act37side

A Parliament regulated by the people, no more individual authority, no king… that's a first in Victorian history.

Even I have to admit, she may well be biting off more than she can chew.

Catherine glances at the Speaker, who is sitting on the steps without her expected grace, and can't help but wonder.

Vina is surrounded by the children. They all smile and laugh together.

Every so often, she raises her voice to share jokes about the dukes or what she managed to wrestle from the dukes. Things that belonged to the people.

The sunset's warm light bathes her figure, before slowly fading as the time passes.

I'd say the days ahead will only get better.

She breathes out a ring of smoke, watching as the thin wisps drift away into the dying light.

Parliament has passed a resolution: The crown will be placed on the throne in the Palace of Westhaleg, guarded around the clock by the Defense Forces.

Until a suitable candidate for the throne is identified, the Crown will be guarded by Parliament.

Once a candidate is chosen, a nationwide referendum will be conducted under Parliamentary review and supervision to finalize the coronation.

Additionally, Parliament will soon announce decisions regarding the distribution of living supplies and other public welfare matters—

Ha, Parliamentary supervision.

These meetings are truly exhausting. I much prefer settling matters at a grand banquet.

At least there's wine when my lips are parched. *sigh* Sir Davis is certainly taking his sweet time fetching the wine.

Your Grace, Duke of Caster, where are you headed next?

You already know the answer, so why pretend to ask?

Getting the news from you is quicker than waiting for Wellington's spies to report back.

So how about you, Eleanor?

Your Grace, we're hardly close enough to be exchanging warm farewells.

Your words wound me, Eleanor. I suppose I'll have to present a fine bottle of wine on my next visit to old Normandy and ask him to put in a good word about me to you.

Your carriage has arrived, sir. Allow me to get the door for you.

Much obliged, Earl of March.

And remember, we are all Victorians, after all.

Of course.

Ah, it's been so long since I last heard these bells. The sound brings back memories.

Your Grace, I've brought you one of the finest wines from our cellar!

Even those Sarkaz devils couldn't sniff this one out after they took my estate.

Sir Davis, you are a man of rare wit.

Rest assured, there will always be a place for you in the Gododdin territories.

The Duke of Gododdin takes a sip of the wine and turns to make a remark, but then suddenly freezes.

He is confronted with a stunning sight—

...The sun has set...

The crimson sun sinks slowly, as though setting the entire city ablaze.

The scars the Sarkaz had torn into the city stand out even more vividly in the evening glow, as if they are still bleeding.

(Sneezes) The winter sunset truly shows no mercy.

Ah, much like the Speaker's attitude toward us, I suppose.

I could send someone to deliver a few sets of winter clothing for Your Grace.

Take care of yourself—Victoria isn't ready to do without you just yet.

Many thanks.

After all, we can't very well go before Wellington, can we?

Why the sudden melancholy, Your Graces?

I find this sunset rather breathtaking.

Day fades into night, and night into day—how often do we get to witness such a sight?

Londinium's thick fog and heavy clouds rarely part like this.

Eleanor, back in the day, the lads at school would always joke that it was the sun that had to follow behind Londinium.

It would rise as we please, and never set if we willed it.

Now, though, she has to go full speed just to barely keep up with the setting sun.

That thought keeps me awake at night.

Day or night, sunrise or sunset, only Londinium can be Victoria's capital.

Earl of March, remember my words.

Droll. Very droll indeed.

Hah, the sun really does move.

Another bell tolls.

More black-feathered fowlbeasts stir and take to the skies over the city, circling before flying through the steam towards the setting sun.

As the sun dips out of sight, the glow of the twin moons becomes ever clearer.

Night approaches.

<i>Isabelle Montague, loyal Victorian Knight of the Tower once said—</i>

<i>'History is like a granary.'</i>

<i>It stands in silence amidst the bustling estate, an unremarkable sight with a somewhat unpleasant scent of mold. Only ever thought of when stowing something away.</i>

<i>Containment. Silently containing things is its sole purpose.</i>

<i>As for people, they are like stalks of wheat growing out in the fields, braving the elements so they might sprout those precious, precious ears.</i>

<i>All you have experienced will become shining, golden grain, stored within the granary called history.</i>

<i>It's more apt to say that history is a showroom of human lives.</i>

Shining and golden? Yeah, I'd say that was a shining, golden life...

Vina, the sword is yours.

It is your destiny.

Father, is this...?

Vina! The hell're you doing?!

Stop swinging already! You've nearly beaten him dead!

*huff*... *huff*...

I...

Vina! It's time!

Got it!

Vina, who do you wish to be when you leave this palace?

I choose—

<i>Perhaps this is how history runs its course. Those caught up in its flow won't accept things as they are, they will resist it with all their might.</i>

<i>But reality always comes crashing down, slamming you into the ground over and over.</i>

<i>You've got no choice but to get back up and figure a way to stand firm. You know the fight'll never end, and you've got to make ready for the next fist in your face.</i>

<i>Until you've circled round and round to find yourself back where you started, albeit by some different path—</i>

Wait, now that I think about it, Dagda might've said 'millstone'.

'History is like a millstone'?

I forgot what metaphor she used exactly, just that it's got to do with a mill or a windmill or something. The sort of thing that'll get people thinking of the sunset.

Ah, forget it. I never much fancied the way she talks all erudite like.

<i>When all's done, I'm here to record this... heart-pounding moment in history.</i>

<i>As a witness to this particular point, as one who personally experienced some of these events, I felt the need to share the tale with those who come after.</i>

<i>It's worth remembering, considering the many bitter lessons learned. It must not be forgotten, with too many painful sacrifices made.</i>

<i>Safe to say, the story's so twisty and turny that if you weren't there to see for yourself, you'd never guess where it ended up—</i>

Aha! I remember now! It was a ship!

'History is like a sailing ship adrift, and every age sees its share of experienced helmsmen who think to change its course...'

'But in the end, none will truly ever know where the sunset and the river will take them—'

Bah, sod it, I don't need to copy the feel of those historical novels I read. It's my book. Why should I write it like how Vina's governess talks?

Lemme have a think on how I'd tell the story my way...

<i>This here's a tale of how a hoodlum became a hero. It's all about courage, friendship, conviction, and power.</i>

<i>The heir to the King leaves the palace, and when she returns home, she's already fit to be called hero, standing alongside her merry band of mates.</i>

<i>This epic begins the summer of the year we left, in the factories of Londinium's Norport Borough.</i>

...They were the happiest days of my life.

Muncaster.

Mm-hmm.

...Bristol.