level_act29side_10_end

The Elafia sits with her legs crossed, her back against a desk. She places a pillow on her knees and spreads open a book upon it, the candlelight illuminating her drooping head.

The girl reads in undisturbed silence.

Then she raises her head from the page to meet Viviana's gaze.

You don't seem very surprised to see me, Vivian.

...I saw your shadow in the doorway, and knew it was you.

Ja. You've spent so long observing the shadows in this tiny room, lit only by candlelight.

What are you reading?

'The Last Knight.'

I'm currently at the—

Third-to-last chapter. Behind the nameless knight is a huge and lonely lighthouse. The relentless waves push him and his steed Rocinante back.

But they roar as one, and towards the huge waves, as dark as night...

They charge.

Eek! No spoilers please.

You'll spend a night reading that paragraph over and over again, until you fall asleep on the floor with the pillow in your arms. Until Mutti returned in the middle of the night to blow out the candles.

Huh? How do you know?

Of course she knows—the room, the posture, the book...

This is her memory, after all.

Viviana retreats into the doorway.

Are you leaving?

I'm sorry, Vivian.

I have questions about my life, and I need to look for the answers.

Maybe, just maybe, there's still time to open one last door.

How many have you opened already?

More than a hundred? I've already lost count.

I just want to... find a better possibility.

Oh. And what if you still can't find one?

Is 'better' something clearly defined, like a math problem?

In those doors you've entered, maybe Mutti and Vati got to live in peace together for longer, without anyone disturbing them, or maybe Mutti left us a few years later than she did.

If you think about it, how do you know you haven't already come across a 'better' answer?

So why do you still carry so much regret?

I...

How can you be sure you'll ever find one in the first place?

And what happens even if you do? It won't change your past. What's meant to happen has already happened.

Vati always said that if he'd waited at Marigold Alley for just ten more minutes, maybe he could have met with Mutti, and everything would have turned out differently.

'A pity fate does not afford us a chance to start over.'

But even if he did meet her, he'd still have to leave anyway, right? The story wouldn't change in any way, aside from giving Mutti one last chance to cry and say goodbye.

Or maybe you're actually <i>hoping</i> you won't find a better answer? Because then you could tell yourself that this was the best of all possible worlds?

I just don't get it. Aren't you thinking the same way that Vati did?

Vivian...

I'm going back to my book.

You're disappointed, aren't you?

You should go. There's still time to open the next door.

The sound of collapse approaches.

Viviana turns around. The line of doors collapsing in succession scores in her eyes, like dominoes toppling into one another, or the fireworks in her memories going off all night long.

The rumbles travel from afar, reaching the tallest spire in Sturmland.

Her father seldom comes here. As the Kurfürst, he has to receive an endless line of visitors on festival nights, and her maid mother will be busy serving them until the early hours of the morning.

She would huddle in the corner of a room, just like now, and shield the sounds outside with books.

'Once the waves washed away, once glory and life together faded.'

'The world and all its beings fell from zenith to nadir, becoming dust.'

'Once the forge belched its flames, once Catastrophe descended, once families and old friends alike forsook the soul.'

'The last knight upon this great land, all alone, faced the swells as dark as night and began to charge.'

Back then, she had yearned for this so much, so full of courage.

She had told herself not to be weak, to imagine herself as a knight—Viviana the Knight.

A true knight is unafraid of disaster or hardship.

The 'collapse' is clearly visible, its ruin right before her eyes.

An inexpressible sense of danger strikes Viviana in her heart. She suddenly feels a strong premonition that the collapsing doors are not simply a manifestation of her repeated failures.

If this tiny room were to be swallowed up, something truly would be wiped away. Something would be lost, forever.

Viviana.

When the knight charged toward the endless waves, did you imagine that he was trying to overcome the entire world?

No.

I won't leave.

Viviana turns around, protecting the little girl with her own body.

I don't even know what's really been going on, ever since I began climbing that spiral staircase.

