New Continent, Outer Ring Sea.
Deep in the fog lay an isolated island that seemed forgotten by the world.
The salty sea breeze carried a damp chill as it swept past the jagged cliffs, sounding like a low, mournful wail. When the tide receded, it revealed reefs covered in barnacles and shellfish, with pale whale bones piled in the crevices.
They seemed to have been deliberately gathered there by some force, forming an eerie ring-shaped barrier.
Outside the island, all was silent. Within, life flourished.
It was a world of insects.
On the damp humus, glossy black dung beetles pushed balls of dung far larger than themselves. In the crevices of dead trees, the larvae of long-armed scarab beetles squirmed slowly, their jaws gnawing at the rotting wood with a rasp that rang sharply through the silence.
Above them, hummingbird hawk-moths, their wings a blend of blue and purple, hovered in midair, probing rotten fruit with their needle-like proboscises.
Deeper in, the pulse of life could be seen everywhere.
The island's center dipped into a basin, where clear lake water had collected. Semi-aquatic water bugs used their forelegs to slice through algae.
Moonlight pierced the water mist, revealing shadows on the lakebed.
They were no patterns in the rock, but the curled-up remains of some enormous arthropod. In the grooves across its surface, the segments of a long-extinct, centipede-like creature could be seen, fossilized in stone...
A small wooden cabin stood beside the lake.
"Shell-bearing Species? The Sickle-Tooth Clan?"
A hoarse voice broke the silence inside the cabin.
Fabre's body trembled slightly as he gripped the insect fossil embedded in the limestone.
"I see! I see! We were all wrong, all wrong!" A look of pure delight spread across his face, and a terrifying gleam flashed in his eyes.
He should have forgotten.
Every time he used his ability to observe ancient life in fossils, he had to give up something else. At first, it had been the hair on his body. Then it was some useless knowledge. By the end, he had forgotten who he was.
Fabre could only remember his identity and his family and friends by consulting records he had written two years earlier.
Then he would record everything in his books, again and again.
And forget, again and again.
If Pasteur hadn't often visited with the latest achievements from the scientific community, Fabre would have practically become a wild man.
He was nearing that point.
Either madness.
Or death.
That was the fate of ability users as they entered old age.
Fabre knew it all too well. He was already on the brink of madness. In his dreams, the memories he'd forgotten became terrifying swarms of insects, gnawing at what little sanity he had left.
But he couldn't go mad yet, and he certainly couldn't die. His Insect Records was still unfinished. How could he die just like this?
Fabre had always raced against time.
He couldn't stop using his ability, because stopping would only mean a slow death.
The more he used it, the less controllable it became. As a result, every record he wrote also carried the power to make people forget. Pasteur hadn't visited in a week.
Until today.
His ability had backfired, but it was a good thing.
An unprecedented clarity swept over him.
Along with a sharp pain in his temples, countless fragments of memory surged back like a tide. Fabre watched his fallen white hair grow thick again.
The blank notebooks on the shelves suddenly filled with dense writing, every page glowing blue.
And he had regained more than his own memories.
He had also gained precious knowledge from a young man: knowledge of the Shell-bearing Species, and of humanity's true origins.
Fabre staggered toward the door.
An antique full-length mirror stood there. In it, he saw a white-haired old man he didn't recognize.
"Fabre, what's going on?" Pasteur's image in the mirror suddenly spoke, his voice unable to hide his alarm. "Why did I suddenly forget you earlier? Did something happen to you?"
"Ah, dear Pasteur, my friend."
Fabre smiled and greeted him. "I feel wonderful now. Everything's fine, because I remember it all!"
"You..."
Before Pasteur could reply, Fabre straightened his back, hunched for years, his eyes alight with the fervor he only felt when encountering a new insect species.
"I'm leaving the island," he said suddenly, gently running his wrinkled fingers over the mirror. "I'm going to England to meet a lovely young man."
The pocket watch in Pasteur's hand dropped to the ground.
He stared, eyes wide, as though he'd just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Have you gone mad?"
"For two years, you haven't even set foot on the beach!" His voice trembled. "Even the last time, when your father came with your wife, Mary, to persuade you..."
"I'm not mad." Fabre touched the thick white hair on his head. "That young man... he helped me a great deal."
At that, he narrowed his eyes, the familiar, sly curve returning to his lips. "By the way, you still owe me fifty francs. When are you going to pay me back?"
The tension in Pasteur's heart vanished at once.
This was the old friend he knew: the penny-pincher, not the stubborn old man with a terrible memory.
He deliberately put on a stern face and snorted. "You miser! If you want your money, come to Paris and get it yourself!"
But the amusement in his eyes gave him away.
"When can the ship get here?" Fabre pressed.
Pasteur bent down to pick up his pocket watch and sighed. "Two weeks at the earliest. It's monsoon season in the New Continent's Outer Ring Sea, and that lazy bunch in the navy..."
"All right. I can wait."
Fabre looked out at the lake. Under the moonlight, the centipede-like fossil segments seemed rather sinister.
"Good. That gives me time to prepare a gift."
He rubbed the stubble newly sprouting on his chin. "Ask around for me. Can they fit a shockproof storage crate on the navy's survey ship? It needs to be big enough to hold a lion."
"Fabre, what are you planning to do?"
Pasteur frowned deeply in the mirror. "I've been meaning to ask: who is this young man you want to meet? I don't remember you knowing anyone in England."
"I don't know him, and he doesn't know me," Fabre replied.
"What?"
"But that doesn't matter. I know he exists, and he really did help me, so I'm going to pay him a visit."
Pasteur opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing.
He suspected his old friend had gone mad, but the way he spoke so clearly didn't seem like madness.
Pasteur studied his old friend's face in the mirror. Madness and clarity seemed to coexist in those eyes. He looked neither completely insane nor entirely sane.
A sane madman?!
His heart gave a jolt. Then he quickly said, "Fabre, you must hold on! I swear by God I'll make sure a survey ship comes to get you!"
"Mm. I'll wait."
Fabre's voice was remarkably calm.
The image of Pasteur in the mirror began to blur.
"The Mirror of Light is nearly out of time for today. Remember, Fabre!" His voice grew choppy. "Tomorrow, you must... come to the mirror..."