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Chapter 7: E lucevan le stelle
24 scenes, 2,680 lines
1. Razor in Green
93 lines
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome.
On behalf of the General Medical Association of Vienna, I would like to thank you all for attending this demonstration conference.
It is a great honor!
As we can see, dear friends, the era of science has arrived, THE ERA OF MAN HAS ARRIVED! Today, we will share the honor of witnessing the advancement of technology, its contributions to medical science and even the world.
Now please allow me to introduce the patient again: Ms. Isolde von Dittarsdorf. This lady has selflessly volunteered for the experiment, and in return will receive a healthy mind in no time.
...
She's been living a miserable life due to hysteria. How terrible it is for a young woman like her.
As we all know, mental illness is taking an increasing toll on our country. Even suicide has become more rampant.
The tragedies are piling up, and our dear lady is in excruciating pain as we speak!
...
Thanks to the development of medical science, we can again be rescued from the abyss of pain. As I said before, the electroshock therapy uses the most advanced technology available.
The medical use of electricity dates back to the 18th century ...
The presentation of these obscure theories fails to enthrall the attention of the guests. Vienna's citizens possess less a thirst for knowledge than a hunger for morbid curiosities. Tales of misfortune are favored over their cures.
Isolde?
The youngest daughter of the Dittarsdorfs?
Oh, no wonder she volunteered. The treatment should do wonders for her!
You know there's something wrong with that family ... I heard her mother stabbed old Dittarsdorf in the temple with a brass needle and killed every maid in the room.
That thing's even made it into the curio market. I heard not even the Lourdes water could clean the blood off it.
The family seems to be cursed. So far, no one's ever lived past the age of 40. In fact, the girl had a sister who died very young. And now her brother—I read in the papers that ...
He killed himself, right?
Well, the artist did what an artist would do. He wrote a sad poem, and then set fire to his paintings, together with himself.
You know what, my uncle works for the police, he showed me the autopsy report. The truth is, Theophil shot himself! He was killed by a bullet ...
Gosh! Good thing he didn't have to suffer all that pain before he died ... Poor boy, he was so talented and handsome!
But the girl, oh, she's less fortunate! Fainted at her only brother's funeral, didn't even get to see him one last time ... I hope the latest treatment will alleviate her suffering ...
Lunatics, the whole family is a bunch of lunatics!
Manners, sir! This is Vienna, where we call these poor people ... "arcanists."
*sighs* I sincerely hope that Isolde can put an end to her miserable nightmare. After all, she is one of the most talented opera singers in Vienna, just like her mother.
You know what they say, talent and hysteria go hand in hand. Think about it, they both come from the mind!
Hah!
...
The speaker notes these untimely whispers.
Quiet please. The treatment will now begin.
Are you ready, Ms. Dittarsdorf?
Three, two, one, okay. Calm down, my lady. Just hang in there, okay? The treatment will work.
Perseverance is a virtue. I don't think the electric shock is causing the pain you seem to be experiencing. Don't let the imaginary fear get the better of you.
Good.
Now we'll begin stage two. The voltage will be slightly increased.
Please get ready, Ms. Dittarsdorf.
...!
Stage three, an even higher voltage ...
Ugh!!! Ahhh!
All other sound has faded away.
Enough!
Forgive the interruption, Dr. Schwartz, but I need you to stop the treatment immediately!
Chattering, hushed questions replace the hum of electricity. The audience turns toward the petite woman standing in the back row.
I can't help but to question your methods, as well as the methods of the General Medical Association.
*pants*
Your electroshock therapy is a gross violation of humanitarian principles. Judging from what I just saw, it only brought the patient meaningless pain, and didn't help her condition one bit.
Unless, of course, you intend to use physical pain to distract the patient from her mental pain?
...?
Her green silhouette is delicate and sharp, like a razor slicing through the chaos.
Even though this is a conference meant for conversation, you're being ... a little rude.
The new electroshock therapy is not what you know from the last century. Now that man has tamed electricity, there's no doubt that the EST is the best choice for treatment! You shouldn't take it at face value, because it's not like the underlying principles are the same as that frog experiment, heh.
My treatment is supported by systematic theories and reliable references, and it is approved and sponsored by the General Medical Association, which means it's reasonable and legitimate.
While you are, correct me if I'm wrong, a "social activist" known for her little arcane tricks. Ms. Kakania, or should I say, Ms. Klara.
As far as I know, you don't even have a medical degree. Besides, your so-called art movement, the "Secession," is it? It confuses me, really.
Anyway, in order to have a more professional conversation, I suggest we talk later, you know, after you get a medical license!
Murmurs and fragmented laughter swell among the crowd.
No, Dr. Schwartz. This conversation has nothing to do with my personal identity or experience. I'm only asking you as a citizen of Vienna, and as a "human being" with empathy!
How can you not see that she's suffering? Have you been thoroughly brainwashed by the supposed authority of medical science, or have you too been blinded and deafened by hysteria?
...!
You rude little ...!
Please allow me to reiterate: the EST is an advanced and reliable treatment! Besides, Ms. Dittarsdorf had signed an agreement before we started. The experiment is conducted under mutual consent.
Your objection is of no use, and is even harmful to the patient's interests.
But we always welcome debate. Since you question my methods, please, be my guest and indulge us with your thoughts on her condition.
As I understand it, Mr. Sigmund Freud published his Studies on Hysteria in 1895.
He believed that hysteria was a psychological disorder caused by problems in the nervous system. It was not a simple organ disease.
His Trauma Theory explained that the patient's personal life experiences were the real causes of the disorder, affecting the patient in subtle ways.
It makes much more sense to analyze the patient's traumas than to harm their body.
As to whether his theory is "advanced" enough, you can read the Totem and Taboo, which he published last year ...
... What?!
The gentleman's face cracks with expression.
Freud ... Freud?!
The man who told people to marry their mothers and kill their fathers?! The one who couldn't get a word in when his patient spewed her insanity?
It took him 17 years to become a professor, for God's sake!
Ms. Klara, I've tolerated your immature antics, and I always welcome advice and opinion, as long as they're rational and reasonable. It's just ... how could you challenge me with such an amateurish theory?
You insult me as a gentleman! And you insult my reputation!
What? Dr. Schwartz, I did not mean to insult you ...
*bang—*
Ah!
Ms. Dittarsdorf, she's unconscious!
... How?
2. Drums of March
115 lines
Move, ugh, move!
Navigating this corridor is no easy feat, as researchers, engrossed in their Brownian motion studies, hurry along without watching their step.
A viscous, deep purple substance drips from their face onto the hem of their lab coat, marvelously landing in a spot not yet coated with other stains.
Hey! Hello!
Do you know how to control this thing?
It always drips on my bread at lunch. I had to skip breakfast for a week.
Just remove your brain. Problem solved.
That makes sense. How come I didn't think of that? Thank you for your advice. You are so sweet.
Oh, you're so welcome, pal.
I'd wipe my eyes more often if I were you. Just do something to get that black snot off those lashes.
The good news is, the persons in charge of this place are all dead ...
The bad news, the one in charge right now is not a "person"!
Hello, Researcher Medicine Pocket. Your meal allowance is being deducted to pay for door repair.
I don't care, bucket head. Do your worst, a few pennies don't bother me.
The head of the computing center nods, taking this as a sign of amicable agreement.
You could have called me from your lab terminal. The technology department has equipped every researcher with the latest communication device, and I have the energy to communicate with everyone.
Then how am I supposed to know whether my report is lying in your trash or not? Oh please, you know we gotta talk face to face to solve our issues when things get ugly.
With a flick of their wrist, a gray folder lands with impact, spilling its contents across the desk.
Congrats on the one and only achievement you got from the Manus Mask: we're now fully aware of its side effects! And this great achievement is filling the halls with oil and insanity!
You should thank the hatted cuckoo for her report. No one's turned into a crazy monster yet, or the Manus would be attacking the headquarters from Laplace right now!
D**n it, what are you doing? Are you even listening to me?!
Lucy turns her head, having just fastened the buckle on her face.
My apologies. You said we needed to talk "face to face."
If I understand it correctly, this is your number one request.
... You always carry a face in your pocket? That's just ... great.
You are welcome. It is our duty to learn and meet the needs of every researcher. This will help them reach their full potential while respecting the nature of their being.
I received some letters of complaint. They asked me to develop a better sense of humor. They said it would help me understand the researchers' sarcasm, so I am studying it.
75% of the complaints mentioned they did not want to see a face on my head. Some even used strong words like "Never let me see that face of yours again!"
I am glad that you are one of the other 25%, Researcher Medicine Pocket.
You know what, I don't mind if you keep that face on, as long as you let me kick it around a bit.
The newly face-flaunting robot nods slightly, pleased with their renewed consensus.
Regarding your second request, I have read your report. I fully understand the side effects of the mask as well as the ... feasibility of the decryption.
Then what's the point? It's like trying to get the syrup formula out of a coke can! Ugh! Again, we are all screwed without the original ritual from the Manus!
It is too early to conclude that the mask does not contain important clues. The attempts we are making are very necessary.
Besides, the situation in Laplace is not as bad as you say. The side effects are completely under control. The subjects are only suffering from dehydration and mania.
Fortunately, the Rehabilitation Center has extensive experience in dealing with manic patients. And some researchers, like yourself, are already manic without putting on the mask, so the side effects will not affect them much.
Hahahaha! Yes! Ball pens! Ball pens love brains!
Two researchers arrive swiftly, removing the poor soul who lodged a pen into their eye socket and just as swiftly replacing the broken glass.
Extensive experience, huh?
That is right. I am glad you have noticed our efforts. We have prepared a large amount of polymer materials in case of minor vandalism by the patients.
Hahaha, amusing.
So this is the logic of a machine, huh? Humans are as expendable in the lab as glass. You should be glad that your head is harder than my teeth, or I'd ...
Your opinion surprises me, Researcher Medicine Pocket. There is a big difference between the human body and glass.
As for the original ritual, you are not the first researcher to make this suggestion. We are fully aware of its importance.