Maybe this is something everyone goes through when they come to the Genesis Horn. To be tightly bound by the knots deep in their hearts; to lose themselves in a whirlpool of chaos, becoming one with it.

Vivian, what do I say to you? Or rather, what do I say to myself?

The light of a candle is dim, and its flame will always flicker at the whims of the night wind. There will always be filth coming at you and regrets you can't revoke. The bafflement of finding and grief of losing will seek to swamp you over.

But you must believe. The stories you once yearned for are not at all legends or symbols.

You've seen for yourself a radiance that can light up the entire land. A light that does not flicker, even when no one is walking the path it illuminates.

Maybe you yourself are not that radiant light. But you, too, have once drawn your blade to protect it.

Never forget this, Viviana Droste: you are a knight!

The collapse arrives, and darkness swallows her in an instant.

Compared to the Last Knight, whose nemesis was the ocean beneath and the sky above him, she knows nothing about her enemy's identity.

She suddenly finds herself unable to feel the sword in her hand, nor can she light a candle. Fear, suffocating as the ocean and raging as a tide, instantly scours her to the point of numbness.

But soon she feels calmed, soothed, and relaxed somehow. Dread and sorrow no longer drown her.

Because bit by bit, the waves are no more.

Just what is it, in those collapsed doors and their cracks, that is devouring her emotions?!

Countless images, real and fake, intertwine, binding Viviana into a strange yet soft cocoon. What must she hold onto? What CAN she hold onto?

A dazzling light fills up her vision. She comes to a stark realization—

Tested by a dark, bitter, and thorny path, and scored in history by its legend... A knight swordstaff that even time itself can never wear away—

Here and now, it shines in the palm of her hand.

She tightens her grip with the weapon in her hand. The knight now wields her swordstaff and cleaves at the darkness ahead.

Its radiance intensifies, and a resplendent gold builds all, delivering its radiance toward the ends of time and space.

Gone are the spiral staircase and the doors.

Viviana looks down at her empty hands, betraying the gritty sensation that felt so real just now. She shuts her eyes, reconstructing in her mind the last thing she had seen within the darkness—

Malevolent spirits take the form of indescribable sounds, lights, shapes, and colors, together forming chaos itself. Piercing through it all was the swordstaff, resplendent and glorious.

I was holding onto... a projection of it.

Their Majesties...

No! More terrifying calamities in the chaos outside the Genesis Horn would befall... This place must not fall to ruin!

Fremont?

The twins failed... Yet you have come to conclude my concert at the end.

You have been a recapitulation in my ascension and downfall.

Leave. The Pavillon is disintegrating.

Hah. Or are you here for your phylactery?

Your achievement in Kargereich would be enough to earn the respect and fear of the people, yet your attitude remains as loathsome as ever.

Should I be grateful that you 'milked it for all it's worth'?

Ja.

I've never seen you so reluctant, Herkunftshorn.

But I must have it back. It will have a role to play in Kazdel's survival.

I've dragged this on for far too long. So many years have come and gone. The Lich King's Court should have left Leithanien ages ago.

'Exile'?

You had the chance to perform this witchcraft long ago, in that secret room in Ludwigs-Universität.

How long has it been, as they count time outside?

A hundred and thirty years or so.

In the next moment, the belated witchcraft crosses both the protracted span of time and the divergent paths of its companions to be cast once more.

Heavy, grizzled rain falls upwards. Kargereich seems to be flipped over by this stream of flow, and the Exile, which is taking his full effort to perform, is soft and permeated with an unusual beauty.

You have never made yourself a greater fool, Fremont.

Phylacteries are a knot you Liches tie inside the veil, one that resonates with your life. It is impossible for you to not feel its presence.

Raindrops cluster into strings, dancing in the void to the rhythm of Fremont's breathing.

His breaths are nothing unusual, but a long-lost abundance of emotions wells up from the depths of his soul.

