act16side

Listen to me!

I've got something to say to you, Mostima!

I'm done with you stinking Sankta already! Your empathy? The way you understand each other? I don't want to hear any of it!

Did those halos fry your angel brains? You and Lemuen almost died in those ruins!

Why aren't you angry? Why aren't you mad? Why am I the only one... the only one who's mad?

Don't give me that arrogant smile and that 'nothing matters' attitude! You had to leave Laterano and drift all across the world, bum out in the boonies. Whose fault do you think that was?!

I followed you all the way to Victoria, to Leithanien, Sargon, Yan...

What do you think that was for?!

You, Lemuen, Andoain... our team. There was a time... when we trusted each other.

What kind of God Almighty reason does he have anyway? What gave him the right to betray our trust? And what gave you two the right to understand him? Why should I have to understand him?!

Do you know how much I miss those days? All those times we finished a mission after all those close calls... all those times Lemuen took us out to drinks... all those times we tried out a new dessert shop...

Even those times he fixed our reports...

What gave him the right to ruin it all?!

Those days...

Those days... mean a lot to me...

I understand...

Fi...

Lateran irises.

They grow only in the Central Garden of Saint Marcel, the Sunset Chapel, and the Ecclesia Requietum in Stevonus.

Yeah.

Come on, we'll go together.

You're my warden. Better make sure I'm not hurt on the job.

Hm? How deep are we?

Reckon we should dig a little more?

It'll all be a wasteland here sooner or later. It's not like you could stick wheels under the graves.

Folks want to leave behind some trace of their lives after they die... but it's all a pointless dream, sadly. Might as well ask for a cremation and have your ashes scattered in the wilderness.

That would put us out of a job, though.

True enough.

If you ask me, graves aren't for the dead. It's the living who need these things... The ceremonies and the big chunk of rock that goes on top of them.

Those are the things that folks say their goodbyes to before starting anew—

Hah, until it's their turn to bite the dust.

The preparations for the ritual are almost complete.

Um...

I... I'm not sure.

I... I don't feel so good today...

Mamma...

Mister Friar, I was really happy yesterday...

Rosella told me about lots of fun stuff... We prepared for the funeral together, and it felt like... I was doing something for Mamma.

But... we're done with everything now... What comes next?

I think... I worked really hard... for Mamma...

But... can Mamma see all that?

Does all of this... really mean something?

Mister Friar, have you gone through this a lot?

When it happens... during... the funeral... what... what should I do?

And what do I do... once it's over?

Hm. Right, the funeral...

You're still young, but I don't want to hide anything from you.

We do a lot of things for others, but, in the end, we do it for ourselves.

Cecelia, this isn't selfishness. Rather, it just means that, ultimately, everything that the living do is to mold and shape themselves.

We hold funerals and say our goodbyes when our loved ones leave us, but it's also a respite for ourselves.

It's a way to mark the road that we've trodden.

Many grown-ups... use this as a way to find peace, but whether they truly find it, or indeed anything, isn't the fault of the funeral itself.

It's really up to us, after we go through the thing.

Once we are done looking back and resting, we must keep going forward.

But where do we go after that?

That is something you need to ask yourself, Cecelia.

This is a question that only you can answer yourself, and it's a question that both you, I, and everyone must answer in our lifetimes.

Ask myself...

Only you can find the right way forward for yourself, and it is only with your own two legs that you can walk that path.

What about you, Mister Friar? You know so much... What is your road like?

I can't answer you that. I'm afraid I can't even say I've found it.

It's a tough search, and a sad journey. It makes you wonder if the way forward ever truly exists.

But I haven't given up, and that is why I, and my brothers and sisters, call ourselves...

...'the Pathfinders.'

Candelabra, candelabra. Where does one find...?

(Somebody's there... That Liberi from the hospital? Patia, was it? And the Legatus called Oren, too.

I really don't get it. What is that guy even doing?

Watch your words, Oren.

This is the perfect time to act. There are lots of other things we could be doing besides wasting time on a funeral.

And I thought you were close to the girl's mother. How cold-blooded of you.

I'd already made my decision when I told Andoain about Cecelia.

She's capable of knocking this city off its godly throne.

That also means she can shake that saint who's always hiding behind the red and gold curtain... and plenty of others besides.

(What is he talking about?)

A Sankta wants to bring down his holy city with the help of a mixed-blood girl? Scandalous.

You make it sound like I just want to burn it all down for no good reason. I said 'capable.' That doesn't mean we have to do it.

In fact, if we don't do it, then her worth as a bargaining chip is that much more.

I just have to make sure Cecelia doesn't end up in the Pope's hands... On that point at least, Andoain and I are aligned.

A word of advice.

I don't know what kind of tricks you're trying to play with Cecelia, but do not forget the promise you made to the Guide.

Thanks for the tip... I don't mind walking this path with you folks for a little longer.

Now, you'll have to excuse me. I have better places to be than a funeral.

(Looks like they aren't all on the same wavelength.)

(But what worries me more... is that there's a Legatus involved.)

(I'll take Cecelia and leave once the funeral is over.)

Cecelia. Cecelia!

Senior Ezell, the funeral will be starting soon.

Andoain, I don't care about your grand ideals, and I'm not interested in discussing faith with you.

So once the funeral is over... I'm leaving with Cecelia.

Where will you go?

None of your concern.

It's time to light the candles, Senior Ezell. Go, be with Cecelia.

The early spring mornings are still frigid here in Laterano.

Sankta funerals are often accompanied by laughter, music, sweets, and the occasional, inconsequential explosion.

The departed become one with the Holy Spirit and return to Heaven. This is worthy of celebration.

But there is another kind of Sankta 'funeral' unknown to other races:

On a certain hour of a certain day, a great sorrow will seize all Sankta by the throat. They will not be able to move, breathe, or avert their eyes.

Each and every fragile soul will be swept away as if by the floodwaters of a broken dam.

Yet neither the joy of the former nor the awesome power of the latter can be found today in the Ecclesia Requietum of Pagus Stevonus.

We find only a frail girl, trying her hardest to swing the absurdly unwieldy shovel in her hands.