Arknights story · Zwillingstürme im Herbst
ZT-7 Concerto 'Resurrection'
Viviana kills Cora. Federico realizes that Arturia is playing at the top of the empresses' spire. Arturia extracts the 'Witch King's last words' from the minds of the witnesses to his death. The pocket dimension opens, and the Witch King's Spire returns.
2 scenes, 475 lines
1. Before Operation
298 linesThe clouds above Zwillingstürme are... floating so freely.
Is this what you wanted to see at the end?
Ja.
Your music helped me see. Incredible. Not through my eyes, but through my mind.
I gave Viviana a few hints, as you wished.
She wanted so much to have a real family, but... she didn't follow her strongest emotions.
Nein, my dear friend.
It was her feelings for everyone that led to her decision to kill me.
Are you satisfied?
Why wouldn't I be?
I greeted death under the gaze of the one I loved.
No need to mourn for me. This is the best end a sinner like me could hope for.
Danke. Thanks to you, both Viviana and I will... go further.
Your emotions will vanish into thin air before long.
When the music ends, the strings may continue to vibrate for a while, but all sounds eventually fade into silence.
No one can keep a cloud around, Arturia.
The soul is frail. Even the most powerful emotions and the greatest desires will inevitably reach their respective ends.
Even for the strongest of souls?
Is that not what you're here for?
I'm leaving all my emotions and memories to you. Did you find what you were looking for?
Yes, perhaps... I'll know soon.
Goodbye, Arturia.
I hope you find your answer in melody.
Cora Löwenstein, my gentle and stubborn friend... I was glad to have you on this journey.
I'll work to achieve the future we sought together.
You and I...
...Will meet again in melody.
Get away from her!
There's no need to explain.
You made your decision... and put it to action.
As for the rest...
This isn't the time to speak of it, for neither of us.
They were both Herkunftshorn's Arts, but not quite the same.
The caster in that incident was an imitator who activated them by force, but this power feels almost like his own.
Red-black energy rumbles in the clouds.
It does not impatiently tear, swallow, and spread.
Instead it paces, watches and waits, on that throne in the clouds.
Do you see it?
The great Herkunftshorn has heeded our call and granted us an audience!
He has called forth the staircase leading to his eternal spire, the Genesis Horn!
The followers of the Witch King laugh.
They play the most piercing notes on their instruments, aiming them at their own chests and throats.
In response, the black clouds extend several tendrils towards them.
The dying cultists kiss the hand that their king has extended and become one with the black flame, ascending to become part of the dark cloud that now hovers above the Twin Spires.
The sky cracks with a dissonant roar.
Leithanien's greatest and most terrible sovereign, Herkunftshorn, issues his edict to his people.
...Herkunftshorn is really back.
We have a problem.
Bound by the Arts inherent to the Movement, the people continue to play. But the altered Güldenesgesatz now only feeds Herkunftshorn's power.
...
What did you just do?
Tried to shoot the cloud.
Now's not the time for this madness.
Madness? Not at all, Lessing. Do you know how long I've waited for this moment?
I was destined for this ever since his noise was forced into my head... No, since the day I was born.
You told me to fight, to face my responsibility and sins head-on. And you were completely right. Herkunftshorn is my sin, and it's my responsibility to face him.
I just need a way to drag him down from his palace in the clouds. Or... wherever he is.
Or I could send you up?
Wha—
An invisible thread catches him by the collar. It is light, gentle, and cool.
Suddenly, it constricts.
Rude to yell at someone who just saved your life, don't you think?
The black flame... it landed right where I was standing?
Listen to Lessing and stop shaking your wand at the clouds. He can be a little stiff, but he's more reliable than most.
...
That was awfully sudden, Ermengarde.
Were you expecting a schedule? A timetable? I rushed all the way back from Kazdel. Look how much wear and tear there is on my cube-thing.
My hat got all dirty, too. Mind if I clean it with your horn?
Yes.
You're no fun.