Fremont casually touches his pocket, only to discover that his lost key has been lying quietly there, within reach all along.

Did I not already return it to you, long ago?

Fremont, the phylactery is a constant, a keystone upon which Liches accumulate their time.

You are always one step ahead of death. I am not.

A fact you refuse to acknowledge. Why?

The moment the entire space is soaked, the Lich's strings finally envelop the Witch King. Embracing, entangling, almost forming a coffin-like shape.

You have no words for me but farewells at this moment. Tell me, Fremont, my dearest friend.

Why is this spire still lacking...?

The age-indifferent Lich merely stands before the empty space, without a hint of expression on his face.

The traces of the Exile scatter, and the threads feel not the Witch King's presence, as if the ferocious Caprinae with the twisted horns had never existed in the first place.

Only his final murmur remains in the air.

As weighty as an interrogation, as light as a sigh.

She does not know when it happened, but Arturia finds herself standing before the spire.

She listens in a daze. There is no one able to answer her question, and the sighs are silenced.

So those were your parting words. And... your 'answer.'

Henceforth, Leithanien will never again have a Witch King.

So this is where you were, Arturia.

Federico...

Federico looks up and sees the gigantic black spire gradually lose its shape and color before his eyes, as its faded Originium clusters dissipate into vestiges.

Even the Witch King, known far and wide as history's most powerful soul, was unable to resist his inevitable demise.

Freeze.

Federico lifts his gun.

Leithanien's Twin Empresses have already intervened directly, and the overall impact of this case has far exceeded the initial risk assessment of the mission.

Once this has concluded, I will contact Pope Yvangelista XI as soon as possible.

Until then, your freedom will be restricted until we can return to Laterano.

No.

Federico has heard her answer.

The distant relative he knows all too well does not engage in her usual meaningless push-and-pull of emotional logic and kinship. She simply refuses wearily and walks towards him.

You can pull the trigger now, Federico.

Right this very moment, in the chaos known as Kargereich, you're the only one before my eyes, and there is no one I can perform for.

I've lost my music. I won't run, and I can't play any games either.

There are holes in your logic, Arturia.

Arturia walks straight past him, as if she did not hear him at all.

The Genesis Spire... is disintegrating.

Herkunftshorn is dead, so naturally the bubble he was bracing will also burst.

Is he really no longer here?

You don't believe your own eyes? Even after dropping that attitude of yours not so long ago?

...So in the end, Grimmacht and Ewigegnade were still the only ones who could kill him.

Wonderful, you only sound <i>mildly</i> disappointed this time. One day you'll look back on today and realize with even more clarity just how fortunate you were to turn away from the fate that lay before you.

Something dangles down from Fremont's robe.

Suddenly, Ebenholz realizes Fremont's shadow has remained in pace, even as the man himself just stepped closer.

The shadow wraps around the crumbling throne, stretching all the way along the steps before gradually coiling around the entire spire.

Your shadow...

My <i>shadow</i>...? Hah! Don't let your eyes deceive you.

What you see are my threads, my destiny... the essence of my being.

You are the second Leithanian besides Herkunftshorn to perceive my true form.

Are you using your lifethreads to hold up the collapsing space?

But aren't they more important than flesh and blood to you Liches?

Herkunftshorn did a lot of disgraceful things, but he was right about one thing.

Annihilation is almost upon us. If we let Kargereich leak out and deep fry Leithanien into a cavity of nothingness, we'll all be gone, Lich or not.

So run, little lamb.

This place can't hold the living for much longer. Leave this tomb quickly, lest death catches up to you.

Shadows crawl all over the old Lich's body.

Shades of black instantly split into countless threads.

They fly towards every falling piece of debris and crack in the void.

But the vibrations still intensify.

It's too late.

The collapse is... right before us.

Can it... rain in this space too?

Ah, these are Herr Fremont's threads. He's always kept himself so neat and tidy, unlike other Liches. I've never seen him grow so many threads.

