"His life has been drowned in guilt. All he has left is an Imaginary Friend."
Ellin looked at the anguished man before her, her face filled with compassion.
"Yes..." Venti sighed sadly as well.
"In his memories, the real Stanley is no longer even a living, breathing friend. He's forever frozen as a battered warrior, binding every part of his life."
"I'm old now. No matter how much I refuse to forget, there's so little I can hold on to..."
The false Stanley lamented wearily.
All these years, he had lived for Stanley's story.
He wanted more people to hear Stanley's story, but no matter how hard he persevered, he still could not withstand the passage of time.
His memories of their adventures and of Stanley were being washed away, bit by bit, in the river of time.
He had made spreading Stanley's story his greatest mission, his sole reason to keep living.
Yet however unwilling he was to forget, he could never withstand the relentless passage of the years. The memories he refused to forget were still fading with time.
As his memories faded, so did his mission and his reason to live.
To him, that was the greatest fear, the greatest pain.
This... was the [erosion] that belonged to mortals.
"I'm sorry, Stanley! I'm useless! Useless!"
"But an adventurer can't die like that. He can't!!"
The false Stanley choked with grief. Regret welled up in him, and he pounded the tavern table again and again with his fist, unable to accept it.
He was like a lone wolf nearing the end of its life, weary, lonely, desolate, and helpless.
But just as he buried his head and wept helplessly, a voice called out beside him.
"Hans Archibald."
The gentle call startled him out of his grief.
He