act42side

The 'angel' hovers in front of the hole in the barrier. It attempts to reestablish a connection with the individuals scattered amongst the stars, but to no avail.

All it manages to capture are the ripples left behind by energy entities as they die in the depths of space.

And so, it continues to orbit across the land, like a shooting star destined to never fall...

(Unknown language) The scent of life.

(Unknown language) This land is still young. Is it new life flourishing in the wake of ruination, or has death not come for this place yet?

(Unknown language) Wasn't I... swallowed up by that light...?

(Unknown language) Originium has recorded your information.

(Unknown language) ... 'Originium'?

(Unknown language) Before the light comes, the conclusion is still uncertain. Originium will become our hope.

(Unknown language) Where is this place?

(Unknown language) 'Terra'.

(Unknown language) We are not alone, my friend.

Did you see the latest news, Miss Koshelna?

Lots of mines have shut down, and they've put troops on high alert all across the city.

My parents were called in for an inspection... I can't find them.

Stay in the classroom for now.

I will help ask around for you. I'm also interested in knowing what is going on.

She calms the child down, and then takes the newspaper from their hand.

Over a few short days, countless rumors have spread across the city, but the most alarming one is—

'Our Originium vein has disappeared. If we can't get any energy out of Mother Earth, how are we supposed to make it through the winter?'

Originium... I shall unravel this mystery.

Only the blood burning within our breasts can see Ursus through the winter chill.

Once we've tidied things up here, it'll do as everyone's new abode, Hierda.

Thank you all for your help!

Good thing you got supplies from our friends at the monastery, otherwise finding a place to stay wouldn't have gone so smoothly.

We were worried you had... abandoned us after heading back there...

Oh, I'm sorry. The road back was rather rough-going, and I heard lots of news I could barely even believe along the way.

It's mighty hard to imagine, yeah. The Originium veins, Laterano...

The Sanktas at the monastery sure had a lot to say about your return! Wouldn't stop telling us all about it!

Huh?

When that calamity was going on, they wanted to go back to Laterano, but a Catastrophe stopped them.

Their halos were shattered, and all they could do was stay here and pray, for themselves, and for their brothers and sisters who had already left...

Then you showed up right in front of them, a girl who disappeared without a trace three years ago!

You brought them hope, Hierda!

Oh my, did I?

I really don't want to let everyone down... Maybe now that we have a fixed shelter, we can help even more people.

But we still need to take some necessary security precautions.

With us pulling out all the stops for our work, we're bound to attract people up to no good. You'll be in danger.

Honestly speaking, we might be able to find a better way to do this—

Hierda shakes her head.

I need to see her.

She must be somewhere here on this land...

Hierda looks out into the distance, despite knowing the vast wilderness will show her nothing in return.

She sees something streaking across the sky.

A shooting star?

Anyway, Originium should not be a source of despair.

I would like to pray for all Infected who suffer—

Err, will praying... actually do anything?

Maybe not.

But when we pray, we will think of each other.

Our bonds bind us together. We are not alone.

The Iberian coast, a cliff by the sea

A Seaborn clings tight to the sharp rocks.

The sound of distant naval barrages is carried over by the sea breeze, but the Seaborn does not care, focusing its efforts on climbing.

(Excitedly flaps membranous wings)

(Unfolds creases enthusiastically)

The Seaborn finally arrives at the peak of the cliff.

What greets it is a boundless expanse of dry land, and a flash of light up amidst the heavens.

A shooting star?

The Seaborn shifts its body in confusion in response to the momentary distraction, and its appendages brush against something.

A shining black rock rolls off the cliff, dropping straight down into the ocean.

The Seaborn tries to see what it was, but it has already been engulfed by the billowing waves.

The gun is made, days of work done. You curl up on the sofa, and shut your eyes in slumber.

You dream of when you were small, on the road to the Holy City, as mother walked and walked, with you in her arms.

Afraid to look at anything, you listen to your surroundings—hearing talk of malice in small towns, frightening roars from the forests, as well as shrieks and screams of people being killed by robbers on the barrens.

You tremble nonstop, burying your head under your mother's wings fruitlessly in an attempt to block out the sounds, until an ear-splitting gunshot sounds—soon there is only silence around you, and you begin to calm down.