The Genesis Horn can no longer support this place.

We need to return to reality before this place falls completely apart.

Then we'll need to find a way out first.

A brilliant ray of Arts?

Empresses' Voice Viviana Droste. I should have fought alongside Your Majesties. Please forgive me for my tardiness.

...It's you.

Viviana, your light is somewhat brighter than before.

That's because... I saw true darkness.

I was just walking along an endless spiral staircase, witnessing the collapse of one possible reality after another... and was almost swallowed by the chaos.

After that, at some point, I caught a glimpse into the darkness, and...

I haven't the slightest idea what I saw.

Perhaps it was the deepest of dreads, the largest of voids, complete disarray, and... a calamity we cannot comprehend.

They lay dormant within the chaos, and I felt their gaze upon me.

Grimmacht, Ewigegnade—

The enemy is advancing like a blitz. They are about to invade everything known to us.

I can't feel the thread anymore?

Oh, no no no—the threads are all vibrating together! They're so intense I can't make out the one connected to the Genesis Horn!

Lessing... Lessing!

(Unprecedented noise)

Frau Ermengarde, Herr Maeyer is over here!

He shouldn't have...

I'm... not dead yet.

Phew. My threads are a mess, so it's hard to sense you even at this distance.

And the professor... we were still connected earlier.

The other Liches and I were pulling on reality from our side, while he was doing the same to the Genesis Horn from his end. It wasn't easy, but we managed to achieve a balance!

But things are looking bad now, it's all gone wrong.

They're... no longer making any noise.

Nein, it's not just the dead.

The music... it stopped.

The... the Witch King... the Twin Empresses...

Sturm... land... Ma... Martha...

I...

The whole theater has fallen silent.

Every piece of music... every sound has vanished.

It is as if someone had used the largest-scale silencing Arts ever cast.

Those who lost control of themselves in the chaotic noise have now lost their surface-level agitation.

Pain, anger, and other intense emotions fade from their faces, replaced by a deep fear.

But this dread does not last for long; instead, it expands into a blank space, and at its peak, a void.

Something seeps out of the void.

Something that's eroding and annihilating everything.

Order collapses. Chaos wishes to tarry, but cannot.

The calamity within the void, the vacuum that corrodes all of existence.

Its eyes have noticed us.

No wonder our threads couldn't stabilize the space on both sides...

...What's coming for us?

*sigh* It sure would be nice if our enemies were tangible.

The scariest part is that they might not even appear.

Kargereich gets its name from its emptiness. It's just a void. So place with nothing at all, conversely invading our reality... What do you <i>think</i> will happen?

We need to get the old man and the others out, right away. Then figure out a way to block the passage.

Ermengarde, can you and the old man still hear each other?

...We're cutting it close. In all this mess, I'll need time to find the end of the right thread connecting our two sides. But they'll never get out without it!

Did they... fail? Grimmacht... failed? That's impossible...

Get back here. Think, fool, think... about what's concerning you most.

Grim... Grimmacht... I can't...

She should have given you a final order.

If she doesn't come back...

If... time runs out, and the Gesatzswächter don't receive a new.. a new order.

I see, their last resort will be to annihilate Zwillingstürme.

For once, I agree with her choice. It's one thing if we all die here, but we mustn't let Leithanien... and everyone else outside the country, die with us.

Wait, the knot moved just now. The people inside haven't given up. Let's hold on, just a bit longer!

...Mm.

Ermengarde, does this knot count as a 'thread' between the two sides?

It'll have to. I'm trying my best, and if the connection stabilizes, the professor and I might be able to focus on the Arts cast on the knot to stabilize the passage.

We're counting on you, Ebenholz.

I can feel Lessing and the others...

They're close!

And you think that's a good thing?

Kargereich and reality are once again drawing near, like two bubbles stacked on top of one another. No, more like a bubble balanced on the tip of a needle. Even the slightest bit closer, and the bubble will burst.