We have dispatched investigators and members of the Field Agent Administration to investigate various regions. Here are the images they sent back.
Field ... What?
Field Agent Administration. If you have not heard of the name before, most prefer to call them the History Guards, given their function.
Right. That team of cannon fodder.
The thought of people being thrown around like garbage makes me feel lucky ... that I'm just a piece of glass.
Medicine Pocket lifts their head, examining the screen. Their attention completely diverted.
Looks like "face to face" conversation does solve problems. Finally we're getting somewhere, aside from the insane colleagues running amok.
Let me guess. The blue dots are good news, huh?
Correct. They represent the safe areas immune to the "Storm."
Ahh, North America ... I should've gone there for a walk in the park. I don't deserve to suffer in this stupid gray prison.
I have to say, Researcher Medicine Pocket, even though I approved your request for a sports field, which you claimed was a humanitarian need, I think it is more of a canine need.
I suggest you install an indicator on your humor module, so we know when to laugh. See, like this blinking red dot ...
Hm, is that Vienna?
Yes.
They wait, but the android does not offer up any further information.
Alright, alright. "Not privy to the information," huh? I know of your tricks. One day I will find the logical fallacies in your words, I swear.
And, this here ...
Yellow. Better than the worst, worse than the best.
That's the Aegean Sea. What's all the fuss about? Don't tell me there's a five hundred meter long blue crab ...
No. No sightings of large marine organisms other than the Gorgon.
This is where Timekeeper and her team are right now.
By the way, it seems you can distinguish between colors precisely, so the canine elements in you are more of a personal choice than an innate trait.
I see your efforts on improving your sense of humor, I do, but that's enough now. Turn off the module, ok? Who the heck put these complaints in the box?! I'm gonna kick their teeth out!
Back to business. Timekeeper and her team are in a bit of a situation. The details are classified, and I am not privy to them either.
Hah, "classified." I know what's going on. In this place, "classified" means ...
They're in big trouble!
D**n it! What are they?!
Krupp did not tell us about these things!
D**n it! Get away from me, you arcane fiends!
... Marcus?
Marcus?
Ooh!
I'm sorry, Madam Hofmann. I was reading the newspaper ...!
I know I told you to practice your arcane skills more, but you don't have to do it all the time.
I just told you the oath to secrecy for this mission. Level Two Investigator Marcus, repeat it to me.
Uhm ...
Remember the Field Mission Manual ...
Never disclose any information about the "Storm" or the "era" to irrelevant people.
Never build unnecessary connections with the current era. Never disclose any real information about the headquarters to members of the branch. Never discuss confidential matters in unrelated settings.
Never contact or interfere with the insignificant. Stay out of their lives, silently observe and respect their lives ...
And, why is the stupid train never on time?
...
Did I really say that?
Yes, in a low voice, after the last random stop.
You have a talent for multitasking, I'll give you that. But the point is, as a rookie investigator, your focus should really be on the mission.
Y-Yes, Madam Hofmann. I'm so sorry ...
Laplace has analyzed the information from the Field Agent Squad and suggested several Critical Points on where the "Storm" may arrive. One of them is Vienna.
The History Guards have reported sightings of Manus leaders there. Considering they will probably do the same thing they did in 1929, you know, escalate international conflicts to accelerate the reverse, this mission is probably quite risky.
It's okay, Madam Hofmann. I am fully prepared!
I've been waiting for my first field mission since I joined the Foundation. Thank you for approving my application, or I'd still be talking to rusty filing cabinets and diamond patterns on a wall ...
No need to thank me, Investigator Marcus. Your application has been approved by headquarters, as your arcane skills will prove very useful on this mission.
This time we will track down Manus Vindictae in Vienna and gather intelligence on their rituals. The intelligence should help with the "Storm" immunity research, making it the top priority over all other missions.
That's why I said your arcane skill, "reading," will be useful on this mission.
Yes ... Understood!
The young student straightens up. Her mentor catches her emotion and replies unsmilingly.
I know how lucky you must feel for returning to your era, after being isolated from the outside world for so long.
I will take you to Romania and visit the orphanage where you used to live, if we still have time for that after the mission.
...!
I'll do my best, Madam Hofmann! Whatever you need, as long as my arcane skill can do it!
By the way, how's the Timekeeper doing on that Aegean island?
Marcus, have you already forgotten what I just told you?! This is a confidential matter!
But it's in the news.
"Unknown island appears on the Aegean Sea. Forces attacked by arcane creatures."
"Ownership over island causing conflicts between Bulgaria, Serbia, and Greece."
"Austro-Hungarian Empire and Russian Empire to establish a negotiating committee ..."
Madam Hofmann, the increased turmoil could cause the "Storm" to arrive earlier, right?
That is not our problem. The headquarters will send someone to intervene, since it is caused by the arcanum.
Now just focus on our destination, Vienna.
Time to get out. Grab your luggage.
3. Fork and Torte
149 linesHere it is ... the national treasure of Austria!
The creamy chocolate cake, the buttery ganache, and the delicious apricot jam ...
Created by the ingenious apprentice Franz Sacher in 1832, renowned throughout the world ... the dessert of Vienna, Sachertorte!
My first time seeing a real one.
At the café's entrance, Marcus's fork holds reluctantly over her mentor's little gift.
How should I cut it?
If I cut straight, the cake will get mushy. If I cut sideways, I'll miss out on the apricot filling ...
What if I eat it in one bite ... No no, how unrefined. The director would scold me for that.
I have to think carefully. There must be some other way ...
Remember all your training, Investigator Marcus. This is the most important moment of your life! Don't get too excited or you'll ruin it!
Then the fork falls.
Oh, no!
As Hofmann cuts the Sachertorte in two with calculated precision.
What?
No, nothing ... Thank you for deciding for me ...
The cake rightly is a national treasure, soft and layered with apricot jam. It is consumed in mere moments.
*sobs*
What's with the tears, Marcus?
The café bustles with others coming and going.
As Hofmann checks her watch now for perhaps the fifteenth time in fewer than as many minutes.
According to the plan, the head of the Vienna branch would pick us up and guide us through the necessary procedures of this era.
But our train was two hours late.
That being the case, our Mr. Karl should have been waiting for two hours, but so far there's no sign of any gentleman in the Foundation's uniform ...
So Mr. Karl is also more than two hours late.
A clever deduction. Let us hope otherwise.
I'll go check if he got here before us.
The mentor steps out from under her umbrella's shadow and heads into the café. Left behind, the apprentice looks around aimlessly.
She catches a few key words.
I bet that island is a secret base of the Dual Entente. That's why the Bulgarians are so anxious. They're worried about their exit on the Aegean Sea ...
A friend of mine is in the navy. He saw a ship leaving the harbor loaded with gold ...
War is coming, friend!
No, no! How does that explain the arcane creatures over there?
I'd say it's never been discovered before, like the Celtic Otherworld, you know, the heavenly land beyond the sea in Bran's legend.
The Arcanum has declined after the Enlightenment. It is an honor for all of us in this era to find such a paradise from the past.
You're not fit to be human if you don't understand what that island means to us, my friend!
Marcus opens her notebook, jotting down these bits of trivia with a quick and earnest enthusiasm.
Her desire to catch the length and breadth of these comments forces her to lean quite conspicuously until she finds she has become an object of spectacle herself.
...
Miss, could you show me your papers please?
Ah, right.
... Erm, sorry. My friend has it. Could you hold on a minute?
I am an arcanist sent from the headquarters of the St. Pavlov Foundation. I have a letter of introduction from the head of the Vienna branch ...
Arcanist?
Then you come with us, miss! Hands up, and be quiet!
Bring over the golems! We have an unregistered arcanist!
Huh? Huh?!
Hofmann's attention is drawn to the commotion unfolding outside the window.
Marcus ...?!
Sir? P-Please listen to me ...
A single misstep causes a mistaken interpretation—a sign of defiance.
...!
Enough to compel these loyal city guardians to fulfill their duty.
Don't let her get away!
What is happening?
At ease, gents! Allow me to explain. This respectable lady is most definitely not a Russian spy!
A portly gentleman with a handlebar mustache hurries over, his forehead glistening with sweat.
Ah, Ms. Hofmann. So this lady with the big case is your ... assistant?
No spy would be stupid enough to carry an entire case of papers in public. That will be all, gentlemen!
The guards offer their salute before ushering the golems back to their posts.
Hofmann's face is the picture of awkwardness—one that could mark a new entry for this exact situation in the next Field Mission Manual.
The gentlemen in Vienna have become exceedingly sensitive after the infamous espionage cases of 1913.
And their pride was almost destroyed by the Redl case ... The man was even head of counterintelligence, and had a sexual orientation not tolerated in his time. Well, I'm not sure which of the reasons hurt them more.
Sorry, Marcus. I should have told you that, as your supervisor.
Mmm ...
She nods but only manages a half-spoken grunt of affirmation.
Hmm, the belief that arcanists cannot cast arcane skills without the ability to speak, so old and superstitious. Like muzzling a dog when it gets out of control.
Can we dispel it now, Mr. Karl?
I have to remind you, Ms. Hofmann, that theoretically we have to go through an entire approval process before I authorize the dispelling of the mute spell.
But whatever, who cares! They shouldn't have treated a young lady like that, for whatever reason.
Mr. Karl is a portly and pale man, his appearance punctuated by the scent of punch cards, in every way a representative of the empire's bureaucratic system.
Overall, he seems a pleasant sort of man, despite his position.
... Phew!
Relax! This was just a minor incident! You'll never find another place as tolerant as Vienna—the very same principles the Foundation strives for!
All registered arcanists can come and go as they please in this beautiful city! We even offer artists and musicians perks that cover every aspect of their lives, because Vienna loves art and music!
Oh, speaking of registered arcanists ... Could you show me her arcanum license?
Arcanum license?
Yes, ladies from the headquarters! Even though I'm more than willing to skip some ... unnecessary procedures for you, we still have to be careful about security, you know, especially when dealing with arcanists.