Just... keep your hands off my horns. How bad is the situation?
Extremely.
I don't even need witchcraft to tell you that much. This place is filled with threads that don't belong to it. It's so messy not even a Lich could clean it up. A little rain wouldn't solve anything.
Are you a Lich too?
Do I not look the part?
I thought...
You thought Liches were all old men with long white beards, dressed in robes covering head to tail, with skeletal staves in their hands?
...I thought Liches would have more refined vocabularies.
What happened to the old man?
You know the first thing about him, don't you? Of course he went straight into that cloud.
He strode back from the border of Leithanien the moment Herkunftshorn opened his eyes on the throne.
And he pulled on all our threads, too. I'm sure even the Liches of Kazdel could hear his cursing.
How many of you are here?
Everyone who could come.
Do you realize how inconvenient this is? It's like you were planning to move, and had loaded all your scrolls and talismans on the truck, then the very next day you hear that your old home is getting blown up.
I mean, can't you Leithanians keep things together for even a single day without us?
The Liches are back.
...This is a serious situation.
The Genesis Horn is about to descend.
Grimmacht, your violin...
Good.
We haven't played together in a while, Lieselotte.
Ja. The ensemble performance should be coming to a close, as is the custom. Then it's our turn.
Herkunftshorn... the calamity that Leithanien has always been destined to face.
We already beat him once.
We can do it again.
It's the Kaiserinnen's melody.
Grimmacht and Ewigegnade have made their move.
Do what you need to, Viviana.
...We'll do our part as well.
Golden light floods out from the Gesatzswächter's sword and armor.
As the light engulfs him, the other Gesatzswächter respond to the empresses' melody.
Beams of Arts shoot towards the sky from every corner, drawing closer together and joining up.
The sky is covered in black, but an even brighter cloud rises from the ground.
Under the golden arch, the sound of an organ gently covers those beneath the Twin Spires, while the violin's passionate, soaring notes pierce the roiling clouds like a sword.
Dozens of hands weave thousands of threads, plucking at the melody in the sky and the wind, making them even clearer.
The Twin Empresses, the Gesatzswächter, and the Liches.
All the guardians of Leithanien stand together against its former king, now returning from the void.
The chaos grows.
Only the Kaiserinnen's melody can fight Herkunftshorn.
Melody?
Organ, violin... and cello.
I can't hear the cello.
It's a part of the noise. Not at all like ordinary music.
Your ears are accustomed to hearing music, but mine are equally receptive to all forms of sound.
The conclusion is clear.
Arturia has escaped from prison.
(Piercing noise)
...What is this? The falling black flame... it's standing up like a human?
Is it the work of Originium Arts, or...
The unfortunate truth is...
I probed them with witchcraft, and there are fragments of human emotion contained in the Arts energy within.
Are they still alive?
Of course not.
Even we, who deal with death on a daily basis, couldn't survive with neither a body or a soul.
What we're seeing are merely shadows of their former lives. Or as the fanatics would put it, 'echoes.'
...Good for them? I guess their dream came true.
It's not good news.
Normally, such echoes can only exist in... how do I put this... a space where flesh and blood cannot exist. Or anything else tangible.
Where there is no concept of life or death, no passage of time. The only thing that can survive there is information.
Under normal circumstances, 'echoes' are simply trails of information that exist only as a lingering illusion.
But the emotions I felt in that black flame were flowing.
Get to the point.
You're as impatient as a block of wood.
Fine, fine, you're not Liches. Long story short, reality is being encroached upon, and Herkunftshorn has really spruced up that little pocket dimension of his. His consciousness probably lives on within.
So... you said you could send us up.
Absolutely.
But are you sure about this? Like I said, no one's ever been inside, other than Herkunftshorn.
If he can 'exist' there, why couldn't I? Might as well try.
Ah, to be young and daring.
After dealing with boring, depressed old folks and the mercenaries of Kazdel for so long, I forgot you Leithanians could be interesting.
Unfortunately, not even Liches have a way to send the living into that space.
Entering the Genesis Horn requires a stable connection between the two dimensions. It's like me calling out to my teacher, and him answering in response.
Could the bleating of these masked loonies actually wake him?
Absolutely not.
The old man spent over a decade trying everything he could think of, from ancient Sarkaz witchcraft to the latest Leithanian Arts, all to no avail.
He even tried bringing the temple of the Liches directly to Zwillingstürme, until the other masters came together to stop him.
Can you tell where the source of the problem is?
It's right in front of us. The Twin Empresses' Spires.
Would you like me to Exile the Twin Spires along with everybody inside? I mean, I could. It's not even hard. I could Exile all of Zwillingstürme if you want.
If that was a joke, it's not funny.
Fine. Then when it comes down to it, you won't be relying on us Liches to act, right?
Your Gesatzswächter have drawn the curtains. What would they do if the Genesis Horn goes out of control, to the point where even the Twin Empresses couldn't stop it?
...They'd destroy the Twin Spires, along with the entire amphitheater.
(Piercing noise)
Here it comes again.
The remnants of the Witch King... They just won't leave me alone, even in death.
Ermengarde and I will take care of matters here.
Go to the Twin Empresses Spires and find the path into the Genesis Horn.
Take this.
What's this? A cloth knot? No mementos, please; I don't need them.
It's a communicator, not a memento.
The Liches use threads to communicate with each other. I don't know Sarkaz witchcraft, so I have to rely on a physical object.
Pull the knot lightly, like this, and Ermengarde and I will receive the message.
You'd better.
Don't worry, he'll be fine. Maybe a little mortally wounded, but I can fix that.
Now go and face what you need to, Ebenholz. Everything I need to protect is below.
Besides, someone needs to watch your back and keep your escape route open.
Alright, I'll try to come back alive.
I know you will.
Hallo, my name is Viviana Droste.
The Imperial casters are all on the bridge below, fighting Herkunftshorn alongside the Kaiserinnen. I didn't expect to run into anyone on this floor.
...Operator Ebenholz.
Wait, you're also with Rhodes Island? Hah, what are the odds?
I am an executor of Laterano's Notarial Hall. We have a cleaning agreement with Rhodes Island.
I was permitted to access some operator records while aboard the landship.
Rhodes Island...?
I have a few friends with a lot of history with that place.
Does that mean we're on the same side?
(Piercing noise)
They've caught up.
Do you hear it?
Above, near the top...
Ja, it's getting clearer.
A cello?
Yes. It is Arturia's music.
......
A grayish rain falls on the balcony, flowing backwards before it can touch Arturia's strings and forming a cloud before her.
Or rather, a smoke ring.
I knew the Arts of those Caprinae couldn't stop my smoke ring.
And here I thought my first audience member would be my obsessed little brother.
Enough, little angel. No one wants to hear you play.
I thought you wished to enter the Genesis Horn, Herr Fremont.
The Austere Authority, too... You all want to clean up Herkunftshorn's grim legacy, but deep down, you harbor other desires.
Grimmacht wants power. As for you... ah, such deeply etched emotions.
The Witch King's closest confidant, a clash of ideologies, and a joining of Arts... Your friendship was practically synonymous with Leithanien's golden age.
And doesn't your parting of ways make this reunion of old friends all the more alluring?
What are you babb—are you reading my mind?
Not even the King of Sarkaz dared browse my scrolls. Watch yourself if you doing so, angel.
The music of your heart simply resonates with mine.
Just as my music reaches the ears of many, I can't choose not to hear the whispers of your heart.
So that's your little trick.
Your music was the key. Herkunftshorn's true melody had nothing to do with that score he scribbled down!
'The soul of the traitor will lead them to the lost Genesis Horn.'
Seemann, Loris, Brandt, Gerhard... and Cora.
I found the Witch King's final words, buried in the depths of their emotions.
Good for you. You got to hear his dying ramblings.
Would you like a medal from Leithanien? You can take it and scram. Flutter on back to Laterano.
A gray cloud appears beneath Arturia.
It explodes and engulfs the Sankta and her instrument.
Sorry, Herr Fremont.
I cannot stop.
I must see Herkunftshorn.
I want to play him. I want to feel the life he led, his thoughts in his last moments... and the intense emotions that still echo in the skies above Leithanien, long after his death.
I want an answer.
Your parlor tricks will only hasten your death, Sankta.
I tried, Professor. I buried my head in the tomes of the spire, looking for an answer within their pages.
Lives are so fragile. One wrong choice, and they're gone forever.
But Herkunftshorn's will remains unwavering, even in death. Like an everlasting spire.
What makes him so special?
Can Herkunftshorn truly be killed?
His Arts are inside both me and Hildegard. We were weapons made to fight him. Was he ever truly mortal, if only something designed to defeat him can do so?
They say you told Herkunftshorn the secrets of eternity. Hiding behind a curtain not belonging to this land, he has avoided the gaze of death itself.
What is that dimension like?
The Liches have studied it for thousands of years.
But no one has ever entered it, other than Herkunftshorn. By doing so, he's learned more than any of us.
Are you not curious? Don't you want to steal the Genesis Horn and take it for the Liches?
We could bring back all of its knowledge. The Sarkaz could make use of it.
Risk? Since when do we need to listen to the Twins? Leithanien has never been our country.
The risk comes from the dimension itself.
The void... the endless... demons.
The void is far from empty.
It is filled with danger. The unknown.
No.
Enough.
...What was that blackness just now?
Was it your last 'death,' Herr Fremont?
You... glimpsed into the void.
It almost swallowed you.
......
I've heard that Liches can extend their lives almost indefinitely.
Then... do you still feel fear when facing the destruction of the flesh?
You're talking about matters you do not and should not understand.
Why not?
Life is short. Why must we approach its conclusion knowing nothing?
The forbidden is forbidden for a reason.
If you won't abandon your pursuit, then you'll have to die here.
Thousands of threads rain down from the void behind the Lich, faster than a gale and thicker than a deluge.
They wrap themselves around Arturia's cello, her bow and strings, as well as her hands and torso.
Exile.
The old Lich has no plans to allow her to return to Laterano. He wants her to disappear completely.
Arturia smiles. She draws her bow, perhaps for the last time.
Forgive me my ignorance and arrogance, Herr Fremont.
But I'd rather die the very next second, fall into the void, be lost to chaos...
Than stop playing.
The last note sounds.
Before she is swallowed by the infinite void, Arturia knows her performance is complete.
Do you see it, Ermengarde?
Thanks for the heads-up. There are so many threads here that my soul was almost shaken from my body before I could see clearly.
The dark cloud cracks.
It is like a great eye, slowly opening up in the void.
Reflected within is none other than the dark spire last seen twenty-three years ago.
Right in between the Twin Spires, right where it used to be.
Was the Genesis Spire ever truly toppled?
Did Herkunftshorn, the Witch King, ever truly die?
Did every Leithanian's nightmare just return, or did it never leave?
The sound of the cello is gone?
...Arturia.
Herr Giallo!
The knot is moving.
It's a warning from Lessing and the Lich.
This place isn't normal. Extinguish your candle, Frau Droste... Don't use any Arts.
I have no idea what's going to happen next.
The stairs... they've changed?
Is this some kind of Arts?
An illusion created by Frau Giallo's music? Or something else?
...
Herr Ebenholz?
Only faint footsteps...
Soon, not even that.
The spiral staircase continues to extend further and further, until its end is no longer in sight.
Am I walking up, or down?
Viviana feels her consciousness grow distant.
All she knows for sure is that she is alone on these stairs.
2. After Operation
177 linesThe 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...
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.
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 Die Glut.
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.
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 you 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 do 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.