So if I pull on the knot and move further away... will you and Ermengarde be able to stabilize the passage?

Stay away from the edge of the bubble!

Scheiße, little lamb. You're going to get yourself caught in the void.

The knot trembles in his hand.

Ebenholz can feel the hand gripping the other end.

A hand already numb from too much time spent swinging a sword.

His strength, spent. His Arts, nearly exhausted. His wounds no longer bleed, and his pain gradually blurs.

His duty and his will remain seated deep within his brain, pulsing tenaciously. Such concepts are difficult to describe after language itself has collapsed.

Why did we come here? Why have we been fighting? Why were we born, and why will we die?

The void greets him. There is no path either forward or out, only nothingness to meet.

Ebenholz is falling.

And at the end of his fall... there will be nothing at all.

No. There is something there.

A warm shade of white, emitting a radiant yet gentle glow.

Ebenholz suddenly realizes that while he didn't have time to find the cello-playing Sankta, he has found the answer.

The emotions and memories he shared with him were not bestowed upon them by any person, Arts, or even fate itself.

The most beautiful part, right there with him, has always belonged only to them.

A smile.

A piece of music.

A touch... of hope.

Fate will always be snatching things away from us, but fortunately I still retain the ability to love and hate.

Zwillingstürme's glowing sunset, ardent marigolds in bloom, a child with eyes glistening like a lake, and her gentle parents...

I love the scenery and the people I cannot see. They illuminate me, dispelling the darkness obscuring the eyes of many others.

But I also hate it.

I hate how brief the flowering season is, and the formless wills constricting everything I love. My child, your brows have been knitted ever since you returned to Leithanien.

You asked me: 'Where is the new order? Can you guarantee it will be better than yesterday or today?'

There is no way I can answer you, so I just decide to do as I have.

Love means responsibility, and hate will likewise attract even more. You must take responsibility for the things you have changed, and have yet to change.

My child, my friend, if you love, if you hate, then you will bear far more than you can imagine.

I doubt.

Is doubt a form of cowardice? Or bravery?

If cowardice, then why did I mix the flesh and blood of those monsters into our sacramental bread and wine, willing to place my hopes in a different faith?

If bravery, then why did I retract my hand? Did the vivid and hideous living tissues frighten me at the very last moment?

For sixty years I could not see that elusive Paradise, while my life fell apart before my eyes. I do not want to pray, but it is all I can do.

Who wrote the laws, and who ensures their purity and integrity? I ask my faith, and it stays silent.

I dare not say that I've already rid myself of the delusions embedded in the depths of my mind. No, I still harbor doubts.

The monastery gets further and further away, and I find a handful of seeds in the folds of my robe. Oh, Clément, my son, I will find them a patch of moist soil, even if I were to die on the road.

I doubt our laws. Question my cowardice, suspect my bravery, and doubt pushes me on forward.

Honestly, I hate alcohol. But suddenly I found myself unable to live without it. It's been a long time since Yulia's death. Three years? Five?

Twice in my life I have run away.

The so-called holy city of Laterano is not as perfect as it seems. The sweetness and noise in the air mask the inequality beneath, the differences between Liberi and Sankta seemingly not worth discussing.

I was still young when I came to Leithanien. The dark clouds I saw were a stark contrast to the white walls of Laterano. Countless died tragically under the Witch King's regime.

I was the first soldier to set foot in the Witch King's Spire, but I never once believed that his defeat would usher in a new era for Leithanien.

Yulia was wrong. I've always been pessimistic. Disappointment makes me sober, disappointment compels me to look for a few good things to protect.

But in the end, I reached a compromise with my disappointment, and ended up like this.

If souls truly have a final destination, then I most probably won't be going to the same place as her.

But surely I've protected at least a few people, at the very end? I want to ask Herr Executor, Yulia, and myself...

Do I still count as a hero?

Am I walking?

I never seem to stop.

But where am I going?

