level_act29side_07_end

The Ge—the doctor will be here soon.

*cough*, *cough*...

Are you crying, Viviana?

I don't think I have the strength to wipe away your tears anymore.

You're too kind, too gentle...

I often think back to the day we first met.

I had come from Zwillingstürme to Sturmland just to take you out of Werner's spire. You huddled in the back seat, holding onto your tiny suitcase and leaning gently against my chest.

I was wondering: Was this little girl scared to leave her father? *cough* Scared of life in foreign Kazimierz?

But no. You were just trying to stay low, so no one would see your horns and cause trouble for Werner.

Even though it was so late at night, and no one would have paid attention to a car leaving the great spires of the Kurfürst.

You were so little back then...

I don't remember that.

Nein. You do.

You can lament, you can blame, you can mourn, you can regret, you can rage... *cough* All that, and only then can you...

Please... don't leave me...

You're the only one I have left.

Let me 'see' you... one last time.

I'm right here.

I'm so glad I can't see the expression on your face right now...

You deserve a better life than this, Viviana... If there really is one...

Tall as the empress's tower is, it is not endless. Or so she believes.

The spiral staircase extends before her, but direction itself seems to be torn apart by some unknown, irreversible power. She keeps moving forward, but she can't make any progress.

Viviana is tired, and when one is tired, it is easy to notice what one has lost.

Not unlike the twenty-two years of her life.

Are you lost?

Viviana looks up.

She sees a young Caprinae woman, whose face is filled with curiosity and concern.

Sorry, I must have bumped into you in my hurry.

It's alright.

Are you okay? You look very pale.

I'm fine... I was just thinking about something.

Do you know this place well?

Ja, I live nearby.

Where does this lead?

Didn't you come here on your own?

Where it leads is entirely up to where you want to go.

Take care, now. I'll be going.

Where I want to go...

Viviana's fingers brush the handrail next to her. Ochre paint covers the emblem of Urtica under a thick layer of dust, so bright it could have been painted yesterday.

The Witch King.

She recalls the historical novel <i>Die Glut</i>.

When the Witch King first ascended to the throne, he gave his builders a blueprint of the Genesis Spire, a monument so great, the likes of which Leithanien had never seen.

Simply gazing upon the plans was enough to make one short of breath, as though standing before its foundation.

The Witch King was scrupulous about every last detail of the Genesis Spire, down to the materials and paints used for every fence and railing, which must never fade in color.

It would become the sole symbol of Leithanien.

Has the Genesis Horn fully descended?

But that woman just now...

Viviana comes to a startling realization.

The Caprinae who just passed by was like one of the young people living on the outskirts of Zwillingstürme. In the prime of her life, busy and tireless, her voice emanating the warmth of a fresh cup of tea.

She should not be here. Neither at the empress' spire, nor in the Genesis Horn.

Viviana turns around. No one is there.

What about you, Viviana?

Why are <i>you</i> here?

Why did you come back to Leithanien? Why did you leave?

You couldn't say goodbye to your father. You couldn't return to the spire of your childhood, that tower you memorized along with the rain and wet moss.

You watched Cora die in your arms. You couldn't take her away from this dusk-scorched city.

What can you stop? What can you change? What can you possibly accomplish?

If the Witch King isn't dead, if he sits at the end of this endless spiral, would you beg him for enlightenment, just like those fanatics?

It really does sound a bit absurd.

The staircase stretches on and on... until Viviana sees a door in an inconspicuous corner.

A tiny, familiar door.

Attempting to turn left at each intersection, to ensure progress through continuous deviation.

Unsuccessful.

Attempting to descend.

Failed to reach bottom of staircase after forty-five minutes. Attempt unsuccessful.

Federico has spent a long time on the staircase of the empress's spire. He stops in his tracks after yet another failed attempt.

At the most basic level, Arts are a rigid form of order.

The Twin Empresses would not have hired a mentally ill architect to design their Spires, and no artificer could have recreated such orderless architecture.

My judgment was impaired due to my experience at Ludwigs-Universität's Sonata Spire... The distortion occurring within this tower is unrelated to Arts.

Has the Genesis Horn covered the entire spire, causing changes in reality?

Arturia's music is also absent...

After a brief pause, Federico pulls out his shotgun and fires in front of him.

The sound of the gunshot fills the space, but the projectiles vanish right before his eyes, as though wiped away by some formless something.

Herr Sankta!

As he hears the sound, Federico sees the projectiles again, now moving with a slow and clear trajectory, like a rock skipping across the water. Ripples spread, and everything beneath the surface is revealed.

Phew—

Put away your gun, please!

This is...

Put away your gun, please!

I do not require you to repeat yourself.

I've heard something similar from everyone I met on this mission.

