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Yliš, King of Sarkaz, rests here for eternity.

Underneath a massive mountain of corpses.

In the far future, not a single soul will know there was once a King who died here.

He was so mediocre, so ordinary.

The Sarkaz do not remember the defeated.

In this war that changed their fate, the people will only remember the names of six incomparably dazzling heroes.

Here we are.

I remember this place... It was here we gathered to swear our oaths and join the battle, after Yliš's chariot was destroyed.

This is where we started...

A clothesmaker, and a guard.

Did you hear that, Theresis?

The myriad souls speak from under our feet...

Ah.

There it is.

Yes.

To think it was this small.

The crown.

With death as a witness—

As well as the myriad souls—

The twins raise the crown in unison.

The crown chooses the twins in return.

Atop the ruins, the myriad souls, whose existence remains uncertain, select two distinct hopes at a time.

...You should wear the crown, Theresa.

Why?

The King of Sarkaz is but an optimistic fantasy for the pitiful when history chooses to stay silent.

Indeed... we will change the Sarkaz's fate, with or without relying on an external force.

But in this age of despair, it will bring a glimmer of hope to our people.

I'm not fit to be that hope bringer.

My blade will cut our path forward. And you will lead the way.

...I understand.

The war has just ended. How long will we bear this crown?

Until we find a home again. Until the Black Crown swallows us into its suffering...

Until everyone under the same sky can fall into a peaceful slumber.

'Lead the way forward', you said. Do you still remember that adventure of ours?

You held your sword and carried me...

And you guided me through the bushes until we got home.

Theresa...

Allow me to crown you myself.

Alright.

Theresis...

I swear this vow to every Sarkaz...

'We will always be equal.'