level_act47side_06_beg

The wind blows on the leaves in the young Banshee's hand, and voices fall from the breeze.

(In Sarkaz) One more! One more story!

(In Sarkaz) How about the tale of the wandering metal hero?

(In Sarkaz) He even graced our valley once. In fact, the mist that shrouds Mist Lake was actually blown from his big pipe...

(In Sarkaz) Retract your feather horns like this, and you can shield your eyes.

(In Sarkaz) So we can use them as an eye mask to sleep during the day?

(In Sarkaz) No, of course not. This is so you can easily weave your tears into elegies at funerals...

Another recording ends, and the young Banshee keeps her leaves in a chest pocket, yet her gaze suddenly turns wary.

Eavesdrop again, and I'll throw you into the concrete mixer.

Was that... a Banshee's incantation?

Yes.

You've journeyed thousands of miles from Kazdel to Columbia, yet you record your people's voices to keep by your side, listening to them over and over?

Is homesickness hard for you to comprehend?

No. But, it's rare I find someone concentrating on nostalgia the same way she concentrates on a blueprint.

You're trying to decipher the Banshees' language and behavior. Why? To find a new path, to solve your entire race's plight that has endured for millennia?

Gah...

I'm not that arrogant.

I only hope to take a burden off the shoulders of a particularly worried individual.

I see, though that's pretty much what I just said.

So, any breakthroughs?

I'm not in that much of a rush.

It sounds as if you've replayed that countless times over...

Soaking in the same old corpus until you drown, unable to develop a new language.

The limits of vision and thought drown us in the pool of 'common sense', and then everything turns into so-called destiny...

I thought you left Kazdel knowing this.

Erasing those recordings... is a cruel suggestion.

It's rational.

Hello, I'm Kristen, Control of Rhine Lab.

Nasti.

The talented Banshee, freshly recruited by Sterleigh Construction Co, who completes projects three times faster than regular engineers, provoking rumors of you imbuing witchcraft into blueprints...

We're currently establishing an engineering department at Rhine Lab. Might you be interested?

I happened to overhear your chat with the boss yesterday... 'Rhine Lab' is a bio-tech company, yes?

Look up, Nasti... Do you see those fowlbeasts, and the morning stars behind them?

I'm only looking for some kind of power to break through the sky.

The sky...

Per your prior suggestion, if you wish to accomplish something that exceeds the borders of common sense, then perhaps the power you need doesn't come from our side...

Rhine Lab should be looking into a scientific investigation department instead.

A rational suggestion. Can I take this as the first proposal fielded by our Director of Engineering?

Miss Lunorey?

I thought you'd send me straight to the hearing, or perhaps a more confidential cell... but here we are, waiting for a cable car at the ropeway station. Are we to visit the levitation layer next?

Your visitor has indeed arranged for that.

Long time no see, Nasti.

...So it was you.

I just got here, and what a fine place it is. I still have half the place to see—shall we have a look together?

Alright.

Why is it raining only in the area we just passed through?

Cloud projections, thanks to a sky simulator system developed by Wrankwood. Wait five minutes, and you can even enjoy an aurora.

A century ago, that fellow known today as the father of projections once lamented to me on a film set, wondering when we could actually shoot a film up in the sky...

'Sky Fever' has truly set the revolutionary gears of film tech in motion.

Quite an atmosphere here, Nasti. Personally, I take civilization's rapid developments as commonplace happenings, and now I can't help but be moved by the Columbians' creativity.

It's hard to believe you'd still be in the mood for fun and games.

According to the laws drawn up for Propeller Paradise, relevant authorities must call for a hearing within twelve hours of an emergency event happening to investigate the matter and notify the public.

Gordon barged into Rhine Lab's Vivarium, wrecked our research projects, and exposed his shady dealings to public scrutiny.

Evidence and testimonies provided were complete and accurate, your people arrived quickly, yet you've been dragging your feet to begin this hearing...

This is no procrastination, Nasti.

Two years ago, the Columbians never thought they'd fight the clouds for the right to dwell above. But now?

Propeller Paradise has become the hottest topic in all of Columbia, and its name tops the special plate registry records.

Take a moment to ride the cable car as it circles around. Look at the facilities around you, and at the company representatives clogging the entrance to the registration center...

All of this already tells us what sort of judgment the hearing will produce, no?

<i>Propeller Paradise.</i> Hmph. You get it? 'Paradise', representing a zealous ambition to fly high up into the skies, while 'Propeller' has an exact implication too—there's no stopping.

A smuggling network exposed, revealed to be led by the chief executive involving nearly a hundred companies, numerous irregularities found in the park's research work over the past six months... once we begin investigating, the exhibition will have to be canceled.

You're right, Nasti. The hearing must convene, and everything that's happened must be accounted for—

But that's all they need. An account.

And Rhine Lab is the most appropriate party to provide that?

After all, this 'sky fever' began that night in Trimounts. Anyone could believe Rhine Lab will do something like this again.

*sigh* Never the silent technician connecting nothing but cables that your peers say you are.

