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He stood for a long time beneath the dusklight, staring at the empty, barren flower bed.

The Ludwig Meister-Spire, which had stood for over three centuries, looms in all its majesty. It casts the longest shadow beneath the dusky sky, like a giant tree in the deep forest obscuring the land beneath its feet. The distant bell tolls, and afternoon classes draw to an end. Before long, one's ears are filled with the sounds of footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the crackling of Arts devices, and a medley of conversations.

––From introductory structural systems to the most specialized, esoteric discourse in esthesia, free-and-open discussions on the Originium Arts emerge one after another. Occasionally, glowing balls of Arts roll down the steps, and musical records zip by overhead at low altitudes.

––A few students dodge the records and continue to talk about pop music and new plays in underground theatres, expressing their partiality towards the love-and-hate of Siracusa's new plate.

––Two people in nobles' attire argue in hushed voices over what kind of posture Kreis Furtgang should take towards the Twin Spires, not noticing that their robes have been ignited with Arts.

––A slovenly-looking scholar mutters to himself before a star chart printed by Trimounts, periodically looking towards the sky while waiting for nightfall.

Nobody mentions him, just as nobody discusses the soon-to-be-renovated flower bed. The only person to cast a sideways glance in his direction quickly turns away once more.

He gives the restraints on his body a tug, his tense muscles akin to a stone tablet.

'This flower bed beneath the Meister-Spire was built in the Year 766. At the time, the spire's owner was Kurfürst Ludwig, who was also known as 'The Scholar.'

'That year, the spire welcomed its very first batch of students from common backgrounds. Despite the staunch opposition and ridicule of the nobles, the spire nevertheless opened its doors to them.

'Before ascending the spire, a scholar by the name of Hoffmann secretly scattered a bag of seeds from his hometown into the flower bed, and before long, it was teeming with nameless white flowers. Over the years, it became a tradition for all scholars of common birth to sow the seeds of their hometown in this flower bed.

'Did you know? Before the War of the Four Emperors, the flowers here blossomed just like the sky above a grand event. I wish I could see it with my own eyes.

'Today, nobody except the scholars deeply involved with the history of Eingeweide remember this past event.'

After listening to the exposition, he squats down in front of the flower bed without a word, presses his hand to the soil, and starts to grope around. After a while, he pinches out a small, hard object from the soil.

A tiny seed.

'Let's go, Professor Gerhard. I wouldn't want to get chewed out too much today,' he says as he turns around, holding the seed in hand.