act16side

Why did Rocamarea deserve to be destroyed?

Answers.

Questions.

So this is the answer that I sought.

So this is the question that I wanted to ask.

Something has come loose.

Something that once had me tied up... for so long.

Something is roaring... struggling.

Yet I feel only at ease.

As though I'm bathing under the saliferous sunlight.

The gunshots rang out almost at the same time.

The law is carved into each Sankta's flesh and blood.

And one must pay a price to break it.

I knew that.

There is a bottomless abyss beneath my feet.

I've taken that step already.

A great force slams me into the wall, and the sculpted relief presses into my bones, with the statue behind me crumbling to the ground.

There is no question that it was the strength of a patron firearm.

Though Yvangelista XI's body is old and frail, he is far stronger than he seems.

However...

I try my best to open my eyes and make out his figure among the smoke and dust.

The old man is still standing in the middle of the Basilica, but there is no longer a smile on his face.

He looks even older than he did when I stepped into this place.

But the halo above his head shines as bright as ever—

'The law in our flesh and blood. The painful price to pay.'

Price...?

Then, I realized what the real question here is.

The halo above my head is not glowing any darker than it used to.

I see.

Both you and I came out of this unscathed. What a surprise. It's worthy of celebration, though.

I was prepared to pay the price.

You're a pious follower, Andoain. Perhaps that is because you were not born in Laterano.

In Laterano, we don't believe in our faith, do we? We live as part of faith itself.

We Sankta have been its prisoner ever since the very moment the halos above our heads started to glow.

It...? What exactly is this law that we... the Sankta believe in?

What exactly... does it mean to fall...?

Throughout Laterano's long history, each apostle has had the authority to interpret the Commandments and derive from them new rules and decrees, even placing them above all others.

Laterano is built upon this law.

All Sankta know: violate the rules, the Commandments, or the laws, and you must pay the price.

The fallen Sankta are no longer connected to all other Sankta. Their patron firearms reject them.

Fallen Sankta are no longer Sankta.

What 'is' a Sankta?

A Sankta cannot point his firearm at another Sankta. That is a Commandment, and it is also our instinct, just like how a man cannot bring himself to take a step forward off the edge of a cliff.

Of course, there are those who can, and it seems to me you have more than earned the right to speak to that end.

What makes me different from her?

I told you the Commandments are instinct, and I told you the Commandments are interpreted. Surely, a man of your intellect can tell those statements are mutually exclusive.

If the law was constant, then the 'interpretations' that were added over time throughout our ever-changing history could never have been 'instinct.'

Correct, but you are calling the wrong premise into question. The law is naturally constant... but our 'interpretation' isn't really as 'ever-changing' as you are making it seem.

Interpretation isn't a coincidence, Andoain. Do you understand?

You said 'the old don't have the luxury of possibility.'

The law is much older than either of us.

The apostle does not interpret the law. The law interprets itself. Why do you think the law is capable of this?

Take a look at these—Oh, my apologies. I made such a mess here—these structures, statues, stained glass, the exquisite domes and frescoes all around us.

Do they seem like they have constructed a particular illusion for us?

Do you recall the 'Revelation?'

If we knew it to be absolutely temporal, even if we deconstructed it into ice cold, objective logic...

Regrettably, man will still shine a spiritual light on it.

There has only ever been one true law.

—We are to continue our existence.

Who are 'we?'

Follow me.

I follow the old man into the depths.

Everyone knows that the saints of old are buried under the Basilica.

They are the most knowledgeable and outstanding men and women in Laterano's long history. Their brilliant marble statues have no eyes, rendering them blind to those who pass by.

We head down.

Stela recounting the achievements of the past popes line our path.

Among them were the conceited, the noble, and perhaps even the crazed, but not a single one of them ever allowed Laterano to be besmirched. Now, they stand here in silence.

We head down.

This is where the oldest of saints lie.

They were the ones who plucked the Sankta out of chaos. They were the embodiment of all the virtues of mankind. All those who came after merely imitated them. The nameplates on which their miracles are described are dim and lightless.

We head down.

I do not know where I am.

For as far as my eyes can see, nothing here has never been mentioned in any texts or literature. I cannot understand any of this.

This should not be part of Laterano.

A low humming sound fills the entire space around us.

Strangely, I find myself flustered by all this.

It is not the answer that I sought. It is not something man is capable of establishing or interpreting...

It is not something that interpretations, analyses, debates, or reforms could influence...

It is not a matter of whether or not you believe in It, why you believe in It, or how you believe in It...

After all, this is an undisputable existence.

In such a manner...

It exists.

What is Laterano?

What are Sankta?

I see.

We are us only because—

It links us all together.

It molds us.

It is the criterion upon which all things are based.

The path you and I follow was paved by law.

The paths you and I have trodden both lead to the same destination.

It allows you and I to continue making our way forward.

This is the path It has deemed as correct.