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Is this... my memory? The strings are showing me...

The tuba's heavy, and you're tired. Correct?

Then say it. You're but a child. There's no need to hide what's in your heart.

You're afraid? That's normal.

Adults fear me, as do nobles older than yourself. Even the most ferocious casters fear me. They believe my sword will pierce through their chests the moment it crosses my mind to.

...Yet you're unafraid? And you want to be my Voice?

Have you really thought this through? No, that doesn't matter. You're just a child, after all, who knew nothing when your kin sent you here.

Don't... don't cling to my leg. I can't wield my sword if you're like this. Fine, I'll just assume you're tired.

You'll have to practice your instrument and Arts later, in your own room. There are nobles waiting outside to see me, so I won't be coming back here today.

You can take a nap... or play for a while.

If you still want to be an Empresses' Voice, we can discuss it again when you're able to carry a tuba. Also, don't think that you have to become one just because that's what Lupukarn expects of you.

We cannot choose where we are born, but we should at least be able to choose when to turn around. Our responsibilities should not be forced on us by others.

You'll have the right to play the horn I gave you when you've thought it through on your own, and decided on what you want to stand here as.

Mm, I remember now. I have to play my tuba. I have to tell the Gesatzswächter everyone's safe.

I won't disappoint you.

Meine Majestät... Grimmacht.

...Fine work, Michael.

The cello... it sounds so clear. Is Frau Giallo helping us? No, not just us... she's helping everyone.

At the very least, we still have our souls for the moment.

We can still fight.

Is that... the outside? Is this a passage? We can exit through it!

Viviana, find Fremont and ensure that everyone in this space returns to Terra.

What about you and Grimmacht?

Us?

Naturally, we'll fulfill the duty we've always shouldered...

To keep any and all threats away from Leithanien.

Finally. Just the two of us now.

The final melody... has already resounded.

Lieselotte, your shield will cover the twin towers and everyone under the spires.

And your sword...

My fate has long since been decided, from the moment I stepped into this place.

No, from even before that.

Once the Genesis Horn broke away from the plans Fremont and I had drafted for it, and descended upon the center of Zwillingstürme, there was only one choice left to me.

...Indeed.

Hildegard, is there... nothing else you want to ask me?

Well, sure enough, your response is pretty much what I expected.

The passage is closing rapidly.

Darkness rushes in, filling up the tiny cracks that should not exist.

Wrapped in the dark fog are countless restless eyes, swarming towards the two of them and the reality behind them.

A shade of gold brushes past a hue of black.

Herkunftshorn built a spire here, establishing order amidst chaos.

As one who's inherited his power and even killed him, naturally I'll be able to surpass him in this as well.

The eyes in the void, the threats within the chaos, the beings condensed from fear, the enemies who do not exist in reality—

'Demons.'

I, Grimmacht, Kaiserin of Leithanien, and her sharpest sword—

—Hereby declare that you will never invade my country.

A radiant blaze blossoms from Grimmacht's sword.

The fragments of the Genesis Spire scattered in the void reunite under the command of her Arts, erecting a new 'spire.'

The monument stands between Kargereich and reality, blocking the eyes in the dark from prying on all living existence.

The twin spires in reality, the people beneath them, and the clouds above all blend into one under her light, becoming a blurry warm ripple, gradually drifting away from her.

Grimmacht does not look back.

Her Arts, her sword, and her body have all become one with the pitch-black monument.

They all say you are impossible to defeat.

Be it here and now, or in the distant future, I will be undone by chaos before joining it.

This is my fate.

But it is absolutely not... the fate of Leithanien and her people.

The... sunset?

It's back...

And... so beautiful...

Did something fall from the sky?

That's...

The irregular dark clouds crack open.

A clearly visible hue of gold shines through the grim sky, gracefully caressing everyone's faces with its light.

Leithanien's people wake up from their dystopian nightmare and are immediately greeted by dazzling clouds of rosy gold descending between the twin spires.

No one knows who started it, but the people involuntarily begin to play the instruments in their hands.

It is no longer the Güldenesgesatz, or any other familiar classical piece.

A brand new melody accompanying the multicolored radiance of Originium Arts echoes the excitement in everyone's hearts, flowing spontaneously under the rosy clouds.

Did you see that, Federico?

Leithanien's new hero... No, the birth of a new god.

The one who killed Herkunftshorn for the second time, neutralized Leithanien's calamity, and brought hope and vitality back to the people of this great land. Leithanien's sole Kaiserin, Ewigegnade, the Eternal Grace.

She will replace the Genesis Spire completely and become the sovereign of Leithanien's skies, more splendid than the gold of the sunset itself... Gold der Zwillingstürme.

The people are ecstatic, and her wish is fulfilled.

But this newborn god... she sheds a tear.

The brilliance of her golden radiance snatches away everyone's attention, leaving the tear rolling off her face to remain in darkness for eternity.

Rain and wind come hand in hand with evening in Kreis Sturmland. After generations of keepers, a house spire's decrepit stairwells will always hide moss somewhere in their cracks, no matter how the casters work to keep them clean.

He thinks of Zwillingstürme. Of the time when the black spire reminiscent of twisted horns had yet to be superseded by the newly erected twin spires, when the majestic city was called by a different name.

Of the dazzling auburn alleys in autumn, the kind he'd cross through in his youth, still sans wand or dagger. Nestled in his hands were but a few bound poetry collections, and precious hopes of freedom.

Not so anymore. Though the storm briefly abates, the spire's peak is still ruinously cold. Moonlight stabs through the drapery like rain, like a nail driven through each and every hope as it springs up.

What a shame, he laments.

Never again will he see the marigold in bloom.

Northern border of Leithanien, in Fels, the capital of Kreis Sturmland, 1100

Marvelous, truly marvelous!

A performance of such fluency, as if the moonlight were caressing my cheeks—Herr Erich, what are your thoughts?

Martha, why do you treat me so?

Why speak of her? It's not as if your ex-fiancée were here, Herr Erich.

The callousness in your features stings my heart deep, yet your beauty takes my breath away all the same. Such that I cannot forget—

I strongly suggest you move your hands away from my waist. People are watching.

A-Apologies! Did the piece end already? I hadn't even realized.

I don't know why, but just now it was as if I'd been transported back to last autumn. To the day my Martha left me. The sorrow crushed my chest.

As I always say, take more walks. Concerts like this may well be rare in Sturmland, but Zwillingstürme is a different story.

*sigh* Sadly, I may not make it to Das Kaiserinnensfest this year.

As I recall, meine Herr, you've a distant uncle with a seat at the Kurfürstenhof. Could it be you've heard something? I know that Kurfürst Werner—

No, nothing reliable at least.

But the Kurfürst has hardly left his spire once these past months. Even the doctor rarely attends him anymore, while visits from casters serving other houses have only grown more frequent.

It would seem almost none of us will be venturing outside of Sturmland these days. Das Kaiserinnensfest may come every year, but an audience with the new Lehnsherr? Who would dare miss that?

I wouldn't dream of it. No offense, but I'd prefer to spend my dreams with my lovely Martha instead.

Thank goodness we have Frau Arturia Giallo.

Only her cello can grant me a brief reprieve from the pressures of the day. A welcome breath of fresh air.

Quite right. A pity that today will be her final concert here.

Then let me be drunk on it for a while more, just a while. After all, the storm is nigh again.