The portly bureaucrat rubs his hands together slyly. It is evident that he would be no easier to deal with than the golems.
I don't think the headquarters issues such a license. No one told us to apply for one.
Oh, there must be some mistake! All arcanists entering Europe must possess an arcanum license issued by the local government.
Austria enacted this policy in 1756. We abolished it in 1868, but we're in the time of great tension, so ... you know.
Perhaps this lady knows something ... Ms. Marcus?
... Y-Yes?
You are an arcanist, even though you're sent by the headquarters, correct? Show it to me then, your arcanum license.
Hofmann's brow furrows. This then is what it looks like when those in power wish to exert their authority.
But the more pressing crisis here is that there would be no way to produce an authentic paper from 1914 without adequate preparation.
Marcus is my assistant on this mission, Mr. Karl. She is not to answer your questions directly, given her rank and status.
It is me, the one in charge, that you should turn to, not my assistant.
Oh, lady from headquarters, don't get me wrong. I didn't mean to usurp your authority! It's not an issue. You didn't have to ...
I-I have it!
...?
Marcus hands over a slip of paper from her pocket.
Here.
Oh ... Huh!
Mr. Karl bursts into a series of protracted sighs.
Erm, is everything ok, Mr. Karl? Is it not acceptable ...?
Oh yes, it's a perfectly good license. I can even smell the ink from the government office! Welcome to Vienna, Ms. Arcanist from Romania!
You should have shown it to me sooner. It would have saved us a lot of trouble.
The portly man smiles as he returns the permit to Marcus, who seems as though she has just stepped off a rocking boat.
Erm, I'm so sorry to have wasted your time ...
Speaking of which, no offense, but you are two hours and fifteen minutes late, Mr. Karl.
The apprentice's apology is cut short, as she is taken aback by her mentor's dramatic shift in tact.
My apologies. The Minister of Finance and I had a little too much at lunch. Well, your train was late, too, wasn't it?
You were having lunch when you were supposed to be here? We agreed to ...
Relax, lady from the headquarters! You're just not used to the pace around here.
Look at this industrialization and so-called modern designs. They have turned our beloved city and our carefree life into a cold, impersonal machine.
Please forgive the train staff, the sewer workers, and the plumbers! It is their right to be a little "unpunctual," and enforcing this right is a symbol of our free will ...
In the end, you didn't wait too long, and I got to enjoy my lunch. It all worked out, right?
Hofmann remains unswayed and indignant, while behind her Marcus hangs her head.
Clearly, Mr. Karl's joy is his alone.
So, why was your train late?
It crashed into a deer, a deer with free will.
Oh. Tragic.
Alright. Forgive this old Karl for his minor mistake, ladies. The rumors about the Golden Isle had kept the branch busy. There was no one else but me to pick you up.
It wouldn't have been so embarrassing if headquarters had sent us manpower instead of taking it from us.
I'm also on the job, Mr. Karl. Should I include your complaints in the report?
No no no, that's okay.
It's just a group of lunatics banished to an island. They are arcane criminals from a small country, and people will forget about them in less than a month.
Only a few would believe that it has any real influence on Vienna, you know, the young artists who think highly of themselves, the schemers with evil plans, and the conspiracy theorists suffering from neurasthenia.
The Magyars and the Bohemians are already giving us a headache ... Arcanists? They are not at all the Empire's top ethnic concern!
But aren't you in charge of the registration and management of arcanists?
Well, first of all, isn't my loyalty to His Majesty and the Empire?
Before you use the title, "Head of the Vienna Branch," to define me, I am first and foremost an honored citizen of Vienna, and I serve our great Emperor, lady!
And I thought you said this was a tolerant city ...
Oh yes, we are responsible for dealing with the problems caused by the arcanists, just as we deal with the Magyars and the Bohemians.
Mr. Karl swings his cane and strides forward cheerfully.
Alright, that's the venerable Vienna branch of the St. Pavlov Foundation over there. Let's go!
Marcus touches her left cheek, still warm from the touch of the mute incantation.
Mr. Karl is ... very different from the staff of the headquarters ...
In fact, most of the time the branch members aren't comrades who share the same goals with us. They're more like ... local officials we have to deal with.
We need them as a buffer between the Foundation and the local governments. They can help us maintain peace in the human world.
But you can't ask too much of them. Not all of them are cosmopolitans. Most of them put their Emperor and their country first.
That's why we shouldn't disclose classified information to them.
... Does it still hurt?
Um? It feels much better now!
Good.
The mentor swings around as if on a swivel, with a face of plain curiosity.
... Marcus, did you already have that license before you joined the Foundation?
Yes. Austria abolished that policy in 1868, but Romania did not until 1913 ...
I carried it with me out of habit. Thank goodness I did.
This is indeed the era I'm from ... That time has returned.
Never disclose any information about the "Storm" or the "era" to irrelevant people.
The apprentice halts her speech, cowed by Hofmann's warning.
Put away your license. We need to catch up with Karl.
Remember my words, Marcus: never trust anyone, even if they're a branch member of the Foundation.
4. Secession Building
138 linesSo this ... is the Vienna branch?!
It's ... splendid! Look at the walls, simple yet elegant ... It's like a temple of modern art!
Hmm, I can read ... the contrast between different shapes and textures ... This Mr. Olbrich must have put so much effort into the design.
It must be a very pleasant place to work at, Mr. Karl!
Huh? Oh no, this is the Secession Building.
Another meeting place for the young artists to show off, other than the cafes. They said they wanted to break away from traditional art. Well, it's more like they're breaking away from human life.
There's nothing to like here, only inexplicable paintings and neurasthenic lunatics, but people keep coming back. There are even secession groups to the secession, like cells dividing through mitosis.
The entrance to our venerable branch is on the left. Please follow me ...
A massive golem stands at the door, towering over the approaching trio.
Notice the guard? It's the most loyal and reliable knight of Vienna, powered entirely by arcane ritual. The greatest achievement since the revival of arcanum in Europe!
In 1662, a royal magician from London offered it to the Emperor at the time. Since then, it's guarded the Empire for centuries ...
Ah, sir!
A figure emerges from within the shadow of the golem.
... Hmm?
Greetings, dear Sir Scarpia! How is your son Tamino? I hear he's not getting along well with his fiancee.
He's a strange one. What's he doing standing in a corner like that?
... My apologies, Ms. Hofmann. Please hold on.
Terrific, Heinrich, just as terrific as your pathetic art career.
That's great! Best wishes to you, Sir Scarpia!
Oh, my apologies.
He stands in the distance, giving a nod towards Hofmann and Marcus.
Greetings to you, Angelotti, and ... Unknown Lady.
The gentleman turns and moves briskly into the temple-like edifice, as peculiar in his exit as he was in his entrance.
See, he is one of those crazy artists. Everyone knows that I only have this beautiful daughter of mine! This mustacheless gentleman went to study in Berlin and has just returned.
I guess he didn't learn much in class, and now he's throwing himself into opera ...
He must've listened to Wagner and Mozart so much it damaged his central nervous system. That's why he sees everyone as a character in an opera.
Operas and music, they do harm to your eyes and fill your ears with useless sounds ...
Is every artist like this?
Hmm, Scarpia, Angelotti ... They are indeed characters from the opera Tosca.
Oops, I am getting off topic.
Karl's cane raps on the stone creature in front of him.
Don't worry. We've modified its original ritual to meet the needs here. Lots of people come in and out, after all.
You just need to knock on the armor three times, touch your mustache, and it will let you in.
I forgot you have no mustaches, my dear ladies! But you do have ... arcane skills, right?
First of all, I'm not an arcanist.
Second, I'm not as humorous as you think.
Fine! But that was no joke. This thing only accepts mustaches. It's a symbol that every gentleman should have ... And not everyone's like Heinrich!
The absurdity seems to have finally broken the senior investigator's patience.
...
Just give me the list of arcanists we mentioned in the letter, Mr. Karl. We don't need to go into the branch.
Oh, no. Do you really want to miss the scenery of the Danube? And the sight of the modern transport system? There's no better way to tour the Ring Road than by carriage! And we've booked a room for you at the Sacher hotel ...
By the way, have you tried the treasure of Austria?
Thank you, we already had it while you were enjoying your lunch.
Now, please. Give us, the list.
Hofmann's tone marks the request as non-negotiable.
And I'm sure you've received a telegram from the headquarters. You are to investigate the people around Theophil von Dittarsdorf.
Ok. Alright, it's a pity, lady from the headquarters.
Here you are ... And that's all of it, all of it!
Oh, and this ...
Two tickets to the Vienna Court Opera. Please give them to Mr. Richard, and when you see him ... send my sincerest regards.
Hofmann stands still, maintaining a distant politeness.
I will.
... Who's Mr. Richard?
The contact between the Foundation and the Vienna branch in 1914 ... a phantom of history.
At that time, people still believed the golden age that had begun with the last generation would continue as it should, and that their positions in government would be as unshakable as the long-standing Empire.
Hofmann nods, watching as old Karl taps his cane and strokes his beard, before disappearing into the corridor opened by the golem.
... Hmm? Shoot. It won't let me in!
You're not joking are you, Mr. Karl?
I am not! Darn. What is going on? Is this thing broken?
Ugh, I'm stuck ... My belly! I had this suit custom-made in Paris!
═╩╬!!
The ancient knight awakens in a slow stir, shaking off a heavy layer of dust as thick as a Viennese title.
What on earth is going on?! Why is the defense system activated?!
A comical voice emanates from within the statue, lilting and quick, like a rubber ball bouncing around inside a hollow frame.
*sighs*
Marcus, can you "read" its internal rituals?
Hmm, considering its sluggishness ... yes, I think so.
Good.
It's a good chance for you to get some experience. Just stay safe.
Oh no! Ms. Hofmann, these golems represent the spirit of the Vienna branch ... You shouldn't be so violent ...
Adapt, improve, and advance. Arcanum should be kept up with the times, not lock itself away in a museum and wallow in the good old days.
