the cities and other villages, it managed to remain unaffected by any strife or discord from elsewhere in the Empire. For generations, its people lived in harmony and thrived in surplus. Every resident had land enough and food enough to sustain themselves comfortably.'
'Things were simple, Arin. Internal conflicts were insignificant and easily forgotten. Its people did not have any need to fight, or divide, or even leave the village. It was a rarity that the occasional youngster would seek their fortunes elsewhere. Even in such cases, most would soon return. And given its remoteness, there never were enough outsiders to stir up any new trouble.'
'And so, the very nature of those villagers was open and trusting. They welcomed travelers like one would welcome long-lost friends. Irrespective of occurrences in the rest of the world, one could find peace as a guest of Lullwater.'
'Back then…' the man paused. His magnetic eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, lost in some distant memory. 'There was a man who received this graciousness. Wealthy and shallow, he was enamored by what he saw. Heartlessly, he sought to own it.'
'That revolting man,' venom dripped from the white-haired man's voice, even as his expression remained calm, 'regarded the villagers as one would regard a work of art – something to be preserved. He did not view them as people.'
Arin realized he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly, as the man continued.
'He had a… tool. An instrument meant for preserving moments in a perfect memory. Something that could immortalize a day, or an event, locking its energy to be projected again at will, as a living memory. I suppose he believed such perfection should be owned and protected, irrespective of the villagers' wishes. Irrespective of their lives. The smallest possibility of things ever changing irked him.'
Arin found himself clenching his fists.
What a damned psychopath.
'At the end of a most faultless day, the man chose to make use of this tool. He would be erased from the day, of course. The residents of Lullwater, however, would be trapped in it. Neither dead, nor alive in our reality. Unknowing. At his disposal whenever he sought to experience it again.'
'And that is where things would have ended, if not for an old blessing upon the village. A blessing that made things far worse.'