act42side

Come in.

Cardinal Lemuen...

I'm afraid you'll have to find another way to address me now.

And I was under the impression that the Curia wasn't letting anyone visit me. Isn't that right?

I put in a report.

I was only just created. It's only natural that I would seek my predecessor's advice.

Haha. You've adapted quickly, Cardinal Amos.

I thought you said you didn't really have aspirations.

Cardi... Seniora. I didn't come to gloat. Our relationship was never cloak and dagger, was it?

Sorry.

But if you came to ask about Lemuel, I've already said this many times—I have no idea where she is.

It's something else that I want to ask about.

Did you sacrifice your career only to protect your sister? Or did you truly believe what she said...?

From the Nativity, to the Summit of Nations... something doesn't seem right about all that has been happening in Laterano lately. It's like we've come down with a sort of illness.

They're the same thing to me.

Th-There's something I want you to see.

Amos turns his terminal on and hands it to Lemuen.

What's this?

Application to join the Legati. I wanted to be a Legatus, and get assigned to Bolívar.

You want to leave Laterano? Why?

My wife and I...

We had a big fight and I left. When I came back, she had gone on a mission, dealing with Sarkaz raiders attacking caravans in the wilderness near Kazdel.

She's always been like that, never listening to people. It was winter. I figured she wouldn't be back until spring, and I was thinking about doing something to make up for my leaving...

You know the rest about what happened to her. Fallen, exiled, et cetera.

It was convenient that the Seventh Tribunal was responsible for national security and foreign relations. It took a long time, but I finally found out where she went. I thought...

I understand.

What do you mean, though, when you said something didn't feel right?

The selection standards for Legati are extremely high. A man of my ability didn't really have much hope... so the application sat in my draft box for a long time, until...

You approved your own application when you were created cardinal of the Seventh Tribunal?

Y-Yes.

Reverend Patrizion said all I needed was an opportunity when he informed me of my imminent creation...

I'm sure he meant something else, but this is all I could think of.

However, the moment I approved the application, it just... vanished. No notice of rejection, no record to be found anywhere.

It just disappeared from my terminal, l-like it never existed.

There was no way the application would have gone through. I would not be allowed to resign my cardinalate and become a Legatus so quickly.

Besides, all the Legati have been recalled to Laterano. I wouldn't be able to go and see Aurela, even if I really did become one.

For me, approving the application wasn't even about making up for anything... it was just a small, insignificant comfort.

Who would want to wipe away such a small comfort?

For me... that was enough to make me question if this Laterano is real.

Maybe... your sister was right.

Have you told anyone else?

N-No. I couldn't sleep last night... you were the only one I could talk to about this.

This isn't some newfangled interrogation technique, is it, Cardinal Amos?

You can trust me, Seniora Lemuen.

We both have things that truly matter to us. Few things.

An interesting point, Senior Amos.

By the way, there's an even bigger Nativity scheduled at the Shrine of Nurtury today.

'We prepare for death all our lives.'

Even in a place like Rocamarea, where everything is washed out by tides of plague and famine, an old man may lick his parched lips and say something to the effect before his eyes close forever.

Words as old as time, as they say. To some, they are an eulogy to wishes unfulfilled; to others, an utterance free of regret. But there is a common premise between the two—

Death is the conclusion to life.

(Looks up in confusion)

(Flaps wings anxiously)

Indeed, child, your mother will answer no more.

...She has died.

(Soft chirp)

The mother has breathed her last. Andoain gently closes her eyes.

The fledgling leans over. He is trembling, even the sheen of his hide darkened. Andoain places him on his own knee and looks into his eyes.

The fledgling's voice is mumbled. Andoain does not speak the language of beasts, but he can feel sorrow, like a current running beneath the calm surface—the fledgling's and his own.

Death is accompanied by new birth. When your mother knew that her own life was beyond saving, she chose to leave the hope of life to you.

She used her last strength, and succeeded.

This is your first lesson.

(Soft chirp)

Rocamarea, the town with the clock tower, the abbey in the wilderness, and now... I've experienced many such moments, and now I have another. Each experience brings deeper insight.

All walk toward the inevitable end. That is why the continuity of meaning is so precious.

Death is a parting.

A gift from the departed to the living, the beginning of the living's own salvation.

Do not fear, child.

Lament and remember... I will do so with you.

I will stay outside and leave her funeral to you, Andoain.

What of the Matriarch?

She is indisposed, preparing for the Nativity to bestow halos upon all the non-Sankta here... she sends her apologies.

No matter.

We have grown accustomed to welcoming new life with ceremony, while funerals are always simple... Tell the Matriarch that it will be a little while before I return to duty.

Are you alright?

The mother's passing was sudden. The child is young, and unaccustomed to such sorrow. I must stay by his side.

No, it's you the Matriarch is worried for.

What do you mean?

Matriarch said she and you had been with this mother for a long time. She understands the sorrow in your heart.

You are a thinker. Every journey gives you inspiration, but also fatigue.

As for the child... he is a miracle. He has the strength to emerge from darkness.

The Matriarch wishes me to tell you that no new life in Laterano will ever succumb to calamity nor sorrow.

They will be born equal, they will be brave, and they will be strong... Laterano will see to it.

Andoain feels the fledging arborbeast push against his arm. He wants to calm him down, but the fledgling pushes his hand away and spreads his wings.

The fledgling takes flight, landing on a comfort bell in the middle of the room, making a pleasant sound.

Andoain watches in confusion. He has worn a halo for decades, yet his eyes still struggle to adjust to the fledgling's dazzling light.

(Flaps wings forcefully)

(Loud cry)

He has been with the fledgling day and night. He knows what these movements mean.

The fledgling is inviting him to play.

The Nurturer, who can never turn down a child, stands stunned.

He wants to communicate his sorrow, decline this incomprehensible invitation in the most tactful way possible.

But eventually, he steps up and takes the young arborbeast's claw, dancing a waltz in the middle of the empty room along to the comfort bells.

The arborbeast's excited cries echo throughout the room. His feathers shine bright under the halo, showing its sheen unreservedly in the spinning circles.

Their steps grow quicker, and Andoain looks toward the body of the deceased mother, trying to ascertain his own emotions. Then he realizes with a start—

He is no longer sad.

He is joyful as the fledgling, he is beautiful as the fledgling, he sings and dances for the future with a heart full of hope, just like the fledgling.

Their spinning steps draw beautiful circles on the ground and in the air.

Is... is this...

Is this what Sankta means?