There was something visibly wrong with this thing, and we were rightfully doing our job. If you have any concerns about this, I'll include them in the report.
And I should remind you that you've spent too much time on your ... free will. We're running out of time.
No, no, procedures are not the problem! Darn it ... you're not German, are you?
The division head mutters softly, before proceeding inside at last.
So what's wrong with the golem?
Hmm, as Mr. Karl said, its structure is simple and yet incredible ... The malfunction comes from one of the components. There's an extra stroke on the enchantment.
These strokes look new. I guess the staff made a mistake when they did the maintenance or repair.
Let's hope so.
Now take a look at this before Mr. Karl comes out.
Several days ago, a member of the Field Agent Squad found a painting that was reported in this magazine, the Pan.
It belonged to Theophil von Dittarsdorf, a deceased artist from Vienna who committed suicide.
Its name is The Salvation, and it was found along with a poem.
The poem mentioned the "doomsday," the "reversal of time," and the "rain."
... Salvation and rain? It sounds so ...
Yes. And given the sightings of Manus leaders in Vienna ...
We believe Theophil came into contact with Manus leaders before he died, and probably learned the truth of the "Storm" and the method of "salvation."
This was how Manus Vindictae recruited arcanists in 1929.
Hmm ... If he knew the method of "salvation," why did he still kill himself?
Marcus takes the magazine with ready curiosity, looking at the small, clipped section.
"Seeking Silenus in the woods, I asked him,"
"What is the best and most wonderful thing for man?"
"'The emptiness where man was never born!' He said."
"I looked at it, the ring of life, the ring of all lives."
"Your hands form the ring, and the judgment is pronounced."
"On the doomsday, at the dusk when history fades away."
"Oh world! Its head bites its feet, its knees touch its nose."
"Oh man! They inhabit the earth, waiting for the sky to fall."
"Yesterday turns into tomorrow, tomorrow reverts to yesterday."
"Who shall vanish in the rain?"
"Who shall be granted the eternal happiness, the grace from above—"
"And that emptiness, the cessation of existence?"
That was so moving, Ms. Sieglinde.
Poor Siegmund, my best friend, has returned to the void. Thank you all for coming today to shed tears for our departed hero.
He was a righteous and noble man who cared for his people. He was still trying to save the arcanists on the Golden Isle before he died. He left us so many beautiful poems and paintings.
Shame that the fire burned everything to ashes. The only thing that survived was ... The Salvation.
We were in a golden age of progressive ideas. We believed the Enlightenment would make ignorance history and lead us to paradise, where everyone would be saved ...
The barrier between arcanists and humans would be removed. In Vienna, that tolerant city, we would stand together, hand in hand, back to back, reliving the intimacy we once shared when we first came into this world.
"Oh world! Its head bites its feet, its knees touch its nose."
But the reality is, the survival space of arcanists is shrinking. We try to speak up in our own language, but that only makes us strangers in our own land.
That's why we have decided to exhibit Siegmund's last work, not only in memory of the deceased ...
... but in memory of his noble spirit, his sincere concern for his people, and his scrutiny of this tragic world.
The people gathered nod their heads. Some of the women begin to weep softly.
There is no need to be sad, my friends! He has left us with the Rhinegold!
We will found a committee with the funds raised by the exhibition to improve the conditions of unregistered arcanists.
The youngest and most outstanding opera singer in Vienna, Theophil's sister, Isolde von Dittarsdorf, will present the details.
Amidst applause, Heinrich bows, handing off the stage to its true protagonist.
...
She takes a graceful step forward.
Now I see ...
... why we were ordered to investigate Theophil's connections.
There may be spies from Manus Vindictae among them.
Her mentor nods in approval, handing over a stack of documents.
I know the Vienna branch has a lot of bureaucratic problems, but we need their help to carry out the mission in this era.
The search warrant, the letter of introduction, the evidence collection permit ... They've provided us with all the official documents we need in this era, as well as the list of all the arcanists in Vienna in 1914.
But we're not going to cooperate with them any further, because of the requirements to confidentiality. We'll only need manpower from them in the following operations.
Marcus replies by opening the thick register of arcanists. Desperate to prove she hasn't gotten distracted this time.
... In case you spend a whole day on the "A" section, Marcus, we're looking for "Theophil," starts with a "T."
H-How did you know I was starting from line A ...
The apprentice droops her shoulders, sinking back into the book. With the help of her arcane skill, she easily finds the information that Hofmann seeks.
It says Theophil belonged to a group of artists called "The Circle."
They often gathered in the Secession Building. Madam Hofmann, I think we can make contact with them one by one ...
Ahh!
What's happening?!
Erm, I sense strong arcane fluctuations over there!
Her eyes center on the door of the Secession Building.
5. A Bad Seance
78 lines... Isolde? Isolde!
My God, she passed out again!
People gather around in a loose circle, wringing their hands but offering little help, knowing there is little they can do besides making a spectacle of their compassion.
She must have smelling salts on her. Find them ...
Kakania! People, make way for the doctor!
Isolde, can you hear me? Oh no, it's a seizure. She's going to bite herself.
Get a stick! Heinrich, do you have any props she can bite ...
*panting* Doctor! Help ... Please help me ... They are here! The paintings ... They are here!
D**n it! She can't wait ... Isolde, open your mouth ... Oof!
Doctor! Your hand is bleeding from the bite!
It's okay! What happened just now? She was fine when I left ten minutes ago.
I ... don't know! We finished reciting Siegmund's poem ...
... Siegmund? Oh, you mean Theophil. I see what's going on here. You've aroused her trauma.
You shouldn't have invited her to her brother's exhibition, Heinrich! And you even read his death notice in public! You should have known it would upset her!
He was the only family she had left!
*gasps* I did not ... I thought she had completely recovered.
... What?
She should have recovered from the electroshock therapy.
What kind of nonsense is that? Dr. Schwartz is a liar without a conscience! He takes pleasure in the pain of his patients!
I know how he managed to fool the Medical Association ...
Those rich morons don't care about the patients at all. Soon as you mention fancy words like "advanced" or "science," they'll throw their wallets at you as if they'll be left behind by the times.
They're all blinded by the shining glamor of "progressivism," and they even scoff at psychoanalysis, the real meaningful discovery of the era ...
Ahh!
A piercing scream silences her arguments.
The screaming woman, drenched in sweat, sees the framed painting turn into a bone saw aimed at cutting open her skull, where most certainly the syrup in her brain would diffuse like milk poured into a cup of tea.
How adorable—an almost delightful thought ... But, but ...
What if it's like the oil paint on this canvas? Or like a teacup? Like a neat triangle? Like a square, like a square, like a square, like a circle—
The electric lights go out, and a series of candles ignite simultaneously.
...?!
Haha, hahaha! Look at the ring, Theophil. It's so beautiful ...
In the candlelight, Isolde's face is deathly pale.
*sobs* No, this was my fault ...
Yes, yes, I will do better. I can do this! I can still sing ...
Ugh ... Isolde?
The woman pulls Kakania down by her collar.
Please look at me, Doctor! Help me? Please help me!
I will, Isolde. Now let go of me first.
Oh no. It's a seance! But Ms. Tosca only does it before a performance.
Of course it turned out this way. She's lost control. She summoned evil spirits this time, not the good ones!
No, no! Get away, get away!
Kakania breaks free from her grip and follows Isolde's distant gaze.
Ms. Kakania, watch out!
Heinrich, give me a hand!
Draw the ghosts away, by whatever means!
Alright. You're safe now, Isolde. Now, feel the pressure of my hands.
The wandering spirits busy themselves in entangling the unfortunate gentleman. Kakania, catching her breath, gently clasps her hands over Isolde's ears.
The pressure will remind you of some things. They'll enter your mind slowly and steadily, and they won't hurt you ...
*deep breath*
Good, that's it.
When I release the pressure, open your eyes slowly. Those things will fall softly to the ground, like feathers. Now grab them gently ...
Now tell me, what did you see? What happened?
*pants* Ugh ...
The woman clenches her teeth, struggling to push out her gritted words.
Ugh ... Dr. Schwartz told me that humans are rational and we should be able to control ourselves completely. But I failed. The Dittarsdorfs can't afford another lunatic like me.
I will be abandoned by the audience, by everyone!
No! You are not them, Isolde. As long as you receive proper treatment in the hospital ...
Please don't, please! I am cured ... The shock therapy worked well, very well!
Isolde ...
No, I mustn't act like mother or Theophil ... The Dittarsdorfs can't bear ... The opera can't bear ...
Still murmuring, her breathing gradually evens out.
I will.
The gentleman barks a command to the guests gathered around and moves to help the girl into the backstage.
Kakania rises, rushing to the door of the Secession Building like a gust of wind.
What about you, doctor? Where are you going?
I'm going to get that d****d Schwartz!
Her green figure swiftly disappears beneath the doorway.
...!
But before the door can close, a hand halts its motion.
Kakania ... Hmm? You are from the Foundation, and ...
Angelotti, and the Unknown Lady?
6. Yes, Prime Minister
118 linesOutside the temple of art, the mentor imparts a final set of admonitions to her apprentice.
Remember, Marcus, the working staff of the Foundation branch will take care of the dispute in their fashion. We just need to follow him in.
The members of "The Circle" are top priority, but before any of them can be convicted, as said before, all we have to do is ...
... Silently observe and respect their lives.
Understood.
...!
I almost bumped into her! That lady in green seemed to be in a bad mood.
Shall I ask the gentleman from the branch who she is? Hmm, he seems busy at the moment ...
But that gentleman is a person of this era. If I interrupt him, am I also interrupting his original course of action?
Marcus sinks back into her mire of indecision.
...!
Hofmann gently pats Marcus's shoulder, drawing back her focus.
Fortunately, the Vienna branch's officer does not notice this minor episode.
His attention is captured by the arrival of an uninvited acquaintance.
My, my, Mr. Rigoletto! Your hair has grown so fast ... To what do we owe the pleasure? Are you also here for the exquisite art?