Of course you did. This is Zwillingstürme, not Laterano.

Loris always liked to talk about Laterano. He said that when the Sankta go out, they 'bang' any buildings they don't like, and 'bang' the buildings they <i>do</i> like even more eagerly.

Jan and I used to think he was making things up because he didn't like his hometown very much.

Anyway, look around you.

Zwillingstürme is an old city. Any brick or tile could have a score or a poem etched on it by a drunk artist from a century ago.

This is...

Federico quickly assesses the sight before him.

If this place is the Genesis Horn, where the Witch King's legacy is kept, Arturia's final destination...

Then it is difficult to believe that his bullets could have broken through some sort of barrier and brought him here from that strange staircase.

Federico examines the woman before him. The anger on her face is no more and no less than that of a citizen performing her civic duty to stop a rude tourist.

Do you understand me, Herr Sankta? Put away your gun... please.

Excuse me.

We are clearly not on the streets of Zwillingstürme, but you seem unaware of this.

You have mentioned a Loris and a Jan. Assuming you are referring to Loris Bordin and Jan Schüler...

Please, tell me your name.

Yulia... Yulia Schüler.

This is inside the Genesis Horn? The Witch King's resting place?

But the Witch King...

Stop looking around, little angel.

You caught up... I'm not surprised.

I wish I could say the same. The last thing I expected was for you to actually cling to a Lich's thread and be voluntarily Exiled.

So where is the Witch King?

Dead. What else?

No, I should be able to sense him. His Arts, his emotions, his will... if I just...

Arturia looks around. It is a space without boundaries, defined by only indescribable flows of light like the respiration of the void.

She steadies her cello, puts her hand on the strings, and sets her bow.

Silence.

Bow touches string, but the vibration produces no sound. The motion familiar to her, so natural, has lost all meaning here.

Finally noticed?

I can't play.

I've... lost my music.

Is it because of the Genesis Horn? Or the 'rules' of the Witch King?

Arrogant. Foolish. Witless. That petty halo over your head is shedding light on your pale face. I wish it could do the same to your brain.

Where do you think you are right now?

Inside Herkunftshorn's coffin? A treasure trove of the Pashas of Sargon? A witch's magic pocket from a Victorian fairy tale?

Herr Fremont...

(Sarkaz) 'The beginning and end of all threads.'

As though muttering to himself, Fremont speaks an unfamiliar word in Sarkaz.

Or maybe the name he gave it would be more in line with your understanding.

(Leithanian) Desolate Domain.

Kargereich?

What you're seeing is the other side of the 'real,' a dimension always in flux. Any rule, any reality disintegrates before it in an instant.

Through the long eons, the Liches have caught only glimpses of it, and despite Herkunftshorn's life's work, the best he could manage was to create a tiny, volatile bubble in this infinite void.

Arturia does not respond to Fremont's anger. She simply touches the strings again. The unbroken hush.

There is no disappointment or fear, only confusion.

An emotion that only flashes across Arturia's face before she looks up and smiles.

Perfect.

So the Witch King didn't prolong his will through mystical arts, but instead created his own retreat in Kargereich.

This pocket still exists, so he must be here... It's just that there's still a ways to go to reach his throne.

...Aren't you curious what happens if you're Exiled again in Kargereich?

Arturia realizes that the shadows are growing.

The Lich's witchcraft had been moving while she was speaking. Thread-like shadows grow into thick vines around Fremont, merging into the ambiguous colors of the ground, and begin to come at her.

Death and extinction. Decay in its full bloom.

...I still haven't found my answer.

I have to rediscover my music. I must perform the Witch King.

I can't...

...die yet.

She is perfectly willing to meet her end performing. But what she can't accept is to fade into silence, with the truth so near.

The shadows crack, and a gray rain rushes up to engulf all.

Der Wiener Uhrturm rings!

Go, to the Genesis Spire! The performance begins—

New music, new Arts... protecting Vedunien against Catastrophe and the cannons of Gaul...

Herk... Herkunftshorn...

Reality is unstable here.

Was it caused by the Exile?

No, it was like this before we entered Kargereich. Herkunftshorn's power is diminishing.

...The Genesis Horn's collapse is accelerating.

Argh—!

I'm... still alive?

The melody... it's gone...

She clung to the one string of sound distinct from the environment, and escaped the threads of Exile.

Now, the melody has become tangible, emerging from the void and descending before her.

It has taken human form.

(Unintelligible sounds)

You're...

Was it your melody that saved my life?

(Unintelligible sounds)

Were you... a spire caster of the Witch King?

Th-The Witch King?!

How could you think that?!

...I'm sorry.

Careful, keep your voice down.

Is someone after you?

You're hurt... stay put and hide here.

Don't worry, I know this place well. No one will find it.