Though, this isn't exactly a false accusation against Rhine Lab now, is it?

Your mystery 'tree' still floats in the sky. Putting aside your 'botanical unit' and other excuses, how are you going to explain that?

It sounds like I don't even have to attend the hearing anymore. You've already made up your mind, after all.

...I'm sorry, Nasti.

I'm not sure of the exact timeframe, but I'll go home eventually. Someone's waiting for me.

Before that happens, Rhine Lab can become one of the stops on your journey.

It doesn't matter if you want to develop a new language, create a new Convallis, or change the so-called 'fate' of your clan... no one will get in the way of your goals.

On the contrary, Rhine Lab will fight for everything you need. After all, we have many like you.

And the catch? Or perhaps I should ask... the cost?

Nasti, I don't ask company employees to view Rhine Lab's operations as some sort of grand undertaking worthy of personal sacrifice.

If we want to accomplish the unprecedented, we are already on a path strewn with enough doubt and loss...

So, we must never stop. Ever.

...I consent to join Rhine Lab then.

Seeing as we're still on the cable car, I'm sure there's room for discussion.

Mm-hm?

The hearing must take place, and everything has to be accounted for, but it's merely an accounting...

All of Columbia knows about the Horizon Arc Project from two years ago. Kristen stole funding from the DOD, but Rhine Lab as a whole was not fully involved...though, I was certainly her accomplice.

Pinning the blame of endangering the entire park on a company versus an individual has entirely different implications, Nasti. Are you willing to sacrifice yourself like this for Rhine Lab?

Sacrifice? Kristen and I aren't fans of the word.

Everything has a price. This is what life in the Convallis and Kazdel taught me. There is no way I'll willingly take the blame for one of Maylander's plans.

I won't make it hard for the other Rhine Labbers.

Nor that 'tree', for that matter.

Do as you wish with the device, but let my assistant take the data, since the research isn't finished. He knows nothing about my project, so don't worry about him tampering with it.

We're here.

The agents at the station will escort you where you should go.

Right, there's something else. When I returned to Kazdel, I went to the Convallis...

Væla is here... I already know.

I had planned to hurry to find her before I went to the hearing.

(Væla is in the park...)

(Heh, Mercia. So I see...)

I'll send someone to look after my old friend.

Thanks.

The hearing on the sudden accident on Propeller Paradise has just concluded.

Suspect Nasti Lunorey abused her position as the head of the Park's Engineering Department to conduct unauthorized experimental projects, and this nearly led to a disaster.

On the night of the incident, the suspect attacked Gordon Tannen, the park's chief executive, in an attempt to cover up her crime with an unidentified tree-shaped device.

According to Mr. Tannen's testimony, the suspect not only deliberately tried to harm him, but she also abused her Engineering privileges to tamper with exhibits.

She forced her subordinates to conduct illegal tests, deliberately suppressed rival tech companies, and forced dozens of outstanding companies to leave the park.

Now, with the ATAO's backing, the innocent corporations implicated in this incident have returned to Propeller Paradise and will continue to contribute to Columbia's aerial operations.

The suspect Nasti Lunorey is currently in custody after confessing to her crimes. She will be sent to the D.C. courts to face justice.

From now on, Propeller Paradise operations will be overseen by Gordon Tannen and Gustave, supervised by the Maylander Emergency Management Council...

...The highly anticipated Air Expo Columbia will not be affected whatsoever.

Madam Væla... was that too loud? My apologies.

Nasti... what happened to her?

Don't you mind that, Madam.

Let your final memory of Director Lunorey be when you saw her last night.

The young agent places a hand on the old projector and gently turns its dials, as if manipulating delicate strings of memories.

Maylander Emergency Management Council intervenes in all Columbian incidents, in the name of monitoring the emergency measures of government agencies, for incidents produce the easiest facts to manipulate.

The Tin Man always jokes about how the Council's methods are more extensive than Mama John's stocklists, and this of course includes Mercia's Originium Arts—

Erasing memories.

Mercia has done the same actions hundreds, thousands of times. But now, her hand turning the dial, freezes up.

No... at the very least, I shouldn't do this to an old woman with already fading memories.

Besides, the facts have been tampered with enough today.

A late hearing, satisfied corporate reps, my fellow agents infiltrating the crowd... what exactly is the Tin Man's mission this time?

The more people on patrol, the less I can do for you—it's only a matter of time before he discovers my deception.

But if you can't stop worrying over Director Lunorey, I'll figure out a way...

Nasti... my daughter, I'm sorry.

It was I... who left you homeless.

'Where the torches are lit, the myriad souls be.'

'Bones to bones, souls to souls.'

Let's conclude the funeral here, Væla. Our people have returned to the courtyard, and night is falling.

Three months. Demoi spent three whole months in the wooden hut under the Roosting Tree before death finally came.

I've done all I could, but... I could not alleviate the pain of slowly turning into an empty husk.

She was never the sorrowful sort. The reed beds along the lake shore would sway to the sound of her laughter.

But every pleasant memory from the past two centuries vanished completely within the first three days after she moved into the wooden hut. I couldn't retrieve them, as much as I wanted to.