Can you just be normal for once, Heinrich? And stop calling me by those opera names!
Someone reported an arcane disturbance here. I see candles ... Are you holding a seance?
I must remind you that arcane rituals are not allowed unless you have a separate permit!
Excuse me? That's not fair! The first permit already costed us a ...
Please calm yourself, sir, and be mindful of what you implied. The Viennese government has ensured you the greatest possible freedom through working with us.
Who do you think cleaned up after you people after those fires, passionate murders, and deadly stampedes? We can't bear the consequences of your "moments of epiphany" forever!
Not to mention the seance is one of the most dangerous acts. We've had two colleagues injured, still being treated for mental illness in the Vienna General Hospital.
You will find no other place as tolerant and open-minded as this one. In return, you should do your part and cooperate with the government.
...
...
Seance? What seance? Nothing of the sort, Mr. Rigoletto. This is just a ... rehearsal of the play.
The candles, the settings, and of course, these paintings once bathed in fire!
Yes, this is an art exhibit, a youth rally, or as we prefer to call it, a visualization of the future.
I demand a rational conversation. Now, I must question the sanity of this gathering—is there no one here who is of sound mind?
If not, I'll have to ...
Ms. Dittarsdorf!
Bless you, Madam. I did not expect to see you here!
Oh, sorry that we've troubled you. I'm here for my late brother's exhibition, and for a rehearsal of the coming performance.
We, we got a little carried away! Made you come all the way here to check on us ...
Please, madam. As your friend, I do not wish to cause you discomfort. In fact, Mr. Karl and I were talking about you over brunch earlier, he was truly impressed by your talent at the opera!
Ah, Mr. Karl is too kind. Since my mother passed away, he has been such a caring friend to the family.
Well then, this was all just a misunderstanding.
But madam, please understand that I still have procedures to go through.
Ahem, would you mind if I ... investigated a little?
The man leans in, his voice a hushed whisper.
By "investigate," you know ... just a quick look around the building.
We are grateful to have a responsible employee like you, Mr. Strauss. Please, help yourself.
At the other end of the hall, investigators from headquarters uphold their duties with familiar diligence and effort.
...
Hofmann imperceptibly shakes her coat, as fine threads, like spider silk, disperse into the air attached to tiny floating particles.
Wow, the "Spider Tail" and the "Detection Spores" ...
These are Laplace's auxiliary devices for perceiving arcane power ... I've never seen one before. Only investigators of level four or higher are allowed to use them ...
Noticing the excited glances towards her, Hofmann leans in to whisper to the young investigator.
Marcus, come, give me a hand.
On it.
These burnt pictures ... they're the work of Theophil von Dittarsdorf.
They're the perfect subjects for "reading."
The lamp is gripped a little tighter. She lifts her head, as she begins "reading," the world around her becomes a matter of effortless ease to view.
Only a third of the picture can be "read" ... But I can see it clearly.
Mmm! An ingenious composition that balances the different elements of the picture. Sadly, the creator focused too much on the form and overlooked the content. The frame is made of ... Ah, not important. Next page.
This one is luckier. Half of it survived the fire, so we can see the lower half of the lady in the picture. But ... eh, Theophil certainly had a way with women. She was not his first prey.
And this one, only a frame remains. The rest of his works are too damaged, but I do remember an intact one somewhere ...
... But aside from this, I don't see anything else. Next page.
...!
She turns, colliding with a pair of light-colored eyes.
Despite the distance, it feels as though Isolde is gazing back at her.
People can be "read" too. That person, Ms. Isolde ...
A deep breath. The page unfolds before her eyes once again.
Unlike other ladies pursuing the latest fashions in Paris, she still wears the corset, with only some Art Nouveau jewelry by her waist. She's as delicate as a butterfly.
She is a renowned medium. The Dittarsdorf family is well known for their mediumship. Nowadays they use that power mostly for art. That is, they summon a spirit to possess their body so they can sing, write, and paint like no other.
They also suffered for this power. Wracked by neurosis and hysteria, the family has had very few members despite its long history.
Wait a minute ...
That picture behind her is still intact! And ... it is enormous ...
It that ... The Salvation?
Strange. This painting is ...?
You have a keen eye for art, Miss.
Ah!
A voice leaps up behind her, bursting from behind the warm smile of the freckle-faced man.
This painting is the work of my dearest friend, Siegmund—The Salvation! The only piece he left behind that survived the consuming flames.
These enchanting, magical circles, one next to another ... Oh, I was only reciting Ms. Kakania. We're both passionate about the subject.
...!
How regrettable, she would've given you a much better explanation if she were here. Her words can easily stir one's soul.
Did you say Kakania? You have a friend called Kakania?
Oh, yes. Every artist has their own nickname. I also have the honor of knowing the Orange Knight, Victor of the Rhine, Apfelstrudel ...
Are you a friend of Kakania? Too bad she just left. She should be meeting with Dr. Schwartz by now.
Marcus looks up. Her mentor casts her eyes to the same spot and shakes her head gently.
No, the name sounded a little strange to me, that's all ... But I appreciate the explanation, sir.
In the air, the dispersed spores stir imperceptibly.
*bang! bang! crash!*
The dust from the explosion pervades the air, sucking deep into nostrils and open mouths.
*cough* What happened?!
...!
Are these ... ghosts? Didn't you say there wasn't a seance? Ms. Dittarsdorf, I would very much like an explanation.
Whoa! They're still chasing me.
... The "Detection Spores" have taken effect and enveloped the ghosts. Marcus, can you still "read"?
Hmm ... I think so!
Good. I'll draw its attention. You take care of the arcanum part.
Ms. Dittarsdorf, you told me this was just an opera rehearsal. Now look at this mess—and more importantly, my two assistants are still here!
I must ask you for a good reason to report to my superior.
...
The pale girl remains silent, bowing her head.
Oh! Isolde, my dear, lovely girl.
An all-too-familiar mustachioed face arrives without invitation.
Karl's steps are at a steady trouncing waddle as he approaches and takes Isolde's hand.
Mr. Karl!
Director.
Look at you, so pale! The play is sapping your strength. Come, child, come to me.
I told Schwartz to take good care of you! Well, I guess he can't be in two places at once. The frequent presentations must've been too much for a doctor such as he.
I've learned that you've recovered from hysteria, which is good, but promise me that you'll look after yourself, will you? Your late mother suffered a tragic end, and it'd be unbearable for the Empire to lose another star.
You flatter me.
Joseph.
Yes, director.
Don't be so hard on them, those were wonderful stage effects! Heinrich is an expert at this, yes? What better demonstrates our free will than respecting the artists and their work?
None of us would mind an episode of excitement every once in a while!
Karl meets Hofmann's eyes in another overly affable attempt at good nature.
Even the gentlemen from the headquarters would agree with me, don't you think?
Yes, you're right ...
...
We are short on manpower, and the assistants should focus on more important matters.
...
Hm. We should leave.
7. A "Fair" Duel
147 linesGood day. I would like to check the date of a novel.
Yes, it is The Man Without Qualities, by Robert Musil.
...
Oh. I see, I see ...
What did they say?
Just as I remembered it ...
The novel was completed in 1930, the word "Kakania" was also created by Robert Musil.
Kakania should not be a nickname for anyone in 1914.
It doesn't belong to this era.
She could be with Manus Vindictae, or, at least is associated with their people.
What's more ... When we were at the Secession Building, I "read" that painting, The Salvation.
It seemed ... out of place compared to the other paintings. Theophil may have applied a new technique on The Salvation, a more daring kind, audacious, even.
But these are only subtleties ... I can't be too certain. I was interrupted by that strangely speaking gentleman, so I didn't get everything.
Another thing, its content reminds me of the symbol of "The Circle."
Marcus rummages through the bookcase, finding the pamphlet tucked within the thick register.
This twisting circle resembles the circles in The Salvation.
Heinrich called them magical circles, one next to another. They must be more than just circles, I think ...
Was he demonstrating the madness of passion? But the lines are clean. Perhaps the purity of eternity? No, the circles are too twisted for that ...
Or, was he just representing a primitive state of being ...?
I don't understand any of it.
So, this must be art.
Hahaha, ma'am. You're funny sometimes.
...? I wasn't joking.
...?
Based on what we know, we can't be sure if this group of young arcanists and the Manus are connected. But we all know that the latter is eager to win over the cynical, revolutionary youth.
You did well, Marcus.
The important figures of "The Circle"—Isolde, Heinrich, and even the late Theophil—we have made contact with them all.
Only this Kakania ... What does the intel say about her?
Kakania, also known as Ms. Klara, inherited her arcane skills from her family. She's able to reflect people's thoughts in a mirror. She was once a medical student, but dropped out halfway through.
These days, she shows up at various social events as a psychiatrist, which the Foundation tries to prohibit because she doesn't have a license.
And she is also ... an activist.
An activist?
According to Mr. Heinrich, she is meeting with a doctor named Schwartz today.
Schwartz ... The family doctor Karl mentioned.
Let's try our luck there.
Now then, Ms. Klara, Mr. Schwartz.
Only three weapons are allowed in the duel—the army knife, the sword, and the pistol.
I will leave the choice to Dr. Schwartz, for he has more experience in these duels than I do. It's an honor to fight you, and I look forward to ending your winning streak.
Not so much an honorable thing for me.
Excuse me ... Please ...
Hofmann extends her hand, mercilessly cleaving a path through the crowd.
Pardon me. What is happening?
A duel, ma'am!
Just as Dr. Schwartz was demonstrating his therapy, Ms. Klara barged right in! They were arguing, and this is how they decided to end it.
To ensure fairness of the duel, the combat must happen within 48 hours of the challenge ... But I've never seen one take place on the spot.
Well, I hope they know what they're doing. I don't want to get caught as collateral damage.
That green dress ... So she is Kakania! What do we do? If she gets injured, our mission will ...
Don't worry about people in their time. It is their life to live.
Never intervene if you don't know the exact consequences of your actions. The course of history is more important than our investigation.
