Arknights story · Hortus de Escapismo
HE-8 Devout Follower
Federico will prioritize any and all pending matters, and the arrest of Arturia, standing before his eyes, is far from his greatest priority right now.
2 scenes, 339 lines
1. Before Operation
159 linesAll is prepared. Come Matins, the people will take... take their final communion.
Will your strings... lament for me? Or will they celebrate me?
I am clueless about music, Arturia. Just as I cannot understand you.
Here you stand, and here I empathize with you, yet you seem a total blank.
I am no more than free to perform according to Your Excellency's will. My music is but a mirror.
A mirror... hah.
The elderly abbot lifts a porcelain tray, his hands quivering amidst string's overtones.
He appears as if wrestling with the sound that echoes throughout the dark, awaiting their end.
He was still young when the sounds of paradise arose in the abbey years and years ago, so young that his reflection in the fountain did not yet show a single hair of white.
Wild fowls were drawn to these roving soils, fluttering through skies rich with organ chords, flying for the square. In his old age, the last abbot handed the monastery down to him, Cleric Stefano, the youngest of them all.
'You must be their keeper, that they live in Paradise.'
And how? How would I see them stay in Paradise?
Abbot Torregrossa shuts his eyes. Storied is his life.
The strings continue to echo, echo, echo. And then—
He lets his hands go.
...Ah.
How painful. So this is your choice.
......
From behind the sealed chapel entrance comes the muffled sound of speech.
Federico stands in the spacious hall for a while, listening, then turns to walk upstairs.
...Equipment normal.
The only loss has been one communicator.
Current objective remains unchanged. Proceeding with mission.
Locked onto suspect.
How're things in there?
Communion should be over by now.
Is it as bad in there as I think?
Signs point to yes.
Damn. How's Federico?
Unreachable.
The Church of the Deep doesn't breed pushovers for monsters. Does he know that?
Someone needs to do the work. Status on Lemuen and Serpilia?
They got your message and went underground to investigate.
Alright. That means the trickiest job of all is all ours.
Let's open up.
And be where we may, and face what we may, it remains that we must respect each other in kind, care for each other in kind—
—Good morning, emissaries of the Holy City.
......
The trays are empty.
Richele, get every inhabitant under control. I'll handle the abbot.
Is there something amiss, emissary?
Amiss? Well, here's the thing... what's got you so down, Most Reverend Abbot? So insistent that Matins today has to be the 'final' one?
I'm pretty sure Lemuen's informed you that after you dock back up with Laterano, there's a real chance you'll continue serving as this monastery's abbot...
Emissaries of Laterano, you question me... but on what basis?
I have made my choice—renounced my vain hopes that all could be met with equal salvation.
The monastery's course is run. On this final Matins, may all our trays be empty.
I have just delivered them the news. The Sanctilaminium Ambrosii has agreed to return to Laterano.
Return to Laterano...?
Sir, don't tell me you thought we'd let the Church of the Deep off the hook...
...I told you, my choice is made.
Oren, he's telling the truth.
The inhabitants haven't shown any signs of change. I've examined the trays, and they're clean.
Yes. I prepared the flesh of those monsters by my own hand, and mixed it all into the bread.
But though it was meant for Matins, I locked it away in a cabinet underground, lest my starving people ingest it accidentally.
Now that Aulus has left, that which you fear flourishes no longer.
This is the key to the cabinet door. Take it, it is my plea. This will prove that what I say is true. Perhaps you will know better how handle the Church of the Deep's givings.
Thank you for cooperating.
Looks like my gun's resting easy today...
What, are you sad about that?
Come again?
No, I'm just breathing out, finally. We got the rough part over with. Work should be getting back on track now... right?
Lemuen, catch what the abbot said? I'm bringing the key down now.
You don't have to.
Someone smashed the cabinet open. It's empty inside.
Yellowing napkins, pottery shards all over the floor. All the details line up with the abbot's description.
And looking at previous accounts, the consequences of eating this stuff are irreversible... If he'd made them partake already, he wouldn't need to lie to us anymore.
