act16side

Urgh...

That's enough, Patia.

It's... not over...

Patia, right?

Most of the Gun-Knights have been reassigned to the envoys' village. Your mission is over.

I don't really get it, though. It's not like Andoain doesn't know who the most powerful guy in the Basilica is... Why the whole charade?

He probably wanted to make sure he got an audience with His Holiness.

Hm? You were actually listening to Lemuen?

This has nothing to do with that.

He is free to settle his score.

But that doesn't mean I'm letting him get away.

Sure. Shall we get going?

Once we get Patia settled in.

Right.

How should we face this Revelation? These mysterious, indescribable moments; these ambiguous, yet to be explained urges; these unascribable, esoteric intuitions...

Where will it lead us? What kind of choice does it want us to make? Or, perhaps, this is merely a hallucination caused by the fatigue of life?

But Revelation is called as such only because we willingly believe in it or were told to believe in it.

We could even say that 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 upon 'Revelation.'

Thus, when this cruel reality befalls us, the cowards can point fingers at the ambiguity of the Revelation, while the devout can repent their insufficient understanding. In any case, we can at the very least ascertain that we ourselves are not the root cause of everything.

Ah, Andoain. I was expecting you.

You don't seem surprised at all.

I can't say this was the result of any particular manipulation. The greatest lesson that I've learned in life is that people always cross paths, no matter their intention.

But, in the end, we all have our own goals.

The guardian, keeper, and executor of the most supreme law.

The eleventh man to take the name of Yvangelista, the Patron Saint of Sacrifice and Unity, and to stand atop the Lateran Curia as the Apostle, His Holiness the Pope.

Why recite all these titles you do not believe in?

The girl does not remain in your grasp.

She's still young. There is still much for her to experience.

Yet we are old. So old that we know our way around conspiracy, political machination, and internal strife.

What will you do now? Will you use this fine gift you spent decades preparing on her?

I'm not foolish enough to stand in a young girl's way.

Even if she triggered some kind of 'miracle?'

No, this miracle is Laterano's. It belongs only to Laterano. God's grace has fallen upon us. There is nothing more to it.

Do you enjoy history? I love history. For history to become history, you generally need an origin point, and when some kind of variable is introduced to stir up the water and form ripples—those ripples are history.

What of the object that was thrown into the water in the first place, then? Perhaps history does not care about it.

And neither do I.

The girl called Cecelia will go where she wants and do what she wants. Some day in the future, perhaps the name Cecelia will be known far and wide—it could also remain forever in obscurity.

But that has nothing to do with you or me.

It has nothing to do with the both of us. We have a mutual understanding regarding that, do we not?

You make yourself sound like a kind grandfather sending his granddaughter away.

This is nothing more than you getting what it is that you seek. You now get to explain this miracle. In exchange, Cecelia earned the right to leave this place.

This cannot even be called a trade. She never had the right to choose.

No, I never wanted to do anything to her. Laterano has stood for millennia, and neither should it nor shall it ever waver for a mere mixed-blood child.

I only hope that Apostles before and after you feel the same way, and that those expunged names were not erased for nothing.

We cannot ask for too much. Sins shall always be sins. Only time can wear them down.

And it wears them down to the point that no one remembers they were once sins.

I cannot cast blame on our forebears' cautiousness. However, neither shall I accept those sins in order to cover them up.

So long as our mutual understanding stands, am I right?

Hmm... as I said, it is very boring to grow old. Thanks to all the things that we experienced in the past, we are always fearful, on the fence with just about everything.

The old don't have the luxury of 'possibility,' Andoain. We have no choice but to continue down the path that was already laid.

A path that was already laid...

That goes for you too. I know of your journey.

My journey...

Right, I once journeyed... and I heard the purest of prayers and the most vicious of curses.

I stepped into sumptuous palaces and plucked my shoes out of bloodstains.

I saw shameless sinners beg for mercy, and I closed the simplest of caskets on innocent children.

It was always the same. Their cries always died down, and their tears always dried up, and I... I always stood there right next to them, attempting to comfort them.

I told them that salvation would come, as long as we believed.

But no, nothing ever happened. Not even the briefest passing glance.

The Holy City of Laterano has weathered every storm that came its way. How would a saint sitting in his soft armchair and the Sankta that know only to sing the praises of their own dignity know that there exist hardships in the lands beyond?

All the hopeless penances, withered consolations, and deafening silences.

Do you know how heavily silence weighs on my heart?

I seek only an answer.

We will never find salvation, will we?

'Salvation.' I often hear this word from the faithful, as though a sort of incomprehensible accedence, as though an ark that will rescue all the drowning.

Behold, our grand and glorious Lateran City. It is so splendid and magnificent, solemn and refined, with a perpetual aroma of vanilla and sugar wafting in its air.

All of this is a reward for abiding by the laws. All of this is our proof of salvation.

Yet this paradise is only a paradise because of the harshness of the wastes beyond.

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.