This is investigator Greta Hofmann.
What ...? Hold on.
I'll be right back.
Where are you going?
The Field Agent Squad needs to speak to me. This won't take long.
I will leave this to you. Remember what I said, Marcus.
Yes, madam.
Hofmann turns toward the Baroque wooden door made of mahogany, before her figure disappears amidst the crowd.
Only her still-unfledged assistant remains.
Leaving this to me, to me, to me ...
Marcus recites it to herself as a mantra, attempting to slow her racing heart.
Breathe, Marcus! There's nothing to be nervous about. You can't be an assistant forever. There will come a day when you're all on your own.
Just like at the Secession Building, I only have to watch her. If I end up talking to Ms. Kakania, I'll just pretend to be an ordinary employee of the Foundation ... Easy!
You used to do well on your own, when you were reading in the lighthouse and the forest ...
Mm, Dr. Schwartz ... Three times he has been involved in duels, and three times he has won—impressive! This time, he's still going for the pistol.
But ... Ms. Kakania does not have an assistant. And she has only one witness in this duel. This is not right. Why did she agree to this?
She's being reckless. Even an arcanist should have at least one assistant in a duel.
Dr. Schwartz's assistant brought them a pair of pistols ... FN Model 1910. Hmm, is that a right weapon for a duel?
It's too crowded here. I can't see ...
Hmm?
No, the pistol given to Ms. Kakania ... something's wrong with it.
The bullets ... Her life is in danger if the duel begins!
But Madam Hofmann warned me about the consequences of intervention ...
What if, what if, I just go and talk to her as an employee of the Foundation branch, like I did at the Secession Building?
So far, Heinrich has been difficult to communicate with, while Mr. Karl doesn't want us to get in touch with Ms. Isolde.
Ms. Kakania is the only person who is both a friend of Theophil and associated with "The Circle." But I have to be careful with this name.
If she is indeed one of the Manus Vindictae, I will be jeopardizing this mission by going near her ... But wait! She doesn't know that I'm from the headquarters, so she probably will talk to me.
But how do I know she doesn't know my identity? What if Mr. Karl is not to be trusted? And what if Mr. Karl and she are in this together? Their names both start with a "K" ...
...
What am I thinking?
Marcus patting her cheeks with an unaware gusto, drawing side glances from the others present.
Stop, stop! I'm not on the Flannan Isles anymore. I can't waste my day on endless thoughts!
Remember what Madam Hofmann said, think of the immediate mission. I have to prevent Kakania from getting killed in the duel. She has the clues about Theophil that I need ...
Never intervene if you don't know the exact consequences of your actions ...
A long, deep breath.
I have assessed the risks, madam.
I will not stand by and watch this happen ... even if I don't know the consequences!
I need to make this clear to you. Not only have you hindered Ms. Dittarsdorf from getting the treatment she needs, but you have repeatedly defamed me.
Oh, I can only admit that you're right if you have to call a different academic perspective slander.
"A different academic perspective" ... ?! Do you really think Freud and his petty tricks are "academic"?
One could hardly find a worse insult to science than this!
Is that so? Do you really mean that? Rumor has it that you taught the military the method of hypnosis for a price. Do you wish to clear things up here?
...
Hah, your silence is a resounding "yes." Tell me, why did you please the ministers with these "petty tricks," but not with your "most advanced" electrotherapy you've been touting?
Do you harbor negative feelings towards Mr. Freud because of his open rejection of hypnosis?
... What does any of this have to do with you?
Many things, Mr. Schwartz. Your behavior has greatly undermined the interests of arcanists, who are your own people.
Not to mention that hypnosis is a violation of a patient's free will!
And I have reason to believe that this duel is entirely personal. I must make it clear that your wife's appointment with me has nothing to do with the rumors of your ... lackluster performance in the bedroom.
I'm not the real enemy, Mr. Schwartz. The gossipmongers and the tabloid writers are!
You, you ...
Are both duelists ready?
Perfectly ready.
I'm ready too—
No! She's not!
...?
Ms. Kakania needs another minute!
Their collective gaze causes her voice to tremble slightly.
Err, ahh, the crowd ... shoot me, I want to go home ... Why oh why did you apply for this mission, Marcus ...
Despite her mental turmoil, she extends her hand, attempting to ascend with some dignity intact, or at least without resorting to crawling.
I-I am Ms. Kakania's assistant. I'm here to ...
...
Sorry to interrupt, miss. But the last time I checked, I couldn't possibly afford a St. Pavlov Foundation member to be my aide.
Ah! Darn it, I forgot about my badge ...
Kakania retracts her pistol, twirling it around her finger.
So the Foundation is trying to intervene. Don't worry, Ms. Foundation staff! Look around, we're doing it the human way—no arcane skills involved!
The head of the Foundation branch should not be your role model. Mind you, you're giving up a part of your integrity for taking his Krones! A terrible deal indeed.
I ...
Besides, we're using human guns! We don't need the Foundation's license to use these. I'm not doing anything against the Foundation's rules, am I?
The Browning pistol spins once more in a perfect circle.
If it's urgent, can we wait until after the duel? Please stand back, the bullets can't tell the difference between friend and enemy.
I, I ...
Marcus is again interrupted by the rapid-fire speech of the other party.
... Please don't use that gun! The bullets in it are dangerous!
... What?
The bullets are wrong! The gun will burst if you pull the trigger! Sir, I demand that the gun be checked ...
Kakania grips the half-turned gun tightly, before deftly removing the magazine.
A cold bead of sweat drips down her spine.
I need an explanation, Mr. Schwartz. I thought you had at least the integrity of a gentleman.
The bullets in my gun are wrong. If I pull the trigger, as Ms. Foundation here said, the barrel will burst.
A bursted barrel? I remember now. That Anton boy lost the duel to Schwartz for the same reason! Did Schwartz do something to his gun, too? And was the guard in on it too?
...!
D**n! ... This is defamation! I have never ... !
Freeze! Who is dueling here?!
Ahhh! The guards are here!
Hey, don't step on my dress!
Not good! Madam Hofmann has not come back yet. Madam Hofmann ...!
The young assistant is engulfed within the chaotic crowd.
Hey, miss! The helpful Ms. Foundation employee!
Ms. Kakania?
The green-clad pistoleer extends her hand.
Don't stand there ... Come here!
Kakania grabs the shy assistant's hand, pulling her into a fierce embrace without a second word.
Aahh!
Kakania leaps, alighting herself onto the window frame with the lightness of a bird.
Okay, this is a quiet road ... We're going to jump, Ms. Foundation. Three, two, one ... Here we go!
8. Mirror and Lantern
116 lines
Kakania! This way! Over here!
Illich! Thanks a lot! The prop sure came in handy.
Kakania tears off her fake beard, fanning herself with her hand.
Mmm ... Ugh! Phew, finally. Why do I keep having things stick to my lips ...
Hah! Be careful with that. It is no ordinary beard! Every single strand was soaked in a Bohemian potion mixed with bloodroot, toad's heart, and javangall ...
Why were the guards after you?
That's a long story.
And oh, don't worry about this kind little lady. She saved my life, and she's a half ... a third of a friend!
A third of ...
She discreetly releases the button of the communicator in her pocket.
Ugh ... This is bad, the connection is down, I can't get in touch with Madam Hofmann.
She's probably in an important conversation with the Field Agent Squad and has calls on block ...
It's okay, Marcus, you can do this yourself, just stay in the conversation! Communication is not that hard. You've done this through before. You can do it!
Despite having written about a thousand ways to start a conversation, she never expected to find herself in a situation like this.
Marcus frantically racks her mind for topics to discuss. Fortunately, everyone present is far more talkative than she is.
My, my, Kakania! Are you friends with government officials now?
Times have changed indeed! I've been here for a whole year, but I've never seen an official without a beard!
Where are you from? Croatia? Moravia? Galicia?
I grew up in Romania ...
Oh, I'm from Bosnia and Herzegovina ... That makes us friends, since we're both from somewhere-nia! Gahaha!
Be careful on the streets these days, Illich. You could be in trouble too if the guards catch you! After all, you haven't got a license.
Eh? You don't?
Oh, of course not! Have you read the requirements? "Records of the safe use of arcane skills within three generations" ... I was born in the streets, I don't even know who my grandmother was.
And the records aren't the hard part to get around. If you're applying in Vienna, the license has to be issued by the central government.
It's not an Austrian problem, nor a Hungarian problem. The central government sits in the middle ...
... and no official has any idea of what's what—should this be the Kaiser's concern? Or the König's? Or both?
You'd be the biggest fool to listen and follow these broken rules! Stuck in the system, nowhere to go ... unless you work the magic of krones ...
... What happens if we don't have an arcanum license?
Oh, you'll love this.
Who knows. You could get 3 days in detention, or maybe 10 years in prison. Even if you are sentenced to prison, they might forget to bring you in.
Or, if you're an outstanding citizen who can shed your arcanum during your human re-education, you might get to have a nice life—without a license that is.
Our justice system is much more unpredictable than the arcanists'. We still have a fair chance of getting away!
Very informative, Illich.
Kakania clears her throat, still somewhat guarded, and flashes out a meaningful glance.
Oh, well then ... See you, Kakania and Ms. Foundation. Forget I said anything!
They are ...?
Some arcanist kids on the streets. I'm surprised you know nothing about them. The country has changed, lady, and not everything in Vienna is as decent and sumptuous as the buildings on the Ring Road and Herrengasse.
Her tone belies a hint of sarcasm.
I'm thankful for your help, Ms. Foundation, but so far I have returned the favor—you don't want the guards either, do you? We're even.
So can you tell me why you're here?
Oh, I see. Mr. Karl sent you, didn't he? Because I don't have a psychiatrist's license. Can't you people give me a break?
I swear on my ancestors, I'm doing this entirely the arcanist way. It has nothing to do with human science!
She poses a question but leaves no room for an answer. Leaning closer to Marcus, she pushes her glasses up with suspicion.
Don't you people ever sleep? Do you not have a life? This is the tenth time this month, even God rests after working six days in a row!
