act47side

No sudden moves.

You know, I'm sure we can talk about this like reasonable people—

All the rioters are here.

Shut them in the lower level jail. We'll hand them to the courts when we arrive in D.C.

It's almost time. Double-check your parachutes unless you want to end up in a puddle.

What? Did someone press the detonate button early?

Impossible! We're less than a kilometer from the District... Wait, the government buildings are getting smaller... we're moving away from the capital?

Looks like events are moving faster than your plans can catch up, aren't they?

You never intended to stop the explosion... you were just stalling for time for the plate to turn?

Did you think we had the means to go toe-to-toe with well-trained units?

Events moving faster than the plans can catch up...

Change of plans.

Lower level, evacuate by the planned routes. Upper level, protect the civilians around you and prepare to parachute.

Point Zero, detonate.

What's going on? The broadcast has gone dark... are the screens outside getting a signal?

You're still thinking about the broadcast?! Didn't you hear the Emergency Management Council's evacuation warning?

A serious accident has occurred in the levitation layer. All floating facilities will fall from the sky in less than ten minutes! Hurry up and get yourself to the emergency shelters!

Fall from the sky...?

Oakley looks up to see hundreds of floating pods turn into fireballs in the sky, marring the clear skies with smoke and ash.

Without the gentle touch of sunlight, the cloud-like pods turn back into chunks of metal, crashing down on the lower level.

Look out.

*cough*... that was a close call. Thanks.

You're a tester? Which company? I don't remember you...

Now is not the time for introductions, Oakley.

The streets are exposed. You risk getting hit by falling debris. You should go into an emergency shelter quickly.

A-Alright...

Falling.

Tumbling down.

Ferne's heart is beating so hard, she feels like it might escape her ribcage at any moment.

She tries her best to control her breathing. The straps on the sides of the helmet slap her face, inflicting just enough pain to fend off the fear of falling.

In an instant, the signal from the detonator travels through the connected conduits, igniting all the floating facilities at the same time. Ferne leaps from Platform 7 before it loses all power.

The falling pod streaks past Ferne like a black meteor.

The bright-colored paint is burned off the advertisements, and melted cables flail in the air, giving off a bitter smell of tar.

The whole levitation layer sways meekly in the air like a deflated balloon.

'Lucky Cystybeast', 'One-Boot', 'Beachbrella'...

Ferne watches these company logos fall together with her. Now that is a scene that rivals sunset in the Bleached Wasteland, she thinks.

Pull the parachute, Ferne!

Oops, almost forgot.

The updraft lifts the Feline's slender frame. The parachutes come together to form a massive cloud.

Did we do it?

The people on the ground don't know what's happening. It must be a shock for them to see their investments and products turn to ash...

They're safe, at least. The pieces of the levitation layer would have fallen on top of their heads if the plate didn't turn around.

Besides, they'll never find out that there were scheming and plotting to stop them from dreaming.

Where do we go next?

You could certainly go back to Northville to see your wife.

Sure. What about after that?

After that?

Let's talk about that when we get back to standing on Terra Firma and looking up at the sky.

The light of burning fire illuminates the people's faces, but there is little regret in their hearts as they gaze upon Propeller Paradise, now beyond recognition.

The remains of Propeller Paradise are scattered across the barrenlands between the District and the plate, like gifts that have been returned.

Ferne closes her eyes in relaxation, as she comes back down to earth with paradise.

The elderly Banshee said her kin were like broken kites as they fell burning from the sky in that war from two hundred years ago.

Now, though, she is like a kite that has too many strings attached, the branches and roots tugging at her as she floats in mid-air.

A kite nothing could ever ruin, as she had wished.

The Roosting Tree... that was the name I gave it. I built huts beneath it, and made it the abode of every Banshee.

But all I felt was fear when Laqeramaline brought me to its roots.

It was like a great void that could not be illuminated by the moons, by candles, or by fireflies. It was still and silent, sucking away my memory a little bit at a time...

I could smell decay in the darkness. A decay that we could not reverse. Not even the Children of Soil and Stone could.

It was a constant reminder of how pathetic the Convallis was.

At the end, Lady Theresa and Lord Theresis found a future for the Sarkaz through war and death. Meanwhile, Aefanyl continues to seek a new future for the Banshees.

But me and my valley... it is nothing more than a failed sanctuary that quietly awaits death.

And there's nothing more I can do for it.

So you ran away from the Roosting Tree, ran away from death.

Why here, though?

Everywhere outside the Convallis was the same. Grey and chaotic, impossible to navigate.

There was only one path that I remembered. Those unfamiliar names that you said... Leithanien, Laterano, Columbia...

I followed the names, followed your scent, not knowing to what end the path lead, and what I would do there... I just didn't want the tree to turn me into an empty husk.

But you chose to go into another tree.

I was filled with sorrow when I saw that you planted another Roosting Tree here.

When I felt the spread of decay... I thought you were going to repeat our mistakes.

Even if we couldn't save the Convallis's Roosting Tree... I wanted to do something for this one.

Even if all I could do was stay its decay and save you from sorrow for a while...

But when I saw it with my own eyes, I realized... there was nothing I could do for it... but it could save me.

The Roosting Tree only takes memories, but this one shares.

It shares the story of the Convallis, and of your journey... it makes me feel that I'm alive.

I'm sorry, Nasti. I had fused with the tree before I stopped the path from collapsing. Once again... I deceived you.

...That's why you're so lucid.

That's why the tree rejects my incantations. You rewrote its grammar and changed its operating logic.

It keeps you alive, and you keep it running, even though neither of you are what you used to be.

You're like a program that relies on a bug to keep running...

Bug...? Program...?

Like a withered tree that relies on a parasitic vine to remain standing.

It's not so bad, is it?

If this can keep it from withering, then I've finally done something useful, for you, for the Banshees, for Sarkaz.

I can bring it back to the Convallis... bring you back.

That would be pointless.

Why... why is the tree not responding to me?

That means it's working.

The outer casing of the device Nasti is carrying on her belt falls away with a crack. Paper tapes pour out, laying themselves out around her as though following an invisible blueprint, forming an elaborate and organized framework.

The tapes are filled with tiny holes that represent incantations, coming together to build Nasti's unique language and safeguard her unique rules, rejecting the anarchic spread of the branches.

I said I must understand, before I can put an end to this error.

Now, I do.

Nasti raises her pen and writes down a function, an incantation.

(Speaks in Sarkaz) Reconstruct.

No... the memories that the tree shared with me... they're disappearing...

Nasti... Nasti! What are you doing?!

Wiping the preloaded data in the tree. All that it shared with you was only temporary data for experimentation.

I know that you don't want to forget. But what you truly want to remember and retain are not these hotchpotch data put together for experiments.

Even if it's so...

Please, don't make the last thing I see be the sight of you destroying your life's work...