horn

Lend me your comms terminal there.

Looks to me like you really are off the deep end. You're just going to trot on out of our base's deepest parts? With nothing but a knife?

Stay put! You're going to jump out the window, aren't you? Like I'll let you—

Did the Regent... finally agree to meet me?

Yes. They all have surely witnessed Dublinn's might now... even if both we and they are well aware, Dublinn and the Sarkaz Royal Court cannot truly ally.

Hmph. Obviously, The Leader's had this planned well in advance—

—What's that noise?!

Is there a raid? But the Sarkaz wouldn't... I mean, their Lord agreed to treat Dublinn like guests!

Wait, is it the Victorian Army out of their depth again?

No, no, no, they've got barely any left alive. Why would they provoke us by themselves? And Londinium's top people might've never even witnessed Dublinn's fires before...

Beautiful Arts... May you sleep peacefully within your own blast.

I heard everything you said. From the very first joke you made about them, I was intent on making sure you'd never open your mouth again.

But you're right, I might not be completely sane at this point. Nor do I know if reopening my scars again and again is clearing my mind at all... or if it's plunging me even deeper.

Wh-What's going on? The whole floor...

There was an explosion inside the building!

Send a team in to rescue! I'll report to the Captain!

(Surrounding patrols have been drawn to the explosion site, all as projected.)

Now, this is an assignment... with only one person taking part.

The plan of action, escape from here.

The backup plan, put my life on the line against Dublinn.

An assignment I won't fail no matter what. Now there's a reassuring thing.

—2nd Tempest Platoon Leader Horn, commencing.

Captain Mandragora, reporting in!

There's been an explosion at the old tobacco factory! Apparent cause was dust buildup in the ventilation!

What's to panic about? Is that beyond you lot to handle? I thought you'd seen plenty of explosions at this point.

No... Captain. You probably remember, but that Victorian soldier was being held there too.

She died?

Er, the soldiers we sent to rescue at the scene found she'd, seemingly... escaped.

Useless... bloody, useless, idiots!

And you told me she went mad? I KNEW she was faking it... She'd never be broken so easily!

I just knew it... The Sarkaz wouldn't treat us as an enemy, Londinium's army won't have known to mind us yet... It has to be her. She's the only one who'd pull an attack on us!

Hmph. Where's she think she can run to, though?

...3rd Squad, blockade around the warehouse...

Call Walter... Wasn't he the one on guard today? 7th Squad, send two people to search for Walter at the explosion site...

She can't have gone beyond this block in this short a time...

Completely right.

With a blockade and sweep like this, I've got nowhere to flee.

Who's there?

No, there's no one else here. Those footsteps are from the other side of the wall. A few Dublinn fighters who haven't seen me yet.

(But someone's been watching this place the whole time.)

She left tracks. Most likely she went towards the food processing plant.

Don't let her hide in there! Shut all the doors!

That's untimely.

Walter's dead.

And his comms terminal. It's been taken too.

Deactivate all clearance for the guard team's comms!

Terminal's gone silent. They're on full alert.

Over there! Someone's climbed up! The searchlights!

We'll come for her from the roof! Set up crossbows around the sides!

Hold on...

The factory door's... open?

Reporting in. Situation normal on this end.

The entrance—the bloody entrance—didn't we just shut—

Urgh—

Seems it wasn't negligence on Dublinn's part. Someone else opened this door.

The soldier dodges behind a wall, vigilantly scanning all around her. The damp factory air is silent as a throat gripped shut, not a hint of movement to be felt.

Like someone has cut the wind away altogether.

This isn't her first time sensing that peculiar gaze. In that claustrophobically cramped room, her nerves on high alert had picked something up too.

You there, watching me, who are you?

No voice replies. Only the scent of Originium Arts that flit past the entrance just now convinces her someone else is here.

(—No, they're watching the entirety of Dublinn.)

(Is it a Sarkaz? The will of the occupant upon the throne, surveying the bedlam of Londinium?)

The entrance is open!

I found her! She's in there!

(One squad of soldiers, coming down from upstairs. The door to this safe passage is about to be broken through.)

(At least three crossbows are aimed at the platform outside this window.)

(But there's countless tubes and containers here. I can bide my time and hide for a while. I have more patience than these Dublinn soldiers.)

(And Dublinn's been allowing this factory to operate normally so they can restock their fighters' daily supplies.)

(Which means this factory should have an exit that gets used at fixed times... leading to a logistics transport way in the sublayer. I can look for an opportunity to open it.)

As she puts together her escape plan, she catches the sound of the gateway slowly creaking open, coming from below.

I thank you... unshowing stranger.

The soldier's hidden right in here?

Where are you? Where do you think you're running? Your Army's gone from existence, toy soldier!

You won't make it even one step out of this bloody Sudean place.

You show your head in any controlled district, and those devils'll make Arts skewers out of you on their blades.

Come out. I've got your best interests at heart.

You go out there, and you'll see just how much more bloody miserable it ends for the Victorian soldiers who don't listen. It gets worse than what happened to your little squad of friends, you bloody believe me.

You...

Creeping along the shadows towards the transport way, Horn suddenly stops in her tracks. Dublinn's Caster stands with her back to Horn, right there under the corridor lights.

In her hand, Horn clutches a rapier stolen from the side of a Dublinn soldier. If the Feline activates her own Arts in time, then the instant Horn thrusts, her fragile sword will shatter against rock.

But if the Caster doesn't react in time—

As Horn is gripping her sword, Mandragora turns and faces in her direction.

March 28th

I had the same dream again. I was running through the drainage layer, echoes chasing my footsteps in the dark. I dreamt again and again of the murdered soldiers, so many of whom were tortured beyond recognition. It's near-impossible for me to relay to those who loved them the circumstances in which they left this mortal coil. But the most frightening thing is... inside my head, bit by bit, their faces are blurring.

It's at these times that I'm glad for this memorandum. I can look back page by page, read their names, and copy them again letter by letter.

I've dreamt of taking my revenge too, but every time I charge at Dublinn, or the Sarkaz crowd, I wake up with a start, like now. I often can't help but wonder, if I'd run Dublinn's Caster through that day, how things would've turned out—whether I would feel freed, no matter what the case may be... but for my sanity, I have to stop such thoughts then and there.

Closing my eyes to rest has become a form of duty, and so has living.

Faced with Londinium in this state, and even Victoria as a whole, I have no idea what else I can do aside from fight what battles lay in front of me, but I still—I have to hold onto hope, even if it takes all I have just to stand here.

Lieutenant, you're awake.

I am. I just came to. Good timing; it's almost time to relieve the guard on duty. What is it?

No... I just couldn't asleep, and I saw you had a candle lit here by chance.

—Sorry, did I interrupt you while you were notetaking?

It's alright, it wasn't anything too important.

Ah, that's a relief.

Lieutenant, have I ever mentioned before? I used to live in Sudean, in a little alley behind a textiles factory.

Our family had a habit of leaving a candle lit on the windowsill that faced out, since there was no light in the alley, and they wanted to let whoever got off work at night see as they went.

Thanks to your candle, I felt for a moment like... things weren't so gloomy after all.

In previous times, I would've said reminiscence was no good thing.

But now, I think there's only a clinging onto the state Victoria should be in, the lives the Londiniers should have, that lets us fight on in the city's darker corners.

Though it's a bit of an unrealistic ideal. Hah.