I have an arcanum license inherited from my family, it's nothing to be ashamed of. My fees are reasonable, no one's ever complained ...
No, um, Ms. Kakania, this is really coincidental ... I ... Err ... I just happened to know that you are a psychiatrist ...
Hm? So? Are psychiatrists considered doctors now?
Maintaining her barriers of politeness against the rapid topic changes feels like holding a smile in a hailstorm.
On the verge of tears, Marcus desperately falls back to the Field Mission Manual.
I think there's been a misunderstanding. We-I'm not here to check your credentials.
Then what?
So, you call yourself Kakania, but I know your first name is Klara ...
Oh, I didn't know the Foundation staff reads my work. How very flattering!
Yes, I'm Klara. But Ms. Foundation, don't you think Kakania is an intriguing name? Heinrich—who is a friend of mine—gave me a book which greatly inspired me.
...!
Our country is just like that name. It both is, and isn't; it both has, and has not. If you look for it, it can't be found. Yet if you stop looking, it's everywhere.
Look at this country, my friend!
The sumptuous buildings rise so high ...
that the people in power never have to lay eyes on the rye farmers of Bohemia, the immigrants from the east coast of Adriatic Sea, or on the arcanists!
How could there possibly be smog choking the industrial area? How could there possibly be cold houses in the winter? The coffee house is definitely filled with people who love to dance, and not with those who can't afford the heat, oh no.
Surely there's no bureaucracy, no discrimination, no poverty here. This is a city of humanism and freedom, oh yes.
Kakania ... "kaiserlich-königlich," or "kaiserlich und königlich," and ... "Caca-nia," the s**tland! Hahaha, there's no better name for this country.
So then, you did get that book, from a friend ...
...
Now's my chance. I still have one "Spider Tail" Madam Hofmann left me.
If I can find a chance to leave the Spider Tail on her ... Or in her place ...
The young assistant takes a deep breath.
I ... I'm intrigued by the book. Can I see it?
This concludes the report by Semmelweis of the Field Agent Administration. Please confirm, Madam Hofmann.
In the corner, Hofmann holds her communicator out with brow furrowed.
Yes, report received.
Haha, why so serious, Greta? That was just routine.
And I envy your lightheartedness and optimism. They got you out of Vienna on such short notice, I can only imagine that it must have been difficult for you as well.
According to your intel, the Empire's had too many assassinations in a short period of time. This is not good for the Critical Point, Semmelweis.
At least try to stay in a good mood. What else can we do?
Aside from that, Greta, I have more to tell you. I was pulled out of Vienna overnight and I didn't have time to brief the new squad there.
You know, it takes ages to get through the briefing process. I might as well just tell you now, personally.
There could be an arcanist who has crossed the "Storm," and is now in Vienna.
What did you say? Do we know more about this arcanist?
We only know his name is Heinrich. We learned about this from the Berlin squad when we met up here, but had no time to verify.
I see. Leave the rest to us.
If true, he traveled to Berlin during the sixth "Storm" and survived the 1913 "Storm" there. And after the 1966 "Storm," and the one in 1929 ...
And now it's 1913 for the second time. For all the arcanists who crossed the sixth "Storm," this is exciting news.
Mmhmm. Their time has returned.
I understand the excitement, but perhaps time, in its chaotic fashion, has inadvertently returned to the same year.
I hear you, Semmelweis. This is valuable information, I'll let the ...
...!
Greta? Are you still there?
Sorry, I have to go ...
Something's wrong with the "Spider Tail" I left on Marcus. This is not her ritual ... Something's happened.
I'm surprised, Ms. Marcus, you know so much about this era!
I thought the Foundation was nothing but bureaucrats and bookworms. Oh, have you been to the Secession Building? Did you like it? Shame that book isn't there.
Kakania finally finds the key.
Please, come in! Forgive the mess. I must say that it is at least more orderly than the administration of the Empire.
Than-thank you.
The room resembles a studio more so than a clinic.
The scene is scattered about with unfinished paintings, dried paints, stage props, and posters.
And mirrors. Many, many mirrors.
These are stage props, Heinrich left them here. He certainly learned some useful things in Berlin.
Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you some tea, and look for the book.
Please don't bother, Ms. Kakania! I won't stay long, I have to go back to the branch soon.
I just need to confirm that you have that book with you ...
Ooh!
The clinic's curtains are tightly drawn, blocking out the day, yet her mirrors flash with light for a second.
Is this ... Kakania's arcane skill?
Marcus quickly covers her eyes with her hands, stepping back toward the door.
Kakania's cheerful voice rings from the other side.
Ms. Foundation, it's okay! Just a little trick I use to ensure my personal safety. I usually even charge for this!
"Look into the mirror, which reflects your inner world" ... This trick has been used by arcanists for thousands of years. When it was first used, the Roman Emperors still ruled this land.
Speaking of which, Ms. Foundation ...
How did you know that the pistol was tampered with? Your arcane skill?
Though it might only be some sort of trick of psychology—the mirror's glare becomes increasingly blinding.
... Um, don't look at the mirror!
The investigator braces herself as she grips the lamp, ready for combat at a moment's notice.
Kakania's tone remains gentle, as if soothing one of her patients.
I am curious. No need to be alarmed—I'll treat you gently.
9. Between the Doors
118 linesPhew. The reflections she created were real enough, but not perfect.
The reflections had neither shadows nor breath. Most importantly, they didn't have her passion and subtle movements.
I "read" the truth from these details ... She meant me no harm. Maybe it was just a little trick she was playing.
But, I ...
She steadies her breath, looking down at the figure on the ground.
She inadvertently used too much force. Kakania is still on the ground, supporting her hat with one hand.
Her lips tremble incredulously, shocked by her own failure.
This is ... That was ...
She lunges toward Marcus, who reflexively withdraws her hand.
I knew it! Your arcane skill is incredibly unique, you can discover what's on the inside by observing what's on the outside.
You are born to be a psychiatrist!
Huh?
She clings tightly to Marcus's hand, as if she's found a long-lost relative.
Look at you, you are so tiny, and they gave you this big coat. How can they do this to a child?!
How about you quit the Foundation and be my assistant? Your perception would be invaluable in this line of work. After all, we search for truth from foggy memories and vague descriptions for a living ...
Ah, Miss ... The book ...
Marcus attempts to withdraw her hand, politely but stiffly.
Kakania's enthusiasm remains unchanged.
Forget the book! A new academic field is opening its doors to you! Let's go inside. Oh dear, I forgot your tea!
Marcus, the "Spider Tail" has shown me your direction. How did you get that far? What is that place? An arcane fluctuation?!
I'm with the targe- ... Ms. Kakania. In her clinic. I'm safe, the investigation's going well! Ma'am!
...
Stay where you are, I'm on my way! And take care of yourself, you hear me?
Erm, yes, ma'am ...
Was that your supervisor? She sounds rather harsh. I do have to question the Foundation, hiring underage children and all ...
... Just in time!
Marcus glances at the doctor, who is now lost in thought, lightly flicking her skirt. An almost invisible thread lands on the green fabric.
Well, actually, Madam Hofmann is ... very kind to me.
She lifts her head, trying to further divert the doctor's attention.
Kakania remains unimpressed by her answer.
Well, you have seen it all for yourself. Me, my clinic, my arcane skill—I showed you everything. Have they cleared up your doubts, Ms. Marcus?
Just one more question.
Please go ahead.
About ... "The Circle."
Eh? Did you go through all this trouble just for that?
Kakania dramatically raises her hand, settling down into her soft chair.
You could have asked me earlier. I am the founder of "The Circle."
Wh-what?!
Marcus nearly scalds herself with the hot tea as she brings it up to her lips.
You're awfully excited. Are you an admirer?
Joking. It's just a little group a couple of friends started out of interest. Completely legal, nothing nefarious.
We're committed to changing the arcanists' current situation ... more committed than the Foundation.
There will be a non-profit exhibit soon, and all donations will help lower class arcanists get their license, which should have been your responsibility!
Her words are sharply pointed, only to stop abruptly as she recalls the identity of their target.
Oh, sorry, I get carried away. I should persuade you to join us, not attack your current job.
Marcus shakes her head, feeling all-together fortunate now to not be involved in the disputes of this era.
And the painting in this exhibit ... will be The Salvation?
That's right, you've been to the Secession Building, and that's a masterpiece which will be hard to miss.
That was Theophil's final piece of work, the Golden Isle being its subject.
She lowers her head a little while refilling her cup with fresh tea.
It was big news at the time ...
The island hidden from all people in the Aegean Sea, the ancient arcanist settlement, the strange current and magnetic field around it, the animals only heard in stories, and the shadow of modern society cast upon it ...
Well, those are just hearsay. People have all kinds of speculations about it ... A military base, a mythical kingdom, the apocalypse ...
The Foundation knows it better than any of us.
*clink*
Kakania sets down the teacup, her focus calm but impassioned.
Ms. Marcus, I've told you everything I know. If you trust me, please tell me one thing.
I'm sorry, Ms. Kakania, I can't ...
Are there really our people on that island? If so, how did they protect themselves in these changing times?
This is my only question. As an arcanist, and as a human being.
...!
The arms companies are turning the Balkan Peninsula into a proving ground for their new weapons—that was how they discovered this island.
You work for the authorities. You must know something. Please, I just want to know if ...
If there's any more of us in this world, suffering, silenced, and helpless.
...
...
Kakania's passion dims over the prolonged silence.
Fine. You work for the Foundation, after all. I shouldn't have asked.
It's just that I'm hoping for at least one rational person in such an irredeemable bureaucracy. Someone who doesn't think it's just a bunch of deranged lunatics over there.
... Which is a stigma the arcanists have carried around for centuries.
… No, we are not crazy!
...!
She clenches the fabric of her dress, lifting her head in a trembling outburst.
I, I don't think the arcanists on the island are crazy either!
Ms. Marcus?
Dr. Kakania, I know there has been discord and resentment between humans and arcanists, but not everyone is like Mr. Karl.
