act48side

Let's start by playing it.

Holy shit, that sounds terrible!

Not good. No matter what I try, it only makes these dull sounds.

Is the harp's structure damaged? But this kind of hand-held harp doesn't have a sound box... The issue is probably elsewhere.

I've already tried adjusting the tension of the strings, but no effect. Could it be a problem with some delicate internal component? But I don't have any tools to take it apart, inspect it, and reassemble it right now.

*sigh*...

What a pain in the ass.

I'm thinking we go back to stealing the fake harp. Worst comes to worst, I'll help you steal it.

Stealing it doesn't mean having to traipse around Terra... Well, we can still do that if you want. We could go to your Pepe girl for some funding.

But now that the real harp is right in front of me, making that choice now would be like running away.

Pfah. We can call it a tactical relocation, if you prefer.

Ever since I was little... The heroes in the tales my father told me, they never ran away.

Just my bad luck, having to take part in this worthless funeral.

A useless idiot who squandered every chance the Padishah gave him. This mongrel destroyed our family's reputation.

Hey, not in front of the girl.

What does it matter? I said all that to the man himself! All he did was smile. Didn't even have the courage to talk back.

Couldn't fight worth a damn, had zero skill in managing the family estates. He said he could appraise things, but he couldn't tell good gems from bad. All he ever did was buy a pile of ancient Minoan books. Who knows if that was even worth anything?

All he did was think about useless things like that!

Maybe he had the sort of romantic soul the poets sing of.

Romantic? Save it. Would you rather have romance or jewels?

You're asking me? It's not like I'm a poet myself. To me, a giant jewel is an expression of romance.

The day my father was buried, the nobles of the city spoke ill of him in front of me and my mother.

Mother said we were an ancient Sargonian family, and that we had to maintain perfect decorum, so all I could do was maintain an appropriate expression on my face.

I knew what they said may have been right, because he was a people-pleaser through and through, someone who amounted to absolutely nothing.

But I... still didn't want to hear them judge him as they pleased.

The heroes of the Minoan tales my father told me were brave, never shirking from their duties.

They would meet all sorts of obstacles on their journey, but they were always determined, forever confronting the challenges they had to confront.

I never really knew why... My father, he was... a weak man. Why did he love these stories...?

This passion of his, why did it never change him, or how he treated people? I simply don't understand.

Look, don't shoot the messenger here, but maybe some puny humans yearn for the things they don't have.

...Maybe.

But I've always remembered how clear and steady his voice was as he told me these stories.

I love those stories too.

Those heroes... Gentle, strong, resolute... Always walking their own paths. That's how I imagine them.

There must be some greater... purpose, or ideal, otherwise I don't know what meaning there is in life...

'A hero must face fate bravely when it comes, and carry their own burden.'

Father's stories... always had lines like that...

Those tales... Siopi... the hero who... suffered in silence... keeping her secrets... Kereseira... Heraces...

I... I need to think of a way...

As she sits out in the field, racking her brains, Titi falls into slumber. She dreams, a dream where she is but seven or eight.

Her father was already ill at the time. With one cold hand, he held her, while with the other, he flipped through the tome atop his knee, slowly reciting from it.

He never bought her children's books, or chose books specifically for her. He simply went with what he liked, but it didn't matter, because Titi liked those stories too.

Within those tales, the silent hero Siopi does not speak a word for thirty years, all to keep a secret. Kereseira, refusing to perform for outlanders, hangs her harp atop a laurel tree.

Perhaps it is the filter of dreams at work, but her father seems to tower over her, the slightly stooped back of her memories now ramrod-straight, his voice one of undeniable confidence.

'All of us have the chance to become a hero. When your duty falls upon you, you need only take it up with courage, Titi.'

Really? Can I? How can you be so sure?

It has been so long since she last saw her father, and she wants to ask him these questions, but it is only a dream, and it refuses to bend to her will. In the end, she could not ask what she wished to ask.

The gentle light of the twin moons falls upon the pasture, and upon the girl.

The land is painted in silver. A breeze blows, curling up the girl's ribbons, lifting the burdenbeasts' headscarves.

Even the antiquated, marred harp takes on a gentle radiance under the moonlight.

A teardrop slowly falls from the corner of Titi's eye. It rolls into the bushes, soon gone from sight.

Falling asleep after all that yammering. She didn't even wake me up. Pfeh.

It seems the little girlie needs her beauty sleep too.

Hey, what's with the crying?

You're always all about that stiff upper lip, always saying you won't cry, and now you're letting me catch you in the act? I need to keep some evidence for later.

Terminal... Photo mode... How the hell do you use this thing?

Ah, press here. Hee-hee!

*sigh*... Nothing interesting about a crying girl.

Forget it.

I'll help you out, you crybaby. Call it payback for the free meals these past few days.

You wanted a miracle, right? Easy as proverbial pie!

(Chews) Moo...?

Some real nice weather we've got today!

Gotta herd the burdenbeasts to the mountain pastures first, then since it's such a lovely day, I better repair the fence—

What the... The burdenbeasts...

How'd all the burdenbeasts get out?!

Medication and suppressants that need to be administered on a regular basis, fresh from the Rhodes Island office.

I heard the Astynomos' Office has lifted the detention order on Xanthos and his apprentice, and does not intend to press charges against you for helping them escape.

Yes. I learned later that Lydia had guessed our plan and intentionally made things easy for me. Stands to reason she wouldn't pursue the matter.

But the three of you still intend to leave Athenius?

Yes.

Staying will only give my old classmate ideas. He needs to see more places, meet more people, do more things.

Yes.

I rarely see you so honest, Lykeion. I wouldn't have had three operators keep an eye on you, if you were like this when you were my patient.

Sorry for the trouble I caused...

Looks like Xanthos's actions at the First Temple had a considerable influence on you.

How about you wave the white flag and admit that Oripathy doesn't sap the heroic spirit at all?

In your dreams.

Talk about a hardhead.

You should go, or you'll miss the ferry. Xanthos's substitute is not as flexible about late passengers. He won't wait for you.

<i>Skata</i>! Let's go, Lykeion.

Thank you for the medicine, Kyría Athopoulou. May we meet again!

Hey, stay off the lawn! I just worked on it—

Well, I suppose two young men won't be nearly as destructive as a whole herd of burdenbeasts.

The flowers and grass they ruined haven't been cleaned up yet. Too bad about the blue boronia...

*sob*... *sob*...

Don't cry, Lydia...

If bad guys ruin your house like they ruined my old home...

We won't have a home to go back to. What would we do?

Don't worry. I'll never leave you behind, even if the house is gone, even if we're separated!

I know! Look for this garden if you're far away from home and don't know the way back.

Garden...?

Yeah! I'll plant blue boronia here, so that you'll know you're home when you see it.

And if you find the way first, mark it the same way, won't you?

Alright... it's a promise, Lena.

The public garden's lawn, once filled with flowers and herbs, is now filled only with burdenbeast footprints.

Even if it has temporarily lost its beauty, however, the blue petals remain in the soil.

So many blue boronias... you think of the past too, don't you?

Thank you, Lydia. I'm home.

I brought this year's apples, Kassandra!