level_act18d3_06_end

The girl closes her eyes and lets go as she is told.

The force gripping onto her leg quickly disappears. She can hear all sorts of tiny trinkets splashing into the water. Just before she herself touches the surface of the sea, a force pulls her upward and sends her back to dry land again.

—She lands face first.

*cough* *cough* *cough*.

It's not easy to control the strength and angle while I'm dealing with a person.

I-It's okay. I'm fine.

(Smells herself)

My bleeding's stopped.

Why are they still so excited? Have there always been so many Sea Terrors here?

Are these the same monsters from last night?

More or less.

I've never seen them before.

You should stay away from this place for a couple of days. Now go back.

Singer.

Stop tugging my skirt... You aren't a child.

I just want to say... I think I know what it is that I want now. I want to hear you sing.

Oh...

And that's because... I don't know what songs are like. I heard you humming in your sleep, but I didn't understand it.

Alright.

Singer, will you do it? Is this what it means to make a promise?

More or less.

(Frowns)

My harp.

Huh? Oh yeah, singer, where did your harp go?

I'll go look for it...

Okay. I'll help.

So does this mean you'll come back with me? G-Great!

Is this something to be so happy about?

Hey, Drywall, good morning!

Sheetmetal...

Oh yeah, where did Sheetmetal go? You never go anywhere without each other.

Sheetmetal.

Are you looking out... to the sea?

Does this mean... It was Sheetmetal who got the red seashell last night?

*Sigh*...

Woodframe, my condition got worse.

My chest is bloating like it's about to blow.

I don't even want to eat. Leave me alone.

*Sigh*...

Singer, welcome to our home sweet home again!

Ugh... agh...

Your grandmother...

Grandma Petra is still sleeping. She's been lying down ever since we got back last night.

She's probably tired, getting so worked up like that. I didn't expect her to run out and talk to the Inquisitor like that. She was different.

You're right. That was very amazing. She fought off the Inquisitor.

Hmn... ha...

She fought off.. the Inquisitor?! Singer, if the Inquisitor catches you saying that, she'll be really mad.

I don't care if she does.

But if she wants another go...

She won't come to you looking for trouble again, right?

It doesn't matter to me whose trouble she's looking for.

(Strokes case)

Oh, yeah, why don't we go look for your harp?

Hold on.

Eh?

You got stuff on your head.

Whoa! All this green, slimy stuff... W-What is this?

That's seaweed.

Did it get on my head when I tripped?

Probably.

Is this stuff... useful in any way? Looks kinda like seagrass. Can I use it as bedding once it's dried? Grandma Petra's back is hurting her, so this will come in handy.

Give it to me.

Take some seashells and use them to grind up these seaweeds. Don't wash off the slime.

Add enough seawater to completely cover the seaweeds. Put it all in a jar and seal it up, then wait half a year.

You can drink it once the liquid's greenish color has faded. That's when it's fermented.

Singer...?

What's wrong? Is there something you didn't understand?

No... I just don't think you've ever talked to me this much in one go.

Yeah.

Don't throw away your seashells either. Wash them and lay them out to dry. You can use them to drink alcohol and such.

Alcohol? What's that?

It's written right there. This place used to be a bar, a place for alcohol.

So this word means alcohol!

Alcohol can supposedly bring happiness and help us forget all our worries.

Does it work?

Not at all...

It does taste pretty good, though.

Did you drink this stuff often back home...? Back in Ægir?

Not exactly.

I would drink something similar before dances.

It must have been very fun. Oh, I get it now! Alcohol doesn't bring happiness, but we drink alcohol when we're happy!

Does everyone outside, uh, drink alcohol? Is everyone out there always so happy?

Not necessarily.

I get it. They definitely aren't as happy as I am now. Singer, thanks for teaching me how to make alcohol. I really wanna drink it with you right now.

Your hand movement is wrong.

If you grind it like that, it's not going to grind up very well. Try a different angle. Use the sharpest point and follow the seaweed's pattern.

Control your rhythm and your breathing... Make your hand and your whole body one with the sea breeze that's brushing against your skin.

Like that—One stroke, and it's shredded.

You are staring at me. Do you still want another go? Now that there's only one of you, it'll be over very quickly.

No... I don't think I will.

This is yours.

Hmm?

This is my harp.

Sheetmetal found it.

He saw you drop it outside last night.

Oh, that's great! Singer, now we don't need to go look for your harp!

He brought it back to our house... and... and he told me to give it to you.

That's all he said before he left...

Thanks.

Huh? Oh...

(Plucks strings)

Huh...? This melody... You were humming it while you were asleep last night.

It's always in my head.

Is this a song that you and your partner used to sing?

We have a lot of songs like this back home. We sing... as a way to talk to each other.

When I left, the singing was gone too. I'm all by myself, and this song is all that I have left.

No wonder this song sounds so sad.

(Plucks strings)

Singer, remember our promise?! You got your harp back. Does that mean you can sing for us now?

We're all waiting. Right, Grandma Petra?

Mmn... Uhh...

Grandma probably can't talk today. She would sing along with you if she could.

Ah... Ahhh...

Singer, Grandma wants to hear your song.

Alright.

Clad in her red dress, the wandering singer sits in the middle of the group. She closes her eyes as her fingers stroke the strings of her harp.

The notes and the lyrics flow out from her naturally as she plunks away at her harp strings, permeating every corner of the rundown bar. The melody twists and expands in the air as though this is where it belongs.

A hunter is walking on seacoast way♪

With homeland left a mile behind, his path lies ahead♪

From his forebears and children, he was torn♪

Into the seas his lover was swept away, floating in the deep, dead♪

I noticed a change in your expression. Did you feel something, perhaps?

Nothing.

Not a surprise. Your reflexes are still rather slow. Look at the water before you. The fluctuation of the level, the frequency of the waves, and the movement of its luster. All of these are information.

It'll be high tide soon. We should go.

A hunter is walking on seacoast way♪

With homeland left a mile behind, they must lament and pray♪

There is no end to his path♪

The road ahead is shrouded in gray♪

She's singing.

How could she sing in front of these people in this rundown house?

And... they are listening to her.

The ones who hang their heads are still looking straight at the floor. The ones who don't speak are still silent as ever. Her singing has no way to reach their cold, hard husks, but their eyes...

Do they understand it somehow?

A hunter is walking on seacoast way♪

The singer stops her fingers, but the harmony formed by her harp and voice together does not simply disappear because of that.

It yet remains with the wanderer herself, creating an open seam in the thick dust.

A few sprouts land in that crevice just as others begin to sprout from it.

Grandma Petra?

What's wrong?

She... fell asleep.

She never sleeps so peacefully. Most of the time, she starts screaming the moment she closes her eyes, grasping at nothing.

I thought she'd want to dance when she heard you sing. I mean, she's always chirping about how she wants to dance.

Drywall?

I'm going to die. There's seawater in my eyes... It's salty. Not tasty at all.

Whoa... Are you... crying?

Crying? What is that?

It's a kind of emotion that flows out from the deepest depths of your body...

It is...? I don't think I understand.

Singer, I like your songs. You don't like to talk, but you have so much to tell when you are singing.

Could you sing it again? I want to hear you talk about lots more.

(Plucks strings)

The sea breeze envelops the singer's fingers and wafts into her nostrils. The smell here has changed.

It's now high tide.

Food...

We'll have food again...

To the beach.

Priest!

The masses rush outside.

The melody of her song has stopped.