Which means someone's gone and thieved this little 'Eucharist.'
We have to find them immediately.
Uh, finding one person in an abbey this big—maybe a tall order?
......
It's hitting me. I think we've all forgotten a few things.
For one, Gerald heard about how that Sankta girl fell, and that dealt him a huge shock.
But we would've never let any word out about the falling. How did Gerald learn of it?
And for another, just what was the deal with that fire in the sacrarium?
Without someone else's encouragement, the abbot might not have been so dogmatic either...
After all of this, I've got a bad feeling our abbot's not alone in his despair.
When Fortuna went into the chapel, I remember somebody else was in there.
So this is the Abbot's choice...
Not that it hasn't crossed my mind before—that things would ultimately turn out this way.
He is kindhearted. So kindhearted that he strove to this day, embracing such lofty ideals, and in turn, he lost to weakness at the very last moment.
But I am not like him.
It was long, long ago that I gave up hope.
Oh? A guest.
I have to say, I'm a little surprised. I gave you fair warning, but...
I thought with all your rational, logical judgment, you'd conclude that 'there are other matters of higher priority to handle,' or something like that.
......
How long has it been since we last met, Federico? Five, maybe close to six years?
Hm? Aren't you going to say—'Discontinue this meaningless speech, fugitive Arturia?'
Or do you finally plan to switch to a different greeting?
Why not go back to those days when you lived with me, then... and call me Soror?
......
Oh...? And you're still not angry?
The first instant you came through the door and saw me, you didn't even make a move. That's unlike you.
Let me take a guess at why you're so out of sorts, then.
Are you waiting for something?
Or... are you hesitating?
......
Listen. Sounds of all kinds fill this little monastery.
Sorrow, pain, suspicion, resentment... and despair.
All woven together. More exquisitely touching than any man-made melody could ever be.
Ah... how very curious. Federico Giallo, have you felt anything? Is there any note out there that can dance within your brain, the one so different to how normal people think?
Fugitive Arturia, I have fully assessed your words and actions.
My present priority to address is not you.
You aren't in the chapel, Senior Federico?
I thought you and your colleagues all had your eyes fixed on the Most Reverend Abbot...
You are the prevailing suspect in this series of abnormalities.
...Hm.
I honor... yes, I honor His Excellency's choice.
We all respect him. Love him. This was always the way it would be, for we are all under His Excellency's wing...
......
It's simple to understand, isn't it?
When every cause sees you expelled from the cities, and your only choice is to roam the wastes, and you've become sure your end lies in death...
When your stomach groans with hunger, and all you ever find is despair, no matter where you walk, and eternity seems to have you trapped in the land that eats of man...
That's when past a gentle hill, and over the rock, you enter a canyon.
You see a building past the dust, a building that could dare to be a city, where its people bring you food, and let you stay in a room for the night.
Yes, there is only meager grit-like bread, and a bowl of watery soup.
Yes, there are cracks in the walls of the rooms, forever in need of repair...
But you have not died in the wastes. You have been admitted.
And that is why some of you call this place Paradise.
'Paradise'... yet it was a sham.
Not long after I arrived here, I found... that a Sarkaz friend of mine who'd caught Oripathy had vanished from my side.
I spent an age searching for her, only to find... she was here all along, in a room in the basement. They say it used to be a training room. Its walls are sturdier than all...
It's to that room where they send the deathly ill.
Improvised protective equipment cannot obstruct the propagation of Originium dust with any effectiveness.
We didn't have any other way.
Maybe you want to tell me how the sick could decide in their own final moments to leave the monastery, and go out into the wastes alone to wait for death to take them?
We can only bury this pain out of sight, and cover our ears, and turn not to look... We could never save anybody, and there's no one who could save us.
But even this facade of serenity is waiting to be shattered in the end.
And here we are. You've come.
Our mission here is to maintain order.
Of course. It wasn't any of you that destroyed our life here, after all. It simply and naturally came to the way it is now, as a matter of course.
And no matter how carefully I tend to the flowers I plant, when it's time for them to wilt, they will transform in invisible measures until they're beyond recognition. It's all the same.
You have been affected by Arturia.
You mean by Seniora Arturia's music?
Perhaps. In them, I often hear recollections of these things.
But she's never been a part of our lives. I know, she simply takes our distress, our suffering, as ornaments for her leisure...
And so, how could she ever go far enough to disturb our wills, to make these choices for us?
...Dangerous articles detected.
You have concealed a large quantity of flammables beneath this sacrarium—no—this entire monastery.
Yes.
It was a... possible alternative.
Whether you came or not, the tranquil life of this monastery was never going to last.
Have you seen what hunger and fear of wandering the barrens can drive people to, Senior Federico?
I have.
Before things reach the point of no redemption... I will end it all.
Clément Dubois, you are a suspect in the destruction of the Sanctilaminium Ambrosii, and are involved in multiple cases that concern or have concerned the rights of Lateran citizens.
You have been confirmed an executorial target by the Notarial Hall. In accordance with regulation, I will immediately proceed to apprehend you.
......
Federico never gives more warning than needed. The gun in his hands simply serves the place of speech.
Clément has not collapsed.
The wasting man clutches at his arm, where all feeling is lost, and gives a bitter smile.
Destruction of lighter confirmed.
Why... won't you kill me?
Why go to the bother of aiming for the lighter?
Your actions have not directly led to the deaths of any Lateran citizens. The law would not sentence you to death.
The law... So many years I've lived here, hearkening to His Excellency's guidance, following your law.
I feel its bind in ordinary times... Yet in chaos, in the time we need it most, it disappears without a trace.
There was some point where the music of Seniora Arturia became all I could even hear.
Senior Federico, is it the law of Laterano that wants to save me... or is it you, yourself?
2. After Operation
180 linesWe should have something to look forward to in life.
It's a funny thing to say out loud. Isn't it granted, after all?
If we don't expect the slightest thing out of life, then why are we endowed with life, and born unto this world, anyway? It can't be just to suffer, can it?
You see, children don't think about such strange questions.
Oh, childhood, how carefree were your days. Only when we've left it behind, can we then appreciate its worth.
For our adolescence, and for our prime, the same thing goes. Filled with worries moment to moment—yet in time, you look back, and wonder to yourself what those little worries even meant.
Back then, we had strength we could never use up. We always wanted to do something or other—we always believed life would get better.
And so we were earnest. And so we strove to live.
How strange. Wasn't everything meant to get better?
It's hard to say at what point it happened, but it was like I'd lost the vigor to long for the future.
Narrower grew the spaces that could accommodate me. Thinner grew the air that could give me breath. Now my life was heavy, and I could see the end of it, and it... had hope no more.
As if a stone rolling down a mountain.
And you can see, and I can see, it's not ever going to stop. It'll just fall, and fall, and fall.
Until it's shattered apart.
My flowers... they're all gone.
Do not step forward.
This part of the building has suffered repeated structural damage. It has a high degree of instability...
Urgh—!
Clément, come back.
No, Senior Federico... I need... to look one more time.
You previously stated that the flower you are looking for is not here.
I did, I just wanted to check... all the flowers are dead. And not one... not a single one... had the luck to be saved.
Ahh... ha... hah...
......
I am unable to analyze your behavior.
I am unable...
I planted these flowers myself... to stand for friendship and hope.
But they stopped caring about those things long ago. Nobody follows the flowering seasons anymore. They forgot the one thing above all they shouldn't forget.
Isn't it ridiculous? How some could suspect Raimund of the fire, just because he's a Sarkaz?
After living beside each other for so long. The harder the times, the closer we should come together... so His Excellency says. I want like nothing else to believe him... and by all rights, I should.
But the truth is placed before me, and I can't turn my head away.
Why do barriers never cease to be? Is mankind doomed never to understand one another?
The tiniest chaos is enough to shatter the order. The moment confusion envelops, people begin to hurt one another...
Enough... I've put up with it for long enough.
Clément staggers his way before the holy statue, scorched in the fire.
No second lucky flower is there. Only an old wooden tray, holding a few slices of driest bread.
A staff of life somewhat strange in scent. Into his mouth it goes, and he chews.
It is a faint brininess, with a flavor as astringent as the tides.
*cough*, *cough* *cough*—Disgusting...
Clément, put down that object.
Put it down? No...
*cough* *cough*...
Last night, I was intending to go to confession, but ended up overhearing the Abbot's plan...
It made me think—surely, at least Gerald and his people didn't need to take part? They were about to leave anyway, weren't they?
But why... did it all turn out this way?
......
I'll eat of this until it's gone.
You are not doing this to prolong your own life. Why are you still attempting to change?
I just want an answer.
I want to know... if there's any being in this forsaken world that can save us.
Federico knows—he must stop the man before him, right now.
But in fact, he stands there, rooted in place.
Just a few steps outside, Arturia begins to bow her cello, strings cutting through quietus's curtain. The sentiments within, Federico does not grasp, and never tries to grasp.
But for the very first time, the executor cannot help his own actions.
He begins to lose his understanding of himself.
Why?
Why did he not act the very moment he saw the other party?
Why, despite this feeble man consuming a thing that turns people to monsters, has nothing happened at all?
The song rises, key wrested up by one tone.
Between notes, the silence that disperses seems a mocking joke.
*cough*, *cough* *cough*...
Ah... is this—blood?
So what—this is it? What's the—*cough* *cough*—what's the point—without...?
Respiratory rate quickening. It is possible that the blunt force trauma has caused bleeding in your lower respiratory tract or lungs. If steps are not taken, it may lead to suffocation.
You require prompt medical treatment. Until then, I will perform first aid on you.
No—*cough* *cough*—I...
Clément covers his mouth with his hands, and tries to stifle the sound of his coughing as hard as he can.
But still the blood spills forth from his palms, with a discomforting viscosity, dripping down along the creases in his fingers.
He staggers backwards, and tumbles to the ground before the statue.
The graven image he burned almost seems now to accept him once more, murderer bereft of strength that he is. Its broken arms fall to either side, as if in gentle embrace.
Clément feels a wave of peculiar warmth.
Hah... hahah...
Look at me, aren't I entirely alright...?
So even this turned out to be false. The Abbot was made a fool of. There's no God out there...
*cough*...
What you ate originates from some kind of oceanic detritus. It is exceedingly probable to have induced mutation on the physiological level, but it has never had anything to do with the God you speak of.
Hah... ridiculous...
You are in terrible condition.
If you continue to worsen at your present rate, you will enter shock, and the risk of death will be enormous.
Really? That's just... not bad...
......
If you wish to leave any last will or testament, I am able to serve as your executor nominate.
Will...?
...No...
I don't have anything to leave...
Lateran... Our Paradise is a lie. Your faith is hollow.
Any friendship, faith, hope, future... it's all gone. No one can really be saved...
No one... no one can truly find redemption...
Is this a sort of choice? Is this some kind of happy ending?
The executor stands there, and moves no further forward.
Beyond the touch of anything or anyone, all his tribulations gradually fade away.
The weary gardener finally closes his eyes.
Still the lingering sound echoes, still I can feel it... A shake from the strings to my fingertips in the final moment, a last note so sharp it could tear skin.
Yet at the outset, that melody was calm as a babbling brook.
Someone otherwise so ordinary used his own life to prove one thing—that there is no such thing as a Savior. His unyielding mind triumphed over his own changing flesh.
Such beautiful music... This is the spirit of Mankind, tenacious and free, of a timbre those lamentable sea creatures could never know.
This song will bring his story to all.
They will understand his feelings, exalt his determination, and sing praise of his courage.
Clément Dubois will be remembered forevermore.
—Wouldn't you say so, Federico?
I was expecting you'd stay there a while longer. After all, you seemed to care greatly about the man who died... You even thought his affairs were higher priority than capturing me.
Federico, have you learned compassion? Or are you still as you were, unable to discern the emotions others feel, estranged from the crowd?
Fugitive Arturia, your Originium Arts have once again induced the death of another. I cannot ignore the greatest threat within my firing range.
Per the laws of Laterano, your sentence will be extended again.
It was his will to seek death. Even had I not performed, he would still take this path.
Time after time, I simply shed light on the scars across these poor people's hearts, and what do bystanders do but turn and look away?
Are you stung by his experiences, just as others are?
......
Federico, you still can't make sense of uncontrollable urges even now, can you? Just as the abbot persists along his path of thorns...
...Just as I cannot help but want to perform the emotions of others.
I certainly cannot make sense of them.
Whether I do or not, it has no impact on my implementation of the law.
But I proceeded to the sacrarium so that Clément would earn his rightful treatment.
He was not worthy of death.
—Oh?
You wanted to save a man who intended to destroy himself.
Haven't you realized? That's not a notion logic would fit at all.
Clément said that once a flaw, imperfection, or wound manifests in something seemingly perfect, it is broken beyond repair.
...I will test the accuracy of this statement.
You have become just a little more amusing, Federico... but only that little bit. Perhaps, come next we meet, that's when I'll be able to play your mind.
Sadly, it's time I wrap this trip up.
Excuse me, might you be Frau Arturia?
I've been waiting for you.
My apologies—we were the ones who extended an invitation to you as our guest, and yet I was late to arrive. Finding this place was an ordeal.
Erm, have I perhaps come at a bad time?
Federico!
Man oh man, I look at this scene and my brain is a pretzel.
Federico, how did it happen that you faced off with Arturia?
Good morning, Herren of Lateran.
Good... morning, gnädige Frau.
(Federico, her coat of arms is from one of the Kurfürsten, the Principes Electores!)
You can't make a direct move against Arturia right now. Laterano-Leithanien ties would be at risk...
...I refuse your suggestion.
Are you done talking it over?
Actually. How about, Federico, I give you one chance?
If you want to point your gun at me, then this is where you want to aim...
The black-haired woman clasps the executor's tense gunhand in her own.
She presses the muzzle against her own forehead.
Just pull the trigger, and your bullet will pierce my skull. And from then on, I would never bother you again... Federico, do you want to do that?
Why don't you give it a try?
......
I am required to arrest fugitives. If the situation does not necessitate, then shooting to kill is generally not advised.
But your argument is extremely rational.
What are you—?! Listen to me, this could be an INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT!
Hold on, Oren, I don't think things are that serious...
No, she will be fine. You do not understand this woman.
Heheh. I'm only playing a little game.
Frau Arturia, is this some kind of applied Arts?
Even so, what you just did was far too dangerous.
Thank you for your concern. I'll be cautious next time, should there be one.
Federico, think of this as a clue from me to you.
Have you ever felt like there's a performance that never ends, but you just can't hear it?
That until its grandest, most wonderful passages, everyone is deaf to it?
......
Well, then. The music is over, and it's time I went on my way again.
Herrschaften of Laterano, auf Wiedersehen.
If you'll excuse us.
......
You're actually just gonna stand there and let them go?
I thought it'd take at least Richele and me at the same time to hold you back.
You are extremely noisy.
What? Hey, Federico, where're you going?
He's headed for the area by the clock tower. If I remember right, that's where... the abbey's cemetery is?
Alright, no more gawking, all's well that ends well. Plus, we've still got things to do...
Senior Federico?
Seniora Arturia...?
They're gone...
It's okay, let's go look somewhere else!
Eep! Why's there a man lying down here?
Shh, he's asleep. We shouldn't wake him up...
Oh!
I know who this man is. He grows really pretty flowers! Same kind as Mamma always brings home to put in the vase!
Mmm...
What are you doing, Sara? You know Mamma gave us that?
But—he might catch a cold sleeping here...
Mamma said good kids learn to be app... precive.
You mean appreciative.
Okay, we'll let him borrow it for a bit then!
Mmm. Once he wakes up, I hope he'll keep growing heaps and heaps of pretty flowers.
Yeah, I'm sure of it!