You lift your head from your mother's arms, and turn one hundred-eighty degrees to see a halo, with a long gun smoking underneath it.

You realize at once, Laterano lies right up ahead.

The gun is made, days of work done. You curl up on the sofa, and shut your eyes in slumber.

You dream of when you were young, when you got into the gunsmithing program under a teacher's recommendation with your excellent grades.

In school, everyone regards you as the best, but no one ever considers that you will become the best gunsmith among your peers after graduation.

In class, your magister tells you: 'Paganini, if only you were Sankta. You would understand even better what I talk about.'

A classmate tells you: 'Paganini—Oh, I forgot you're not a Sankta. It's fine, I'll just repeat it.'

You don't know how to respond, and can only smile in return, then look down at the scattered parts on the table. Your magister once said assembling a gun is a profound language of its own, and perhaps you may not comprehend what these Sanktas are talking about, but you understand these parts.

You are a master of talking to guns.

The gun is made, days of work done. You curl up on the sofa, and shut your eyes in slumber.

You dream of the day when you finally opened your workshop. It is just an inconspicuous shop in an inconspicuous corner of Via Borgos, but you are incomparably content that you have it at all.

Your life is inextricably connected to guns. They saved you, became your companions, and today they are a pillar of your life. You are grateful for all that they have brought you.

That day, you take a photo with Patrizion. He holds that large-caliber revolving antique gun and bears a foolish grin on his face, as Gia holds the camera, asking the both of you to tone your smiles down. So immersed in joy you two are, it is an impossible feat.

You frame the photo just as you frame both Patrizion and Gia in your future, along with the guns, for ever and ever.

The final gun is made, your work is done. You curl up on the sofa, and shut your eyes to sleep.

But you fail, and after tossing about several times you finally get up from the sofa in frustration. The workshop will be closed, and all relevant work will be taken over by the Shrine of Gunsmithing.

Now, you are the only one in the workshop. There are no customers or apprentices, and finally you feel the reality of the workshop's closure. Guns have kept you company your whole life, and you feel sorrow over having to part with them.

You sigh in silence, sitting within the darkness, bidding farewell to the workshop you poured so much sweat and tears over. Right now, you have so much to say.

Unfortunately, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. You do not want to pay it any mind, but the man dressed like a functionary walks right in.

'Hello. Anybody home?'

Early morning, a ray of sunlight shines through a workshop window, reminding you it's time to put an end to work and leave.

You pick up the key, get to your feet and exit, close the door, and walk out of the dark into the warm sun.

Here is the Shrine of Nurtury. Here, thousands upon thousands of children share in the same sweet dream.

[tutorial(focusWidth=220, focusHeight=220, animStyle="Highlight", focusStyle="HighlightCircle", black="0.5", protectTime=0.5,\

dialogHead="$avatar_amiya", tileY=3, tileX=4.5)]This is because of the 'Dream Tiles' installed here, which causes our operators to immediately fall into a dream when deployed on them.

[tutorial(focusWidth=220, focusHeight=220, animStyle="Highlight", focusStyle="HighlightCircle", black="0.5", protectTime=0.5,\

dialogHead="$avatar_amiya", tileY=3.5, tileX=4.5)]Dreaming operators cannot attack, gain SP, or use skills, and do not even react when attacked.

[tutorial(focusWidth=220, focusHeight=220, animStyle="Highlight", focusStyle="HighlightCircle", black="0.5", protectTime=0.5,\

dialogHead="$avatar_amiya", tileY=4, tileX=6)]Operator Cuora is here to help! Oh... she's dreaming and can't block any enemies.

[tutorial(focusWidth=220, focusHeight=220, animStyle="Highlight", focusStyle="HighlightCircle", black="0.5", protectTime=0.5,\

dialogHead="$avatar_amiya", tileY=4, tileX=7)]Projekt Red is trying to intervene, but she can neither deal damage nor inflict negative statuses on enemies while dreaming.

We need to wake up our dreaming operators!

It may take a LONG time for operators to wake up by themselves...

[tutorial(focusWidth=220, focusHeight=220, animStyle="Highlight", focusStyle="HighlightCircle", black="0.5", protectTime=0.5,\