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Praying? Now's hardly the time... wait, you're Sarkaz. Where did you learn to do that?

What the—

Did it go well?

Yeah.

Then what's with that look on your face?

A h-halo...

What?

The Sarkaz's child, that Sarkaz newborn, has a halo...

She said her husband was Sarkaz too, right? The baby's not mixed, like Cecelia...

And we're not in the bloody dream, either. This nomadic abbey is a long way from Laterano...

Where's Andoain?

He went out as soon as the abbey stopped. Said he was going to forage, and pick a flower to celebrate the birth of a new miracle.

I have a feeling... he had a premonition about what was going to happen.

Do you remember?

We found Andoain by the pit after the calamity came to a close. He was almost completely blind, and he refused to tell us what happened beneath the Basilica.

A joint court of the First, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Tribunals put him on trial. Nobody knows how exactly the trial was conducted, only that he was exiled as a result.

He is never to return to Laterano, but he was allowed to live on this nomadic abbey...

Don't think too much about it.

It was Andoain's decision to disband the Pathfinders. As he said, we don't need to seek anything from Laterano anymore...

Some brothers and sisters have chosen to stay behind in Laterano, while others have returned to their homes. A dozen have chosen to follow him here.

Whatever his true hopes for this abbey are, there is at least one thing that is certain—we're trying to help more people...

Say, shouldn't he be back by now?

The Sarkaz learned to pray in that shrine. She established a connection with the Law on her own.

As for us, we only truly spoke with Him for the first time, after the disintegration of our own faith.

If faith is a response to life, then a new Law has been born, here and now.

The crisis has not been averted. Indeed, our rejection of the other possibility has made it even more unknown and pressing—

Fortunately, a new possibility also lies ahead.

Where will you take it, Andoain?

The wind carries the cries of the newborn. The Sankta stops on the hill, a wildflower in his hand.

His eyes no longer see, but he continues to look up, standing in the same spot unmoving, as though he can see that tiny speck of light.

After a while, Andoain walks toward the nomadic abbey on the other side of the hill. He leaves Laterano, and never turns back.

No one counts his sins. No one laments the scores of the past. No one sees him off. No one knows of his departure.

There is nothing in his heart that needs resolution. He caresses an aged book, and keeps walking, until he is no more than a tiny point in the vast wilderness.

The martyr shall find final rest at the end of a long journey.

Until then, he shall not rest.