I seem to be walking along a sandy shore.

A sticky beach. A strange creature from the ocean actually reverberated in my strings.

It has the dullest inner voice I've ever heard, and I couldn't obtain any answers. The waves push me away from the beach.

I was twenty then.

I seem to be walking over sand dunes.

Soft grains of sand. Opposite me is a warrior known as the Zhayedan, as old as the golden grains.

With every note I play, history roars from the cracks in the warrior's armor.

I was fifteen then.

I am walking.

I never stop.

I am walking on...

I seem to be walking on grass.

Out on a lawn in the rain. I'm attending my first funeral.

<i>'My thanks to Arturia. It was her music that helped free me of my fetters.'</i>

<i>'And my thanks to you, Marcello. Thank you for blessing me with a wonderful life all these years. I doubt we'll be apart for long.'</i>

<i>'Once this war is over, we'll be together again.'</i>

I stand before the gravestone, watching guests walk up, one by one, to pay their respects to my mother.

I hear their voices clearly—sorrow, lament, regret, ridicule, hatred, glee... but why, and how, were they still able to maintain the most suitable sadness on their faces?

Do we not respect life only by facing death with our truest feelings?!

I remember what you told me, Mamma. I can still hear your voice from time to time. How much courage do I need, to be able to struggle free from my ego day after day? To be brave enough to make that first step?

Freedom is so hard to find.

But death... why is death so easy?!

I had finished my performance by the time I awoke.

Fede. Once again, I couldn't control my own music.

Hm?

Arturia, you revere death so much.

Death erases one's existence so easily, and puts all emotions to rest.

The melodies of those who faced the truth and, inevitably, their deaths leave you impressed, but more often they leave you fearing, hating, doubting. But you—you are silent.

How much more do you need to perform as you wander endlessly about? How long before you finally reach that future? How many more blank pieces do you need to compose for yourself?

Even silence will be played, and every composition must have its conclusion.

I saw your only truth.

You are so, so fragile.

Arturia opens her eyes.

She seems to have walked for a long time. Time is like a river, and people travel along with the flow. But why is she, step by step, trudging back the way she came?

She feels she has become a broken vessel. And the unwavering affection, intense hatred, tremendous courage, and unreconcilable despair and remorse she has experienced through thousands of people...

They drain from her, drop by drop... until she is left with only her empty self.

She finds herself outside Kargereich, in a plaza surrounded by a crowd. Emotionless faces walk past her, and she stands there in a daze mirroring the same expression as everyone else.

Arturia looks up, lifting her head from the lawn she never left.

Dark clouds drift over her, and a glistening drop of rain falls on her face, like a tear—

—A tear for the grief and vulnerability she could not admit in time.

Martha, my love, you were the one who lifted me up from my darkest days, inspiring me.

But now I can only live with thoughts of you.

Should I go looking for you? Even if our fathers disagree, you must at least know that my love for you has never wavered, not in the slightest.

Martha... my love, you were the one who lifted me up from my darkest days, inspiring me to do whatever I wanted...

But now I can only live with thoughts of you.

I should go looking for you. Even if our fathers disagree, you must at least know that my love for you...

Every person in the huge amphitheater before the Spires is muttering something on repeat. They speak of their feelings, but their words lack even a hint of emotion.

They do not see Arturia, or anyone else.

A triangle hits her arm as people cross paths with one another, and she almost drops her own instrument.

Grimmacht... Grimmacht...

Michael.

Don't leave me alone...

It's futile, Federico.

...Good call.

The situation is out of control.

Mass hallucination... this is the third time I've seen something like this, but the situation here is much more serious than it was at Sonata Spire.

It's of a different nature.

The Genesis Horn has crumbled after the Witch King's demise, and Kargereich is about to collapse into reality.

It's not a simple hallucination either, but rather... They are unable to resist the onslaught of chaos, and their various, profound emotions are leaving them.

What you're hearing from them now is the only emotion they have left, and their most intense.