In those final three months, as her remaining memories abandoned her, all she could do was force out broken, hoarse whispers from her throat.

In her two centuries of life, she certainly knew laughter in full measure—at least.

But why did she have to end up meeting death in agony?

In these two hundred years since we settled in the Convallis... every Banshee that has left us, has experienced a long and painful period of losing her memory before death.

A cruel joke, simply put. To the departed, Banshees are the last ones to remember their existence. It is not in our nature to forget, but to remember.

Forgetting is indeed a new phenomenon of the last two centuries, but you shouldn't blame yourself for a chronic disease we have yet to comprehend.

A chronic disease, or a cost?

Every time, every person without fail, first loses her memories of life in the Convallis.

As if... the life we created was mere stuffing made of cotton—a substitute that replaced the life we were originally born to live, but in the end...

When it decays completely with time, the people it once filled are left as empty husks.

Is that not what we have always wanted to do?

To create a different life for the Banshees, the Sarkaz—a life accompanied by song and pastry, rather than war and death.

Remember what Her Highness promised us? As we deal with all of this in the Convallis, she, as the King of Sarkaz, will guide our people to bid farewell to our omnipresent vengeful and bloodthirsty nature.

You personally told me that Her Highness has turned to Originium for answers... along with that 'Dame'.

I had a few more conversations with Her Highness after that. She never forgot our original dream.

She only changed to a more decisive method to fulfill her promise. If the day comes where her flowers can cover the land... all the more we Sarkaz will need a new way of life.

I only hope the Convallis will hold on until then.

The Roosting Tree is still withering. Its roots have long since rotted. Neither the Children of Soil and Stone's witchcraft nor my own incantations have been of any effect.

I'm sure there's a future for our Roosting Tree. I only hope... you'll be there to see it.

These past three months, have you gotten even a single night's sleep as you kept Demoi company?

Her moments of peace were thanks to your soothing incantations, that she could gain respite from listening to the boats on Mist Lake.

But what about you?

Now that Demoi is gone, the only Banshee left who experienced the war two centuries ago are you and me.

Only I can pay the price.

What about the children?

Is that why you sent Aefanyl to Kazdel?

The Banshees' future should be left to the children.

Whether our decision was right or wrong, we shouldn't let the children pay for it.

Is that why you didn't let Nasti join in the funeral rites this time?

And good that I didn't. If the Convallis life is but a fragile existence made of cotton stuffing, then...

Nasti grew up fighting for her life in Kazdel; to her, death is nothing but Originium crystals sprouting all over the ground.

Her attitude towards death will spread doubts to the other children.

She has a bright mind. I'm sure she'll understand your intention.

I remember when she wanted to build a hut of her own by the Roosting Tree, though in the end you had her build it in the mistapple pulp woods.

You hardly bring her to the courtyard gatherings, nor do you allow her to formally study incantations and elegies... How do you explain all that to her?

I found the children too loud, so as the 'Custodian,' I had to move further away to find some peace and quiet. She saw how busy I was...

And she believed it?

At least, she said nothing.

Alright, Laqeramaline. You should go.

And you?

I wish to stay a while longer.

You've sung this elegy long enough.

...I don't know what else I can do. The Convallis is headed towards decay, and beyond it, the souls left homeless by my mistakes can only weep.

You can still go back and keep Nasti company at least.

As a mother, we might not be able to pay the cost of always shutting our children out.

You close the door only to hide cruel truths. But to the child, you're pushing her away...

These days, I've been getting the feeling that Nasti will leave...

But I never thought the day would come so soon.

Yes, it is an abrupt decision.

A flimsy boat drifts downstream out of the valley, propelled by an old Banshee's incantations.

Reeds sway as a thin mist veils the fallen leaves on the lake's surface. With the season indiscernible, the farewell is bereft of a seasonal undertone.

I had hoped for you to spend the rest of your life peacefully in the Convallis.

It was my mistake, not finding you earlier than I did. You'd already gone through so much suffering.

When I decided to bring you back here, I should have been responsible for you. But in the end...

Please forgive my conflicted heart, Nasti.

I'm not leaving because of you, Væla.

...At least, not for the reason you think.

Unlike those children, you know how Kazdel is, even now...

The living still fight in the market teeming with the stench of rust and excrement, while crystals sprout from the dead like untended weeds...

It does not hold the answer I want.

But what is your question in the first place?

Where are you planning to go?

I don't know. Maybe I'll use the half-baked incantations I picked up from you, cast a few stones at the valley's entrance, and let them decide a direction for me.

Leithanien? Laterano? Columbia?

I heard those strange names when wandering in Kazdel.

Those places...

They're very far...

So?

Take care, child. Eat well.

After a long silence, Væla only manages one sentence.

The old Banshee who has traveled far and wide bearing word of demise only realizes now, how unfamiliar those places sound to her.

Her adopted daughter is about to embark on a journey, yet she has no idea how it will end, or what sort of advice to impart.

As the boat gently glides by to the murmur of water, Nasti does not turn around.

Farewell... Mother.