act26side

There you are, Father.

It's your turn to clean the chapel today, Jori?

Gratias.

Just doing my job. I had trouble sleeping anyway.

I'll fetch the sacramental bread.

No, no need.

Oh, right, look at me, dust all over my hands.

Say, do you smell something...? It's pretty faint...

A strange smell?

No, a pleasant one. It's fresh. I sense in it... vitality.

It's hard to put into words. It's like standard downwind. I don't know where it comes from, but I feel like I'd get somewhere if I followed it.

I think it's the smell of flowers, Jori.

We don't have enough flour, so flower powder was added to the sacramental bread.

The few remaining bottles of wine in the cellar have started to go sour, so I also added some flower powder to those too.

Clément harvested some flowers a couple of years ago, grinding them into powder and storing it in the cellar...

He loves the flowers, just as he loves us.

Mm...

This will be the final communion we take before the abbey departs. We are short on food, however, so we must reduce each share of sacramental bread, even mixing in... other grains.

Please don't say that. I'm very much looking forward to today's communion...

Then go and wash your face. Come back with the others when it's time for Matins.

I'll do the rest myself.

Yes, Father.

Will we be saved after today, Father?

All of us, Sankta and Sarkaz... will we all be saved?

Even though Gerald is already...

Go, Jori.

O-Okay, see you later, Father.

The old man closes the door.

He climbs the chancel slowly.

Stefano Torregrossa, the aging abbot of Sanctilaminium Ambrosii, carefully divides the sacramental bread and wine.

His head is bowed. It is still early. The dim morning light shines through the windows behind the holy statue. The face of the statue is hidden in darkness, as is the abbot's own.

Yes. We will all be saved.

She walks into the broken sacrarium, crushing the charred remains of plants to powder beneath her feet.

The arched roof of the sacrarium has collapsed in the fire, exposing the interior in the sunlight.

The wind has carried away the smell, but there is no one to clean up the rubble.

The marks of the fire will remain forever, unless the chapel is rebuilt.

She takes a look at the collapsed statue, then abruptly turns to the empty space behind her.

Humans struggle, punish and forgive themselves, like a sonata at its climax, the keys dancing a frantic tune.

When a decision is made, the long and steady coda begins, the emptiness at the end of catharsis, yet infinitely determined.

Emotions are complex, but the changes are always alike. The melody is conventional, regular, devoid of surprise.

I sense your serenity. You have made your choice.

In any case, the song I should play is you. Hear the voice of your own heart, here at the very end.

You lost, vibrant soul.

All the pots and chopping boards... signs of baking, but no smell of yeast in the air... oh, I guess it's unleavened bread.

This looks like they were preparing the Eucharist here.

There is unidentified debris... it feels wet. Is it because we're underground?

No.

There is flour left in the corner... why is it so damp and sticky?

This smell...

Is this the only path the pious abbot saw, at the end of it all?

Can't get in touch with Federico... tell Oren? That will only make things more complicated.

Am I the one who's going to have to do this? I barely know where Iberia even is.

This is such a headache.

My forces will soon surround the monastery...

I will command them to block every path in and out. You stay here and coordinate with the assault.

Mm...

What is it?

Are you sure you want to do this, Oren?

Did you go over to Lemuen's side the moment you saw her? I don't think I need to waste my time explaining this again.

But I'll stop you, Oren.

Lemuen?

Ugh. She caught up.

Buy time while I rendezvous with the troops.

No way. Do you see the expression on her face?

I'm not getting on her bad side. I still remember when she dragged me out of school and confiscated my drone. I never saw it again.

Gratias, Serpilia.

You never thought to convince the abbot to bring the monastery back to Laterano.

That's your job.

You never intended to let any of the Sarkaz leave, you've even got commandos deployed to carry out your plan.

Fifty men... the limit of what I can muster.

What are the Lateran laws to you, Oren?

I will submit myself to His Holiness's judgment when we get back... though I don't think I've done anything that should be punished.

You know the consequences of an assault on the abbey.

The people here, both Sankta and Sarkaz, are like travelers who lost their way in the wilderness, who found warmth by a campfire.

The campfire guides their kin to rescue them, and other poor wandering souls.

They have no one to count on. They are weak and frightened. But they still hold on to their precious kindness.

That's why Gerald gave his life to plead with us, and ordered the Sarkaz under his leadership to keep the peace between the two sides.

But what if the campfire has attracted some beasts?

I wish I could say pretty words and do the kind of work everyone admires, Cardinal Aide Lemuen.

But I can't. You've never traveled the war-torn wastes with thousands upon thousands of refugees, seen the dark cloud that blankets the skies over Londinium.

But I thought you would at least have a tacit understanding with me, give some thought to the danger in letting those Sarkaz go.

The atrocities the Sarkaz committed in Victoria are well-known. They continue to spread their terror across the lands.

If you truly believe in His Holiness's plan, believe in the value of the Legati, then you should understand why Laterano can't be merciful here.

The friendship that Laterano built at the Summit of Nations is more fragile than the paper windows of this corridor.

The Sarkaz in the abbey are resentful, and affected by Arturia's Arts. There's no telling what lengths they will go to in order to get revenge after they leave.

Plus, what would happen if word got out that a Lateran nomadic abbey has been colluding with the Sarkaz for decades?

How will Laterano uphold its sanctity among the nations of Terra? How will she maintain her already-fragile diplomatic ties?

What will the Holy City look like when the fires of war burn?

Fifty men. That's all will take to resolve the situation here, and bury it all in darkness.

These Sarkaz are hunters, farmers... the only mercenary is dead. We saw proof with our own eyes.

You're planning a massacre.

You talk about upholding Laterano's sanctity, when you're the one defiling it. Don't you see the hypocrisy in that?

You're the hypocrite here, Lemuen.

The 'Lemuen the Silent' I know wouldn't have blinked at something like this.

Did five years asleep change you?

Or was it the so-called 'Martyr'—

Oren never managed to say the name.

The wheelchair closes the distance in the blink of an eye, and his midsection meets the barrel of a sniper rifle. Leaning against the wall, he barely manages to stay on his feet, and it takes all his effort to keep his voice level.

Gah—

Go on.