What are you doing, Arturia?

The Güldenesgesatz, the law, morality, exemplary aesthetics... Order cannot help them resist the all-pervasive chaos.

Everyone in the plaza will turn into an empty shell of themselves, one by one, as they lose their very last scrap of emotion.

We need to bring them back to their senses.

You alone are special here, Federico.

For most, how can there be will without emotion?

Only with emotions and emotions alone can people preserve their ego.

These people are 'blank' as you say, and you still plan to play their tunes?

No. This time, my performance is about me.

It's about my own emotions, and I'll share them with everyone here.

This sounds like another form of empathy.

Yet you've tried many times to destroy the foundations of Laterano's empathy. You turned your back on Laterano long ago.

Turned my back on Laterano? Maybe I didn't care... but never once have I left Laterano of my own will.

I just strongly disagreed with the order represented by their law.

As for empathy... Its limits are actually the starting point of my vision for the future.

I'll explain in more detail later, but for now, look at the countless people before us.

They used to cry with all their might, to smile with enthusiasm, and even now are trying their utmost to retain the very last bit of emotion they experienced in their lives, right up until the final moment... Even if they can no longer realize it themselves.

Be it the Witch King or Yulia, everyone is equally great and praiseworthy, but also equally incomplete and fragile. This is our ego, the very essence of our humanity.

We must become strong, but we must also leave room for our ineradicable fragility.

This is why we need a future where we can all stand side by side, sharing our joys and sorrows.

I am perceiving myself, Federico.

At this very moment, I can only give hope to others if I harbor hope myself, and likewise with love.

I want to use this tiny shred of ego to connect every sorrow and joy.

The sound of your strings... people are coming your way...

That young noble's face is showing an expression.

Emotional reflux, an involuntary reaction. A hollowed out soul needs time to re-accept everything.

Operation assessment: Arturia, your actions will help stabilize the situation. Executor Federico Giallo will assist you.

I will allow no one to interrupt you until you have finished playing.

After the briefest of pauses, Arturia grips her bow tightly again. The movement builds towards its climax, the scrubbed strings resounding in a rapid flutter like a butterfly's wings.

She manages a glance up at the sky, and sees a giant crack suspended above the twin spires—an eye of darkness open wide, but still the sunset surrounds it, yet to be completely eroded.

How beautiful the sunset is, like a blaze set aflame when the shackles are smashed open.

...That sound. The Sankta's performing.

The knot's moving again, I can sense Ebenholz! Ermengarde—!

On it, on it.

Threads fly into the clouds from the Lich's fluttering robes.

The wind traverses the sky again, and the frozen clouds resume their drifting.

A mildly intense vibration follows right after, like the slight turbulence when a train enters a station.

The passage is stable.

As long as you stay awake, they'll be out in no time.

Michael, wake up!

Grimmacht must have entrusted you with something. You need to recall what it was!

My... tuba...

Hold your instrument properly.

...Grimmacht?

Is this... my memory? The strings are showing me...

The tuba's heavy, and you're tired. Correct?

Then say it. You're but a child. There's no need to hide what's in your heart.

You're afraid? That's normal.

Adults fear me, as do nobles older than yourself. Even the most ferocious casters fear me. They believe my sword will pierce through their chests the moment it crosses my mind to.

...Yet you're unafraid? And you want to be my Voice?

Have you really thought this through? No, that doesn't matter. You're just a child, after all, who knew nothing when your kin sent you here.

Don't... don't cling to my leg. I can't wield my sword if you're like this. Fine, I'll just assume you're tired.

You'll have to practice your instrument and Arts later, in your own room. There are nobles waiting outside to see me, so I won't be coming back here today.

You can take a nap... or play for a while.

If you still want to be an Empresses' Voice, we can discuss it again when you're able to carry a tuba. Also, don't think that you have to become one just because that's what Lupukarn expects of you.

