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And so they raise their hands, manifesting a black crown.

The crowns overlap, recounting a tale of loss and regret.

At the same time, they also convey joy and hope to the other.

The past that was changed.

The present that does not exist.

The future that is still longed for.

Through Civilight Eterna, information on all that has happened in both worlds is transmitted between them bit by bit.

Until...

Nymph opens her eyes.

She can still remember going into the story from the Soul Furnace.

Then where is this place? How did she end up here? She's left confused and a little nervous.

Are you awake?

All her worries disappear when she hears a familiar voice and sees a figure roughly her own height.

Rest well, Miss Nymph. Don't worry, you'll be alright soon.

The battle is over.

This is a war the Sarkaz have never fought before.

The Sankta get into formation and slowly advance, the light atop their heads shining brighter than the sun.

The guns roar nonstop, and the gun-knight leading the procession boasts both a familiar and fear-inducing figure.

The land quakes with every step he takes.

A gleaming gun, a sturdy shield.

Like victory itself personified.

Sheathe your weapons, Teekaz.

Under the gun-knight's order, the Sankta uniformly stow away their firearms.

Sankta? Teekaz? Perhaps this story has gone beyond bizarre, to the point where even the storytellers are unable to understand their own thoughts.

Right as they fall into a daze, the gun-knight appears before them.

Welcome, my yet-blessed kin.

I am Buldrokkas'tee, guardian of the holy city.

Follow me. I will bring you back to Kazdel, where enlightenment is at hand, and you will no longer suffer in the dark.

The sincerity in his words seeps into the heart of every Sarkaz. Within this irresistible warmth is a benevolence, a soul exposed, a—

A heaven, a pair of wings with a halo, a light that illuminates all.

The gun-knight extends his hand.

He knows well how to treat his unblessed kin. They are lost, terrified.

Thus, he treats them with superhuman patience, accepts their slander and assaults, awaits their heartfelt confessions.

Until they return to Kazdel, and become part of the Teekaz once more.

This is his duty.

So he shall wait.

Mon3tr!

Follow me, Teekaz.

...Go, guardians. Protect our kin.

The Sankta's shots separate the Feline from the Sarkaz.

She skillfully dodges every shot, and looks towards Kazdel's holy guards awaiting in the distance.

Behind her emerge the Elders, the Ancients, and fallen angels from their hiding places.

To bring enlightenment to their yet-blessed kin.

To protect the unsullied Teekaz from being tarnished by The Law.

Their battle continues for eternity.

A debate is like a battle. From the Yanese weeping willows on the riverbanks, to the plains on Kazdel's outskirts, it has yet to reach a conclusion.

Thus, even though these west-bound travelers have seen the temple sitting on the edge of Kazdel, a step away from this story's ending, they still continue their search in their debates.

Among the Sarkaz who chose to travel with Qui'lon, Mudrock is the first to awaken to become Anasa.

She listens to the King of Sarkaz's teachings, and strictly follows every commandment. A black ring of enlightenment arises from her asceticism.

But this enlightenment does not free her. Rather, becoming Anasa brings Mudrock even more confusion—

Why does a black ring follow an Anasa's awakening? Why are the Sarkaz born into suffering?

Her heart turns calm, but the questions only grow.

She asks Qui'lon whenever she gets a chance, but his answers only leave her with even more questions.

Her journey of devotion has only just begun.

As a bridge between the revenants and the storytellers, Tin Man rarely involves himself with how a story develops, but this time he is also part of the narrative.

The suffering of the revenants strikes deep in his soul, so he wants to see if this illusory method might free him from his ancient and irreversible shackles.

Unfortunately, the practice does not seem to bring him any change.

Fortunately, he realizes his fetters have already vanished, since long before he entered the furnace.

How could he achieve enlightenment if he is already free? He returns to his position, watching the storytellers narrate the tale.

Though when faced with an interesting topic, he was willing to offer a few words, responding when the crowd refutes him before returning to silence.

Nymph sees every change. An Anasa's black ring is more an inner recognition than a transformation.

A Sarkaz seems to become an Anasa when they are willing to let go of the obsession with suffering hidden within the depths of their heart from birth.

However... when Nymph opens her own heart, using a key to open up and scrutinize her dust-covered past, she fails to find her own suffering.

Her pain seems to have gradually melted away as life in Kazdel improved.

Nymph does not necessarily want to become Anasa. To her, awakening does not grant any special ability. She simply wants to clarify one thing:

What exactly is this 'self-attachment' deep down in their hearts, one even a Djall has no inkling about?

She is vexed by this.

The enlightened King of Sarkaz enjoys the cool breeze under the trees, calmly accepting the changes of the land.

The wind walking by his ears, the water running along the river.

The soil being pushed by sprouts, the young flame lying dormant in his heart.

Time brings drastic change, and all things eventually evolve. The holy land is close at hand, but perhaps it may all be only ruin.

Everything in this world is fleeting. Perhaps there is no difference between your self and your discussions with your companions.

But Qui'lon continues to speak, to act. All that live do so in hardship, so if he can bring them enlightenment with just a few words—

The clouds disperse, and Qui'lon slowly rises to his feet.

One step before they complete their journey to the west. Will Kazdel—will Katsidiya be the end of their story? Qui'lon believes every one of his kin will have their own answer.

They pick up their belongings, and walk towards the Anasa's sacred land.

If the city can serve as an answer, then let it be so.

The key enters 'Amiya' along with Nymph's inspiration and wishes. Originium-like darkness wraps around her and disappears into nothingness.

I'm sorry, Amiya...

I don't think the ancestors will be happy with how this story got told...

What should we do, Mr. Tin Man?

Tin Man? Ermi? Qalaiša?

Nymph turns around but sees nobody.

The stories told, the paths tread, all faded to nothing.

Only the twinkling stars in the distance bear witness to their existence.

Amiya?!

The Endless Key that should have opened the lock of her heart reappears in mid-air. 'Amiya' takes it and returns it to Nymph.

Th-Thanks...

Nymph is certain that the one before her is still the embodiment of finality, here to put an end to everything.

But she is also still the Amiya that Nymph knows so well, with the same sorrows and kindness.

Nymph feels no fear in her presence.

She had even returned the key to her with that smile the Djall is so familiar with.

What is going on?

All Nymph remembers is that she had accepted the imagination of the ancestors, as she was running out of her own.

What happened in between?

Crack.

Huh?

Nymph hears a strange sound in her hand, like the cracking of an egg played backwards.

She looks down to find that the key in her hand had turned into a glowing cocoon, black shell fragments slowly climbing up its sides.

In the light reflected by the white cocoon and black shell, Nymph saw story after story: