level_act26side_05_end

I rarely prayed when I was in Laterano.

This is not to say that my faith was flawed then, or that I was more arrogant or lazier than I am now. Nor can I prove that I am more devout, humble or diligent now.

Because of the environment, though, there were many things that I thought were not necessary when I was in Laterano.

In Laterano, all that the people sought was right there. The Holy City's blessing was right there.

It was everywhere.

The Sankta knew it.

'Lord, I seek your forgiveness...'

'I swore to welcome all who asked for help, treat all of them with equal kindness, and help them to the best of my ability.'

'But I did not keep my word.'

'I can no longer answer the calls for help. I cannot ask them to stay, for we are short on supplies and cannot afford it.'

'I must choose between one group and another.'

'Choose, yes, I have made many choices.'

'But choosing is wrong. And I cannot bear any more wrongs.'

'I cannot go back on my faith, abandon one to save another, save the many and condemn the few.'

'Laterano... my absent home...'

'Why is Laterano the only home?'

'If betraying the high guidance is the path to what I believe in; if only by accepting the heathen can obstacles be truly cleared...'

'...All will be revealed soon.'

'My Lord, forgive my sins... if you truly exist.'

Who's there?!

Come, now, there's no need for violence.

I've been looking for you, Most Reverend Abbot.

Food is in short supply these days. I hope you don't mind.

Not that minding would do any good. At least it fills the stomach, even if the taste is nothing to write home about.

I don't need to eat right now.

Eat. Don't let it go to waste.

Gerald, leader of Sarkaz. You knew the two Liberi children.

Are you always so direct?

Don't call me a leader. I've seen the true King of Sarkaz. A humble hunter is not worthy of the title.

Why do you call yourself a hunter?

Because that's what I am. I hunt to feed myself and others.

I think you have an idea of what's going on here, even though you just arrived today.

Not the full picture.

You lead the group of Sarkaz that lives here. You were latecomers, but at one point you got along well with each other.

Yes. At one point.

Now, conflict has arisen, and it is likely to escalate, given the circumstances.

Yeah, which is why we're leaving.

Normally, you would have the advantage in conflict with the other inhabitants.

There are few able combatants amongst them, which is one of the reasons they took you in.

But Laterano's intervention has taken away your martial advantage. Leaving is the logical choice.

You're good with those logical conclusions.

But I learned a long time ago—

Our lives are not logical—and I get reminders about that all the time.

The candlelight flickers.

The aging Sarkaz casts his gaze on the wall. The shadows reflected upon it have become blurred, one fading into another.

We didn't choose to leave because we couldn't live anymore.

Before I came here, I never thought we would have a life like this.

There were dangers, there was conflict, but we were accepted, we built our own homes, worked for our daily bread...

That all might seem normal to you, but it was beyond our wildest dreams.

What is the true reason you chose to leave?

It's simple.

We see the writing on the wall, just like you do. The rift can no longer be repaired. All that's left is to watch things get worse.

Today it's just an argument, an accusation, but what about tomorrow?

Violent confrontation between the natives and the Sarkaz is likely.

Today's fire was a warning.

Leave now, and we remain friends to be missed.

But if we allow ourselves to be burdened by attachment and fail to make a decision...

We will become the Sarkaz that the rest of the world knows—a band of vagabonds who bring conflict with them wherever they go, who are not welcome anywhere, who have no place to call home, and no place to go.

That's just prejudice.

To us, it's a fact.

The Sankta have Laterano.

But where do the Sarkaz belong to?

It's time.

It may take a while for the little ones to get used to life without a roof over their heads, but it'll happen.

As for those two children...

You knew them.

...I know a little about where they came from.

The people at the abbey and Raimund don't.

Very few do.

I guess they're wanderers who came from the outside. Their family could be dead, or they could have abandoned their children.

Stefano has taken in other wanderers before, but this place could hardly accommodate any more inhabitants these days.

But someone secretly took the children in.

You know who it was.

Few secrets can truly be kept forever, especially now, when every single grain counts.

Hyman took them in. She set aside a part of her own rations each day, and stole from the hunted game a few times. I covered it up for her when I discovered it.

Even then, life isn't easy for them.

Where is she now?

That's what I'm wondering. She should have come back with game today, but I haven't heard from her.

She's missing. We don't know where she is.

Whatever happened, I hope she doesn't do anything stupid.

Missing? No, this isn't right.

What do you mean?

Hyman would not allow the children to go out, in order to keep their existence a secret. Erendel and Estara's appearance at the sacrarium was not an accident.

Someone brought them outside.

Where is Hyman's home? I want to see it for myself.

The battered wooden hut was a shelter in the storm for the young children.

Abandoned by adults who lacked the means to raised them, they wandered the wastelands and were picked up by a Sarkaz on death's door.

The battered hut was leaky and cold, but there were clean clothes, even if a little tattered, and food, even if the taste was not great.

The walls did a poor job of keeping the cold out. They could gather all the fabric in the house and wear the thickest winter clothes they had, and they would still shiver at night.

But it was home. Mamma was there.

That was where the children felt safe.

The unexpected visitors do not disturb their soft breathing.

They remain slow and steady.

A twisted shadow is cast over the children.

(Incomprehensible whisper))

Hungry... eat...

Mm...

(Rolls over)

Eat, eat...

Cold...

The misshapen monster murmurs incomprehensibly.

The stationary shadow begins to move.

In the moonlight, the monster's powerful tail reaches forward. It brushes the children's soft cheeks, leaving behind a wet scent, then—

It falls into the soft, meek little 'prison.'

Still sleeping soundly, Estara and Erendel instinctively lean towards the comforting scent.

Cold...

Zzz... zzz...

Mamma...

Oh... hungry... eat, eat... cold...

Cover... cover...

Cold... cover...

Eren... Sara...

What have you done, Your Excellency?

It is improper to eavesdrop on a confession, Reverend Executor.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I wasn't listening to your confession.

Of course, you also know that's not what I'm talking about. Nor am I asking who you sent to ring the bell, how you plan meals for the monastery...

I'm asking about the smell coming from the sacrarium up there.

You can tell by the smell...? Is the Griffin Arsenal still in business?

As far as I know, it still supplies practice equipment for various educational institutions.

Including firebombs.

...Only the Holy City endures.

I feel your pain. If only Federico learned subtlety and discretion, right?

Still, it's just a corner of a building. It's far from over. Everyone can return to Laterano safely. What do you think?

You're talking to the wrong man.

I taught everyone how to dismantle the abbey's old weapons and make use of them. Fuel is short, while the winter is long.

But if you think I instigated the fire... I won't argue.

Come now, don't talk like that. Why don't we sit down and have a chat? Find a solution that we can all accept?

Chat? Solution? Ha.

Is there a solution that doesn't involve turning my back on a human being? I already explained my convictions. Would you truly accept a compromise?

A group of refugees sought sanctuary at the monastery seven years ago during a great drought. I closed the doors to them.

They stumbled, almost crawling, back to the wastes. It wasn't the first time I saw a sight like that.

But I swore before the Lord that it would be the last.

Am I wrong in my convictions, Executor?

No, of course you're right. I understand your pain.

There are limits to Laterano's power.

The laws are imperfect.

You...

I think, and therefore, I doubt.

For all its imperfections, though, Laterano is good enough for me. I don't want to see her peace and harmony to be threatened by anyone or anything.

I'm sure you can understand that.

It would be easier for me to persuade my colleagues if we reach an agreement here, and if you refrain from causing any complications.

My mission would be easier if none of you lifted a finger.

Just because not everyone can go back to Laterano, doesn't mean that no one should.

Laterano is to you as this place is to me.

There is no need for any further talk between us.

I ask you to leave me to my confession.

Raimund? It's getting late. You should get some rest.

...Clément.

I just had something to do.

I'm really sorry about today...

Don't think too much about it. We're leaving anyway.

...Right.

When is that...?

Depends on Gerald. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning, no matter what.

Probably after Matins.

Matins...

Oh! Do you know where Fortuna and Delfina are?

I was going to... well, I was looking for them.

Did... Gerald not tell you?

What? What are you talking about?

Delfina... she's gone.

Good... bye...

Was that a word of farewell? Or am I mistaken?

You possess basic language skills. It seems my previous assessment was incorrect.

You... are...

Sank... ta.

Indicating a certain level of sapience and cognitive thinking.

Communication appears possible, despite deviation of physical form.

Unknown level of contagion. Unclear if movement patterns change over time. Unknown level of danger.

Notarial Hall regulations permit elimination of potential threats of unknown danger level in order to safeguard the rights of the citizenry.

No sign of resistance. No apparent will to survive.

I'll try to make this quick and painless.

The monster stands in place.

The path before it is blocked. It cannot go back to the past behind.

Justification, anger, pain, all consumed within the no-longer-human body, before it can manifest itself on the hardened hide.

Before an obstacle it cannot surmount, the monster loses the strength to fight, but cannot let go of its last bit of pride.

It stands, silent.

Like a statue.

Wait!

Executor, no!

Ge..rald...

Hyman... I had half a mind to start praying like Stefano, praying that the monster the Executor was talking about wasn't you.

It was the logical hypothesis. It has now been confirmed.

Move aside, Gerald.

No.

You're interfering with official business.

I know. You can point your gun at me, pull the trigger, bump off a Sarkaz criminal. You won't get any complaints from me.

But I can't let you kill Hyman.

...Explain.

I can't give you a 'correct' or 'proper' explanation.

All I can say is—

Look behind Hyman. There are two children sleeping beyond that door.

Children...

My, children...

They have no idea what happened. They're full of hope that you will find their mother.

They trust you.

The Sarkaz's rough, weathered hand presses against that of a Sankta.

There is no brotherly intimacy, no trust or understanding between friends.

But the Sarkaz's hand presses the Sankta's.

The muzzle of the gun drops, inch by inch.

Don't do it, Executor.

Don't do it, unless you've reached a conclusion that you're satisfied with.