act29side

When the time comes, we will further analyze the incident in Zwillingstürme according to the information brought back by Federico Giallo.

It was clearly more than just a revolt instigated by the remnants of the Witch King.

Perhaps what happened there was a harbinger of the Disaster, much like the warning Laterano received.

Ewigegnade, the only Empress of Leithanien with a voice now... The way she spoke was appropriate enough, and her attitude sufficiently ambiguous. I could even imagine her expressions.

...All within my expectations.

The Lateran Declaration didn't really receive any practical response after the Summit of Nations. From the furthest coastlines to the centrum, the Disaster remains a secret in many countries.

Faith unites Laterano, while division has always been an everlasting blight upon this great land. But if we wait until the Disaster connects all nations into one...

It will be too late.

We already have a vague outline of what we're facing, but are we still unable to deduce its source?

Analysis complete. Threat level at maximum.

Disaster unknown. Path simulation failed.

Laterano... synchronized outbreak.

Laterano will accelerate the development of yet more emergency response mechanisms.

...I need to reconfirm the list of suitable personnel.

That settles the formalities of the handover.

In accordance with the bilateral agreement between Laterano and Leithanien, the Empresses' Voice and I will ensure that Arturia Giallo returns to Leithanien when necessary.

The aforementioned agreement has been confirmed.

Phew... that's it.

I guess this is goodbye for real.

Michael, feel free to come find me anytime, whether I'm in Laterano or on Rhodes Island.

Huh? This is new, Herr Executor. What's with the human touch in your words today?

Human touch? A uselessly vague descriptor.

I just have... an intuition.

This incident has not yet been fully resolved. To be more precise, what we experienced was just the beginning.

You're here at last, Federico.

The Empress let you go, but that does not mean I can immediately take you away. The handover procedure was somewhat more tedious than planned.

Fine work, I assume.

You heard Herkunftshorn's final words within the chaos.

What exactly did he tell you?

Get in line; everyone wants to know. Nobles, scholars, Witch King's remains, Ewigegnade... They're all guessing what exactly Herkunftshorn's legacy will be.

Might? Power? Knowledge?

What do you think, Federico?

...All I saw was an enormous mass of shadows that didn't exist in reality.

Herkunftshorn's death twenty-three years ago is the only fact of the matter.

No matter how many images he fabricated for himself, or how many words he spoke, they were all simply echoes of the past.

He may have failed to conquer death, but did manage to carve all his emotions into the void itself.

His complacency, frustration, loathing, regret... and his expectations.

He said our genesis is also our end, and that our abilities are also our incompetence.

'The invasion of chaos is inevitable.'

'The master of all existence will awaken.'

A difficult threat to decipher.

Perhaps this is somehow related to His Holiness's attitude. He was the one who entrusted me with the mission of bringing you back to Laterano.

Arturia, you said at the amphitheater that you never left Laterano of your own accord...

Mm-hm.

I freely admit the gaps in our laws, and that emotion may be a supplementary force we can use to help Laterano face this new threat. But it is undefinable, and bound to come with unknown risks.

Therefore, I will increase my vigilance over you in order to determine the subjective motivations and possible objective consequences of your actions.

IE: I will shoot to kill if I find anything suspicious.

I am most grateful, Your Beatitude, for with your refined rationality, you are my most suitable executioner.

Alright, Federico. If you're not in a hurry to set off on your next journey, then take a good look at this sunset.

This is the moment where Zwillingstürme reveals the pinnacle of its beauty. Such splendor is both fleeting and fragile. Soon, night will fall.

Do you still remember the question you once asked me?

Laterano seems to stand eternally white and flawless, shining with an everlasting radiance. So where is the first place to light up when the sun goes down?

Back then, I promised you that I would bring you to the highest point in Laterano for a look.

I know the answer.

Oh?

I went to the top of the Basilica after I met with the Pope and received my sainthood.

Once night falls in the city, the streets to the right of the Tower of Revelations will be the first to light up.

I even looked into why that is the case.

The Lateran Office of Electrical Management has an integrated program for the city's public energy grid. The area I mentioned belongs to the district where the Tower of Revelations is located.

Alcide, the operator at the management office, is left-handed and has a mild case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. He starts from the leftmost switch on the control panel everyday.

The lights start from that street to the right of the Tower of Revelations, and then through the Notarial Hall and firearm workshops in Pagus Michaelion, to the Sunset Chapel in Pagus Saint Marcel, and then all the way to the chapel square.

At night, the streetlights in Laterano illuminate in order—

I should have expected as much. Your answer, as the most rational person I know, is also—

And they look just as nice as they were before.

I was going to tell you that I actually wasn't as frightened as you might have thought, back in that tiny room.

Even constant darkness and silence cannot obstruct the feelings between two people.

Of course, your findings aren't bad at all either.

They reminded me that my question does indeed have a definite answer, somewhere out there.

The lights will turn on again. Even the halos on our heads have never gone out.