We cannot choose where we are born, but we should at least be able to choose when to turn around. Our responsibilities should not be forced on us by others.

You'll have the right to play the horn I gave you when you've thought it through on your own, and decided on what you want to stand here as.

Mm, I remember now. I have to play my tuba. I have to tell the Gesatzswächter everyone's safe.

I won't disappoint you.

Meine Majestät... Grimmacht.

...Fine work, Michael.

The cello... it sounds so clear. Is Frau Giallo helping us? No, not just us... she's helping everyone.

At the very least, we still have our souls for the moment.

We can still fight.

Is that... the outside? Is this a passage? We can exit through it!

Viviana, find Fremont and ensure that everyone in this space returns to Terra.

What about you and Grimmacht?

Us?

Naturally, we'll fulfill the duty we've always shouldered...

To keep any and all threats away from Leithanien.

Finally. Just the two of us now.

The final melody... has already resounded.

Lieselotte, your shield will cover the twin towers and everyone under the spires.

And your sword...

My fate has long since been decided, from the moment I stepped into this place.

No, from even before that.

Once the Genesis Horn broke away from the plans Fremont and I had drafted for it, and descended upon the center of Zwillingstürme, there was only one choice left to me.

...Indeed.

Hildegard, is there... nothing else you want to ask me?

Well, sure enough, your response is pretty much what I expected.

The passage is closing rapidly.

Darkness rushes in, filling up the tiny cracks that should not exist.

Wrapped in the dark fog are countless restless eyes, swarming towards the two of them and the reality behind them.

A shade of gold brushes past a hue of black.

Herkunftshorn built a spire here, establishing order amidst chaos.

As one who's inherited his power and even killed him, naturally I'll be able to surpass him in this as well.

The eyes in the void, the threats within the chaos, the beings condensed from fear, the enemies who do not exist in reality—

'Demons.'

I, Grimmacht, Kaiserin of Leithanien, and her sharpest sword—

—Hereby declare that you will never invade my country.

A radiant blaze blossoms from Grimmacht's sword.

The fragments of the Genesis Spire scattered in the void reunite under the command of her Arts, erecting a new 'spire.'

The monument stands between Kargereich and reality, blocking the eyes in the dark from prying on all living existence.

The twin spires in reality, the people beneath them, and the clouds above all blend into one under her light, becoming a blurry warm ripple, gradually drifting away from her.

Grimmacht does not look back.

Her Arts, her sword, and her body have all become one with the pitch-black monument.

They all say you are impossible to defeat.

Be it here and now, or in the distant future, I will be undone by chaos before joining it.

This is my fate.

But it is absolutely not... the fate of Leithanien and her people.

The... sunset?

It's back...

And... so beautiful...

Did something fall from the sky?

That's...

The irregular dark clouds crack open.

A clearly visible hue of gold shines through the grim sky, gracefully caressing everyone's faces with its light.

Leithanien's people wake up from their dystopian nightmare and are immediately greeted by dazzling clouds of rosy gold descending between the twin spires.

No one knows who started it, but the people involuntarily begin to play the instruments in their hands.

It is no longer the Güldenesgesatz, or any other familiar classical piece.

A brand new melody accompanying the multicolored radiance of Originium Arts echoes the excitement in everyone's hearts, flowing spontaneously under the rosy clouds.

Did you see that, Federico?

Leithanien's new hero... No, the birth of a new god.

The one who killed Herkunftshorn for the second time, neutralized Leithanien's calamity, and brought hope and vitality back to the people of this great land. Leithanien's sole Kaiserin, Ewigegnade, the Eternal Grace.

She will replace the Genesis Spire completely and become the sovereign of Leithanien's skies, more splendid than the gold of the sunset itself... Gold der Zwillingstürme.

The people are ecstatic, and her wish is fulfilled.

But this newborn god... she sheds a tear.

The brilliance of her golden radiance snatches away everyone's attention, leaving the tear rolling off her face to remain in darkness for eternity.