act26side

In a place far, far away, there once was a village where the people led happy lives.

Some built homes to shelter the others from the elements, some reclaimed farmland.

Others set out to hunt, search for ores, and at the same time, fought back scoundrels who would take the village for themselves.

No concept of ego existed among those villagers, no difference between self and other. No one could survive without the rest. They lived together in that small village, and called it home.

But, nothing good lasts forever. The soil yielded less and less, hunting become more and more difficult, and as food dwindled, stomachs grumbled in hunger.

The cold months crept closer and closer, but there was not enough fuel for heat...

Something had to be done about this! And so everyone said, 'this must be a trial given to us by the Lord, and we must pray for forgiveness!'

Just at that time, a group of well-meaning people came by, and upon seeing the plight of the village, spoke to the head of the villagers:

'Come live with us in our city.'

'But we can only bring those who are most like us.'

'Come, and enjoy a better life. All you need to do is leave a few of you behind.'

I don't like this story, Seniora Arturia!

Hmm? Why not?

Starving is really bad, it hurts!

Yeah, it's bad, and so is leaving your friends behind...

Yes, that is a very 'correct' idea of collectivism, with a little bit of heroism mixed in... or even romanticism.

Romantic stories do have ways of stirring the heart, but it is exactly that romanticism and high-mindedness that has a way of confounding others. Naturally, neither you nor I are immune.

Ugh, big words... I don't get it at all...

You're talking like a weirdo again, Seniora Arturia!

Oh no, I'm sorry. That's my mistake.

Let's go with a different story then. What would you like to hear?

I wanna hear... a hero story!

You all want to become heroes?

I wanna be a great hero! Just like Mamma!

Wow, your mamma sounds amazing!

Be good now, and give me just a moment.

I seem to have caught you at a bad time. Am I interrupting you, Arturia?

You ask despite already knowing, Most Reverend Bishop Aulus.

Apologies. It was not my intent to displease you. I merely came to bid you farewell.

Owing to the addition of an unexpected traveling companion, I plan to leave as soon as possible and escort my companion back home.

Allow me to offer a prayer for this pitiful soul.

I'm not trying to fight with you here...

...especially not in front of the children.

However, 'pitiful' should never be used to describe one's resolve to live.

Resolve, hm... resolve.

The amount of control we have over our own lives is often not as perfect as we believe it to be, and no one is ever the wiser until proven otherwise.

Think of things that one must never do. They are often already done by the time their senses return to them.

Does the act of blame contradict the heart's inner desires? Who is to say that our so-called resolve is not just a coping mechanism used to deceive ourselves?

At times like these, where are our truest emotions and intentions hidden?

When will the day come that one's thoughts, emotions, and actions can truly be unified?

Is this not the point of your inquiry, sir?

It seems that today is a in which a great many things will unfold. I hear a commotion outside, as if some acquaintances have come knocking.

If I were you, Bishop Aulus, I would not be in such a hurry to leave just yet.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

You took forever, Seniora Arturia!

So slow...

Please forgive me. Why don't I tell an extra spectacular story to make up for it?

Do you want to hear a story of a grand battle between heroes and villains?

I do, I do!

Alright. Then, you must listen carefully.

A long, long time ago in a faraway castle, there lived a young boy. The boy didn't express much emotion and rarely spoke, but he was incredibly fierce in a fight...

I told you I'm just a hunter. If that's not enough to satisfy you, then I don't mind trying something else.

I'm just an ordinary, roughly middle-aged Sarkaz.

I do not believe that is the entire truth.

That weapon behind you, you carry it always. You actively conceal your movements, which is a mercenary's habit.

That's for self-defense.

You saw it yourself. Those bandits are always raiding us. Things aren't so peaceful here.

That does not explain why you have a mercenary's habit.

I've got farm equipment in my hands more often than weapons these days.

I hunt for a living here. Sometimes, I work in the fields, or in the mines when I have to.

No need to get all excited about these old hands of mine. I'm just an ordinary guy, bound up by life.

Federico, stay mindful of our mission here.

I don't think now's the time to be chasing hypotheticals.

A reasonable determination.

Would Your Excellency mind explaining the situation?

Sorry to bring you trouble, Stefano.

No, you have nothing to apologize for, Gerald.

As the two of you might surmise...

Over a decade ago, Gerald brought a small group of Sarkaz to the monastery. At the time, they were stranded in the barrens, without food or ammunition.

When they found our monastery, they had no choice but to try to make contact.

You didn't expel them, so they chose to settle here.

Is there a difference between driving out those who've been cornered, and driving them into a corner yourself?

Er, I guess that makes sense...

At first, not everyone was accepting of our new neighbors.

But rootless hatred and prejudice have no purchase when survival is at stake.

We provided a place for these people to stay, and in turn, they helped us deal with our own problems.

Our food shortage, the bandit threat, and our gradually depleting energy supply...

They relied on us, so we also relied on them.

But you still chose to send Messengers to contact Laterano.

A choice made in the absence of choice...

Laterano is willing to provide us with assistance, and is also willing to welcome us back in.

However, even Lemuen, the nuncio willing to grant us the most concessions, still held one non-negotiable condition–

'Sarkaz have no place in Paradise.'

No place? Why?!

On the basis of race alone? Just because they are Sarkaz?!

How are they any different from us? Without these stalwart brothers and sisters, we would've lost our fight for survival long ago!

Where was Laterano during all that time we were supporting each other?!

So, let me beg the two of you, to once again–

Plead to the wisdom of His Holiness the Pope, and to your faith...

The haggard old man raises both his hands.

He both appears to be holding up his faith, as well as crumbling beneath its overwhelming weight.

The Sankta's faith is formless, intangible, nowhere to be found.

His fingers grasp for the halo above his head in vain, the old man's hands gradually slipping until they cover his face.

What Lemuen said is correct. There will not be Sarkaz in Laterano.

Nor will Laterano allow any Sarkaz through her gates.

Hey, Federico, you don't have to be so blunt.

This is a fact.

Enough, Stefano.

I already told you. We can accept it.

You go to Laterano, and we'll find a place to start over. That nuncio, Lemuen, promised us some support. But in name... we have to go our separate ways.