act21side

The streets of Columbia, as a whole, are generally more spacious and vibrant than those of Siracusa.

But when walking through these streets, one sometimes feels a sense of emptiness, as if one does not belong.

Hey you, carwash guy. Heard you're from Siracusa, so I got a question for you.

I'm here to wash cars, not answer questions.

Don't be like that, pal.

Relax, we're not here to cause trouble for broke-ass bumpkins like you.

Heard a group of your countrymen came into town today, and we just wanna know where they are.

What business do you have with them?

Business? Uhh... catching up on old times?

Old times, huh.

Hey, my nonno always used to tell me, 'never forget that you're Siracusan.'

You don't look 'Siracusan' to me.

Me? Siracusan? Hah!

Columbia is the future, pal! It's where the gold certificates are!

The young associates of the Columbian families always heard from their forefathers that they came from Siracusa.

But they've never taken it seriously.

Your roots will always be in Siracusa.

It's the crusty old fossils who say stuff like that.

Columbia is a land of pioneers! Roots? We don't need roots.

That's right, hick. You'd better tell us where your paesani are, if you don't want any 'accidents' happening to your little shop here.

They're in that bar across the street.

You got a good head on your shoulders, pal. Don't see a whole lotta wolf pups out there as bright as you.

To be a pioneer is to invite chaos, and the Columbian families gradually lost the order they should've had amidst this chaos.

But for Siracusa, order stands taller than the law itself.

The carwash worker zones out their noise and commotion, turning and slowly opening a cabinet to produce a tool that he is all too familiar with.

It is heavy and sharp, having been meticulously polished by the carwash worker. The glint reflecting off its blade reminds one of the moonlight in Siracusa.

Then, he slowly walks toward the complacent idiots who have their backs turned to him.

Like a carwash worker who only wants to scrub the floors before opening up shop.

Like a Siracusan.

Texas's eyes snap wide open.

As her vision comes into focus in the darkness, she sees a poster Exusiai put up against her will.

Her hands transmit to her the sensation of the down quilt that Croissant sold to her at a special price when the season changed.

Sora's sleep-assisting CD is still playing.

All of this lets her breathe a sigh of relief.

She understands full well that the dream had never really happened, that the Columbian family never had a chance to pester the Siracusan guest.

As for the carwash worker, she has only met him once.

A dream that has no meaning except to remind her of her Siracusan roots.

Since coming to Lungmen, she hasn't had this dream in a long while.

So why have it now?

She unconsciously wants to see the night outside her window.

The moonlight still shines bright and clean.

Myriad colors still dot Lungmen's nightscape.

But within it all is an existence utterly incompatible with everything around it.

Outside her window, on a rooftop beneath the moon, a wolf is staring directly at her.

If everything surrounding it can be called the creations of civilization, then this wolf is undoubtedly a symbol of the wild wastes.

He does not belong here, and never should have appeared here.

But he still appeared in all his majesty, his figure seeming to tower above everything else around him.

Come. It is time for you to fulfill your end of the deal.

In an instant, Texas understands why she had the dream.

Dreams are not necessarily connected to reality.

But dreams often are omens.

And without a doubt, the dream she had tonight portends—

That her past has come knocking on her door.

Noisy. Excessive. Corrupt.

How far you've fallen, to become indolent in a place like this.

But, at least you thought of killing me the moment you saw me.

That means my trip was still worthwhile.

I can give it a serious try, Zaaro.

It won't make a difference in the end. Same as seven years ago.

You should feel grateful, last wolf of Famiglia Texas. Our deal still stands, which means you still have a chance to pay off your debt.

The wastelands have always played fair.

Stop calling yourself the wastelands.

It has never cut deals with anyone, 'Signore dei Lupi.'

Heh. Maybe you've just never gotten close enough.

Stop talking in circles. What do you want me to do?

Follow me back to Siracusa. You are to assist my Fang.

...'Fang.'

Fulfill his request, and consider your debt paid in full.

At that time, whether you choose to return here or remain there is no longer any of my concern.

Fine.

If it ain't Zaaro, Lord of Wolves.

Think you can just show up in my city, take my people, leave like it ain't no thing?

Your brain overgrown with weeds now too? Ah, my bad. Forgot, you ain't even got a brain.

Emperor, my wretched kin.

How long has it been since we last met? Two hundred years? Three?

What is this revolting outfit of yours? What are you dressing up as?

What happened to your sheet music? Or your conductor's baton? Have you finally tired of pretentiously tickling the ivories atop the lofty spires of Leithanien?

Mind your business, Zaaro. As if I'd remember when the last time we met was. Wish there wasn't a last time, hope there won't be a next time, and that I forget about this time.

I don't understand. You can choose to step aside, and then forget all about it.

Did I stutter? Get your sorry ass back to Siracusa, and leave my people outta your shit.

I don't even get how your brothers and sisters still let you and your pups play your little mob game in Siracusa.

There are many paths to victory. This was my decision, and it has nothing to do with you.

Y'all had some kinda inside deal there, right?

Like y'all keep to your own turf, keep outta human business.

Take a good look at yourself. You hardly look any different from the humans, and you're telling me to stay out of human affairs?

What are these toys of yours to the glaciers that have not melted for tens of thousands of years? What are these ridiculous black glasses of yours compared to the lasting darkness of the polar nights?

And then, there's your so-called 'music.' What need is there for music when you already have the coldest wind?

Throw all of this away, Emperor.

You are forgetting what you truly are. What 'we' truly are.

You made up those rules. They ain't for me.

My life ain't your business, wolfie.

They came up with something new, I decided I liked it, and I made it mine. Simple as that.

We've always belonged to the wasteland.

You showed your ass callin' this land the 'wastes.' Ain't nothin' wasted here to me.

Think you're any different from the humans? Rollin' around the forests of Siracusa didn't get you all hungry for power. You never thought about where all that ambition came from?

Zaaro, you ain't made no progress in millennia, and on top of that, you also picked up the dumbest shit humanity's got on offer.

(Low snarl)

Stow your fangs, kid. That's rude.

There's no point fighting amongst ourselves. Nothing will come of it.

I'm just a messenger, here to claim what's rightfully mine.