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There it stands, as dull as a rock.

Unease.

This is the second time Arturia has felt this feeling so clearly, the first being the time she faced the Witch King in his Pavillon.

Deep within her body, somewhere she cannot see, things that were always linked together quietly break apart. There is no mistaking the feeling.

She breathes in deep. The moment she closes her eyes, countless similar melodies rush into her mind like the tide.

*sniffle*... *sob*...

You're crying, why...?

Why does your crying sound so annoying?!

You're annoyed? I-I can't feel it.

Sorry, I'm so sorry... But I'm scared!

It's like that time Seniora Serpilia locked me in a dark room. I can hear your voices clearly, but I can't hear what you're saying...

My connection with our enlightened companions has been... severed...

No, not just them... You're right here, Reverend Patrizion, but... I can't even...

Sense me, I know.

Wuh... Waaaahhhh....

Be a good girl and don't let go of my hand—

Your hand... That's not what your hand feels like...

It's like... mist.

Far away... You're so... far away from me.

...So, this is what it's like to fall into hell?

The changes do not end with her own body. Some old jokes have come true.

Every light we know will one day be extinguished.

And it is no exception.

The old Pope playfully points to the halo hovering above his head.

Even if everything about the Sankta existence is interpreted as 'its' boon?

Unease grows, and panic spreads.

Arturia tries to make sense of it all. This is not the same as what happened in Zwillingstürme. There is no malevolent force sowing discord among the emotions of the people this time around.

It is like a movement, one played countless times by an orchestra of the masses, had part of its melody forcibly plucked away, as if it never existed.

Like walking along a road with the sun, the rain, your friends and your home ahead of you, but you are torn away from it for no reason, leaving you feeling alone and helpless...

Alongside millions of your people.

'The Sankta will lose the cozy cabin of their faith'... Everything has come to pass.

Did you fail, Fede?

If you're scared, you can hold onto my tail.

You noticed Giselle's tears, didn't you, Romya? Have you forgotten what tears mean?

Let's finish our song, okay?

You see, Laterano hymns and Bolívarian hymns are quite different, so we need time to teach each other the parts we don't know.

We will be here, together.

East of the east of La Unidad♪

L-Laterano, holy city of white♪

...There, the earth hides no bombs♪

There, the fields share wheat most bright♪

All shall bask in His love♪

Arturia hears singing.

It wavers, revealing the anxiety, terror and worries of the singers... alongside pure, honest longing.

A longing for tranquility, to see night fall in peace and quiet.

Your Holiness, I have no doubt that Laterano as it is may be walking to its demise.

But I also believe it has never been this sincere.

I've said before that I can't hold off the apocalypse or overwrite death, and I refuse to lead.

But maybe my Arts can help them stave off this oncoming collapse.

They will let my brethren, free of empathy, to 'communicate' without reservation, purely and honestly.

Go listen to those songs. Go share your emotions. Go tell one another that, at this very moment, in the face of this indescribable loss, we still feel joy and sorrow together.

This has nothing to do with saints and sinners, redemption and responsibility, or whichever path I walk.

This is simply my reason to exist.

Laterano, holy city of purest white, falls into night. But today, there may not be an electrical operator named Alcide there to turn on the city lights.

Arturia takes off her gloves.

She decides to play towards the setting sun.

To her heart's content.