Light is a constant, while darkness is temporary.

As for our emotions... Grief and joy may happen only in certain moments of our lives, but we can always feel them, all the time.

They have never left us.

...Like how the sunset has never truly left this sky.

In my thirtieth year as concertmaster of the Vedunien City Orchestra, I was invited to play atop a spire at dusk. It was my first time looking over all of Vedunien.

When the last rays of sunlight passed over the top of the spire and the twin moons were unveiled, Der Wiener Uhrturm ushered in the night with a clear, distant tune. From Weinshof on the outskirts to Doppelhörnershof in the inner city, the bells rang along the streets, and wherever they resounded, singing followed. I imagined a symphony of the city unfolding before my eyes: the streets were the staves, the scattered buildings the short notes, the towering spires the long tones, all intertwining into the wonderful melody that was Vedunien.

I was immersed within it, and attempted to pluck my strings to join in the performance – but in the next moment, felt as if I was struck by lightning.

I had no way of playing that melody. I did not deserve to touch a single note.

This imperishable, exalted, glorious melody belongs to only a single person.

The bells lead countless musical notes past countless spires until they land atop the Spire of Genesis. Then, everything falls silent, waiting with bowed heads.

I seemed to hear a whisper coming from within the spire. The bell rang again, and the twenty-two district blocks sound in unison. From the top of the spire, the convergent melody rushed skyward, ever so majestic, yet as light as a stone skipping upon the surface of a lake. Waves cascaded through the night sky, and the stars shimmered.

Imagination has become reality! Rejoice! This is truly a miracle unique to Leithanien! The entire land must hear it too!

Forgive me, Leithanien. I recognized this miracle far, far too late.

In the years that followed, the Twin Spires rose from the ruins of the previous one, proclaiming that they were the new masters of this ancient country, and setting their sights on the city beneath them. Since 1079, I have been revising this ode to Vedunien which, like the city itself, has lost its original name.

Today, on the first day of 1092, as the evening bell tolls, I complete the last line of the twenty-second movement. At the same time, I seem to hear a sigh – the tremors of the last note of Vedunien falling to the ground. The Kaiserinnen's reconstruction of the capital is complete, and the King's melodies have been completely erased. The city's staves and ledgers are silent, waiting for the Twin Spires to play a new chapter.

As my pen meets paper, the clear light from the twin moons shines through my window, illuminating the wet ink on my score. I've made up my mind to name this revised suite, 'Zwillingstürmes Morgendämmerung.' I have no way of knowing what fate this new melody will play.

Alas, Vedunien, how I long to hear you once more in my dreams.

He stood for a long time beneath the dusklight, staring at the empty, barren flower bed.

The Ludwig Meister-Spire, which had stood for over three centuries, looms in all its majesty. It casts the longest shadow beneath the dusky sky, like a giant tree in the deep forest obscuring the land beneath its feet. The distant bell tolls, and afternoon classes draw to an end. Before long, one's ears are filled with the sounds of footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the crackling of Arts devices, and a medley of conversations.

––From introductory structural systems to the most specialized, esoteric discourse in esthesia, free-and-open discussions on the Originium Arts emerge one after another. Occasionally, glowing balls of Arts roll down the steps, and musical records zip by overhead at low altitudes.

––A few students dodge the records and continue to talk about pop music and new plays in underground theatres, expressing their partiality towards the love-and-hate of Siracusa's new plate.

––Two people in nobles' attire argue in hushed voices over what kind of posture Kreis Furtgang should take towards the Twin Spires, not noticing that their robes have been ignited with Arts.

––A slovenly-looking scholar mutters to himself before a star chart printed by Trimounts, periodically looking towards the sky while waiting for nightfall.

Nobody mentions him, just as nobody discusses the soon-to-be-renovated flower bed. The only person to cast a sideways glance in his direction quickly turns away once more.

He gives the restraints on his body a tug, his tense muscles akin to a stone tablet.

'This flower bed beneath the Meister-Spire was built in the Year 766. At the time, the spire's owner was Kurfürst Ludwig, who was also known as 'The Scholar.'

'That year, the spire welcomed its very first batch of students from common backgrounds. Despite the staunch opposition and ridicule of the nobles, the spire nevertheless opened its doors to them.

'Before ascending the spire, a scholar by the name of Hoffmann secretly scattered a bag of seeds from his hometown into the flower bed, and before long, it was teeming with nameless white flowers. Over the years, it became a tradition for all scholars of common birth to sow the seeds of their hometown in this flower bed.

'Did you know? Before the War of the Four Emperors, the flowers here blossomed just like the sky above a grand event. I wish I could see it with my own eyes.

'Today, nobody except the scholars deeply involved with the history of Eingeweide remember this past event.'

After listening to the exposition, he squats down in front of the flower bed without a word, presses his hand to the soil, and starts to grope around. After a while, he pinches out a small, hard object from the soil.