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This is the true harp of Kereseira.

The priestess of Endymion reaches out her hand to brush away a corner of the fence running around the burdenbeast pasture, pulling out a few overgrown blades of grass, revealing a harp built into the fence itself.

The simple instrument has nearly become one with the pasture. Not far away, the burdenbeasts leisurely munch on the radishes the priestess had brought along, humming in satisfaction.

...Its coloration has darkened, the paint on the base is mottled, and while the decorative elements are still there, their surfaces have burdenbeast bite and hoof-polishing marks. The whole thing looks like an ornament in the corner of the field.

I shouldn't question you... but this... I find it rather hard to believe...

You are a specialist in your field, and no doubt have a repertoire of techniques and standards to confirm it. You may examine it in detail.

If you say so. The wood used for the harp's body is definitely from the firs that grow near the site of old Athenius. As for its design, it's simpler than the one I brought.

The strings are far too new, though. These are metal strings, only popularized in the last few years...

The original strings snapped a long time ago. I replaced them recently.

I had also tried using traditional beastgut strings, but... No matter the type, the result was always the same.

Legend has it that the day Old Athenius fell, Kereseira's harp fell silent, never to sound again.

Metal, beastgut, once a month I would come here to try and play it, but I could never make it sing again.

...However you put it, it's the harp Kereseira used—

Assuming what you say is true...

The Sargonians aren't occupying Minos anymore. Why keep it hidden in a field?

Why, when I suggested holding the ceremony at the First Temple, no, even before that, when the Astynomos agreed to conduct the exchange for this relic—You're a priestess, you must have known.

Why didn't you bring it out earlier?

A harp that doesn't sing is merely a beautiful piece of wood.

It can be a fence in a field, or a toy for the burdenbeasts, but what it cannot be... is the centerpiece around which to gather everyone together for a ceremony celebrating the completion of a temple.

This makes no sense. Even the fake we brought plays notes that move the soul.

Which is why it is merely a fake. As for the harp before us, if you don't believe me, try it for yourself.

You may touch it. No need for reverence. I understand your hesitation.

If you can make it sing... If you can create a miracle, then you may consider it the harp you brought along, and use it to complete your trade.

I make you this promise, as the current keeper of the harp.

I... Sorry, but I've got one more question: why me? Sure, I need the real harp, but the First Temple also needs it...

I am a priestess of Endymion Temple, Kyría Mashayer.

We are the hierophants of revelation. For the people, we interpret dreams, decipher visions, and divine the future.

Sometimes, we will offer some comforts of our own accord, but most times, we will be passive, deferring to established facts and heroic wills.

Words flow from my lips, but they are beyond my control. Like how the things appearing before my eyes are not necessarily a pleasure to see.

We might call coincidence fate, but when true fate approaches, all our witticisms and pontification lose their meaning.

Do I have the power to allow the sun to shine, the rivers to flow, to dictate all from high to low?

You carry the harp of Kereseira—counterfeit though it may be—and it has appeared in Athenius. This can only be an omen. The events of the past few days stand as proof.

But what is most important is your character. It is because it is you, and not your fellow countryman, that I expect your spirit to resonate with the harp.

...I...

First, try singing heroic odes to it. Try playing it. Give your heart to it, and speak to it.

Then, perhaps, you really will be able to make it sing, and bring about a miracle.

She's finally gone... All that mysterious claptrap, sheesh...

What, ready to play already? You really believe her?

She is a priestess of Minos, and Pallas's friend. I doubt she'd lie to me about this.

Also... If we really can bring the real harp to the ceremony at the First Temple... It'll sure beat running all over Terra with a fake harp strapped to my back.

It doesn't really matter if this is the 'true fate' the priests speak of, or if it's some kind of test from the Minoan people, but I have to give it a try.

And how're you going to do that? All that 'give your heart to it', 'bring about a miracle' baloney, what's your methodology here?

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.