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We could have been a star in the barrenlands, a torch in the cold night!

Don't you dare say I'm wrong! Laterano is not some ancient concept that floats only in scripture! It stands right here and now! Laterano can save everyone!

She cannot.

And why is that?

Because we are only 'us.' Because we are the Sankta of Laterano.

And 'they' are not 'us.' 'They.' They conceal, they become disillusioned, they consign, they become disappointed, they struggle, and they hate.

They themselves mold and shape their own enemies. A man-eating monster of both lust and disgrace, with the flames of destruction hidden in its heart.

Why do you think these lands have seen countless dynasties and nations come and go in the flames of war while the miraculous Laterano has withstood the test of time?

Andoain, they are Inferno itself.

And you, you chose to leave 'us.' You left behind the virtues that shaped us under the stubborn belief that your water could extinguish the flames of Inferno, that your candle could illuminate the night.

Why seek my answer? You chose despair for yourself long ago.

Three times have I visited Laterano. For the rest of my life I wandered the lands beyond.

I've met many men and women, and I do not need the Lateran Pope to tell me how dark their hearts can get. Yet there is also a ray of light in them. A radiant, blinding light that I can never forget.

That I will never forget.

I was set ablaze by the light. Perhaps the fire is destined to be extinguished the moment it is first lit, but I could never again return to the eternally radiant Laterano.

Yet this perpetual radiance is cold and distant. Laterano's light shines on only a select few, and its might exists only to project this image of fabricated glory.

In that case, I would rather be the torch that burns by the feet of those who are freezing to death.

Even if its flame will soon be extinguished.

Andoain, flames are destined to be extinguished. You seek to turn this perpetual light into a flame, and the flame will meet its fate one day. When that happens, there will be no more light, not even a cold and distant one.

If you shatter the twin moons in the sky, then those struggling in the cold night will do so in darkness. Left only to close their eyes. Light will ultimately become a fantasy, a lie of a dream. Would you call eternal night a kindness?

You despise the small size of this paradise.

But do you know how hard it is for a small paradise to upon these lands?

You scorn its small size, but have you ever considered that there are those who try to live an honest life? What right do you have to turn this paradise to tinder for that wildfire of yours, destined to be put out?

This world is hostile to beauty. To allow this beauty to persist forever, do you know how much the Lateran people, countless Laterans, generations of Laterans have had to sacrifice?

Andoain, who are you to so handily deny all this with a few trivial words?

Preposterous.

There are those trying to live an honest life in Laterano, but does that somehow make the lives of those outside any less real?!

They hold out hope despite their hardships, they follow the scriptures and the laws, they believe that they can change their lives, and they look forward to the rewards for their hard work.

Mrs. Baelen from the rock salt and sundries store, Deacon Landi of the Tidal Chapel, little Sagre, who ties the ropes on their bells...

Tell me, is there anything wrong with their faith, with their hope?

Tell me, oh great and glorious Apostle, Pope Yvangelista XI, the great protector of our paradise and defender of history.

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.