We're from the headquarters, where many like you are fighting for the rights of arcanists.
When it comes to caring for our people, we're not so different there.
That was what the Foundation was for. To defend the interests of the arcanists, and to keep the world safe and orderly. Till this day, we continue to strive for this goal.
Her heart thumps hard in her chest.
She shouldn't do this ... but, but, she can't ignore the question any longer either.
Perhaps it's worth it! Her "reading" tells her that this is a worthwhile ally. They have had no fundamental disagreements between one another.
Just this one insignificant piece of information ... if it might bridge the gap in their positions ...
Time stretches on.
Erm?!
Marcus receives another embrace.
We could've been very good friends, if you weren't working for the Foundation.
I know you meant every word you said, I can see how you burned with passion. "The Circle" was founded for the same reason.
But I will not change my view on certain things.
Ah ...
But on second thought, I have friends working in all kinds of places ...
We have a big house, plenty of wine and refreshments, there is more than enough room for a new friend.
I would like to invite you to the Secession Building and to be present at the opening of the exhibit, Ms. Marcus.
And we can talk more about what you said afterwards.
Hmm, that is tricky. But a minor like you requires the presence of a guardian, and you told me that she's "kind" to you ...
Well, she can come with you. We must abide by the law, after all.
It might help to clear up misunderstandings if she's there.
A hug comes once again.
Alright, I have to inform Heinrich that we have two more guests coming ...
Oh, shoot!
I have an appointment today! I almost forgot the time. I have to go. I know what you're going to ask, but patient information is confidential!
Kakania idly wags her finger. Her thoughts seem to have drifted on to future treatments.
She hastily caps her pen, handing the invitation to Marcus.
A gentle knock sounds at the door.
Oh, I, I should go ... Thank you, Ms. Kakania.
She turns and hurries away, the door opening just in time.
...?
Marcus doesn't stop, nodding and gliding around the newcomer in a fast, fluid motion.
...
10. The Mind's Endoscope
121 linesTwo invitations, from the founder of "The Circle," no less.
A precious opportunity—a rare and precious clue to the goings-on here.
Hofmann caresses the edges, sinking into a long silence.
The obedient assistant looks off into the far distance, awaiting the impending storm.
... You know what happened. But under the Foundation's regulations, I must reiterate that the primary subject of this investigation has been changed to Heinrich.
These two invitations are very useful. I'll tell the Field Agent Squad to act tomorrow night. Once Heinrich's identity is verified, we will detain him in the exhibit.
But I must remind you, Marcus.
What you did today was a serious violation of the Field Mission Manual. And I have to report this to the headquarters.
That island is not of this era. Everything about it is strictly confidential. You have crossed a line.
The mentor's tone was of a stern reproach. Not so inconsequential anymore.
... Understood ...
Marcus's complexion turns deathly pale. Her mouth hangs open to speak several times but fails to make a sound.
If not for the wall, she might well have fallen over.
I know what you're thinking. We need to get closer to this group.
You might think that their ideas are closer to those of the headquarters, and therefore easier to work with compared to the Vienna branch.
Umm ...?!
Marcus finds herself surprised by her stay of execution.
You must know that Kakania is not our only source of information.
Hofmann turns away, intentionally avoiding the overeager eyes of her apprentice.
On the one hand, Karl has given us a list. In principle, everyone on this list is useful. On the other hand, the branch has its own connections too.
More importantly, it takes more than a conversation over tea to get people on the same side of a conflict.
The experienced investigator sighs, rubbing her forehead.
I'm worried you are not ready for this, Marcus.
There is too much wickedness out there dressed in the skin of kindness. The most horrible atrocities are always committed for the most seemingly justified reasons.
Even at the headquarters, people are mired in power struggles and compromises.
It'll be the Foundation's judgment call. If the information you've gathered outweighs the risks, you may be treated leniently.
Marcus, look at the street.
The Ring Road has a feeling of tranquility despite the evening bustle.
You're not the only one who wants to contribute to this place and its people. We come for peace, and many before us have tried to prevent foreseeable tragedies, only to cause greater tragedies.
The rules are there for a reason. Nothing in the manual was written out of imagination. Every one of them came from a mistake of the past.
We are only here to observe.
Many well-dressed citizens pass by, enjoying their sunset strolls.
...
This is Vienna in 1914. The birthplace of an enduring war and chaos, the Critical Point.
It is a powder keg, and the slightest spark will set it off. Any action we take could have unfathomable consequences.
That's why we advise extreme caution.
This is our responsibility to this era.
Marcus follows her mentor's hand, gazing into the distance.
For the first time, she scrutinizes the city ahead of her in detail.
Here, countless lives, possibilities, and thoughts new and old collide ...
Would all this end in an instant beneath a curtain of rain?
...
Marcus nods, searching out a word of affirmation.
Away from the Ring Road, others continue on their life's trajectory.
In Kakania's clinic, a slightly unorthodox treatment is about to begin.
...
Isolde? You look sad and pale, what happened?
Did something happen in the troupe? Or did those dreadful officials come back?
No. I'm just ... a bit worried.
You ... you entered a duel for my sake. Dear lord, the thought of you getting hurt breaks my heart.
Did Heinrich tell you that? He needs to keep his mouth shut.
Don't worry about me, Isolde. I fought for the ethics of the profession, and I'm ready to bear the consequences of my actions.
That scum sold the secrets of hypnosis to the military. It's a treatment, not a means of interrogation!
In the end, all is well! The duel didn't happen, and I'm here, unharmed. All thanks to that young missy from the Foundation.
That young missy from the Foundation ...
The lady who just left? I bumped into her at the door.
So you've seen her.
She was at the Secession Building. You weren't there.
Did she give you any trouble? You told me that the Foundation was after you for a while because you didn't have a license.
I can help you, doctor. I can ask Mr. Karl to ...
Eh? No need for that. We only just became friends.
Friends?
You told me to stay away from the Foundation staff, but now you're making friends with them ...
Oh, she's different, dear Isolde! We met by chance. I gave her an invitation to the exhibit, so you'll see her there. I think you two will become best friends.
It would take all day to tell you everything. You're here for treatment. Let's not waste time on unimportant things.
Kakania coughs, trying to revert to her more professional guise.
You're a personal friend, Isolde, so I didn't want to give you therapy in the first place ...
Be-because I'm not good enough, or sick enough, to be your patient?
No no no, because I'm not good enough. I wasn't properly trained, I don't have a medical license, or a degree! This is the cold, hard truth, and you're too important a friend to me.
But I can no longer watch you suffer from the horrible treatments those quacks gave you.
I may not have a license, but I have the knowledge and ethics that they don't. I never overcharge my treatment, nor sell unnecessary things to the patient, and I will never experiment on my patients!
Heh heh.
Your smile. So you agree with what I said about those psychiatrists and doctors!
Okay, then let's get to it!
Kakania spins her pen in an excited twirl, flipping open her treatment book.
Dr. Sigmund Freud wrote that repression of desires is one of the primary causes of hysteria.
You need to release these desires. I'll guide your memory to find the deeply hidden thoughts. Trust me and tell me everything during the session.
You'll suffer less from the repression, and your physical ailments, fainting and convulsions, will become less severe.
Cast off your shackles and trust in me. This first step is crucial.
I know tragedies in your family have affected you deeply. But I'm here to help you now.
If you have trouble putting thoughts into words, use this mirror.
It reflects your inner thoughts, like a mind's endoscope. I cast an arcane skill on it to help your thoughts surface.
Look at it, and tell me what you see.
My inner thoughts ...
Yes, I won't hypnotize you, nor will I turn around and peek at the mirror. What's in there belongs to only you, we're just going to talk.
Hypnosis is a therapy I most detest. It doesn't help you understand and rediscover yourself.
And if the dialogue isn't based on the full awareness and consent of both parties, it's pointless.
I see. I will do my best.
Do your best? Hah, relax, you're not on the job. Just turn around, look in the mirror, and tell me ...
What do you see?
Uhm ...
I see ... golden circles ...
Theophil in his study, on his feet, his hand gesturing intensely in the air ...
Ah, yes, I'm there too. I'm ...
...?
Her voice becomes strange and sharp.
Odd. Why am I not here?
Doctor, is your mirror not working? It's not showing my reflection. No, no, this isn't right, I promised to do my best ...
I was there, I must have been. I have to remember it. You prepared all of this for my sake, I mustn't disappoint you ...
The actress, ignoring her doctor's warnings, forcefully grips the edge of the mirror.
The candles go out, and the room fills with an inexplicable breeze.
An incorporeal voice responds to her inquiry, invited in from the void.
The lost ghosts. The last time in the Secession Building ... Now I understand.
I have to get her to stop relying so much on her arcane power. Luckily, not completing my education is why I know a little bit of everything.
The doctor rushes to the full-sized mirror in the workshop, removing the gray cloths one by one.
What are you doing, doctor? Is the session over?
Was it because I did something wrong? Did I mess up?
Nonsense, you were doing great! I just have to clean the room a bit.
A more intense flash fills the clinic, dispelling the damp and resentful darkness.
11. One-Act Play
155 linesFeeling better now? Is anything still haunting you, talking to you?
Do you remember who you are, Isolde?
The clinic returns to silence as Kakania holds Isolde's hand, observing with concern the pale actress before her.
She looks toward the tabletop mirror, allowing tears to fall from her hollow eyes.
Oh, yes, doctor. I see it now.
That fire, the fire that devoured everything! How could I ever forget?
The raging fire consumed everything, including Theophil. He was screaming—his mind was already gone before he ignited it all.
How could he ignore everything with such disregard? Who allowed him to forget with such disregard?
While I remember, I remember it all. I'm from a noble family, I need to be a qualified Dittarsdorf, an outstanding arcanist, a first-rate opera singer, a good sister, and a good daughter ...
Never forget my manners, never forget the family!
But he—he got away with it! If Theophil was truly a man of courage, he should've joined the army, or fought a duel with someone—that would've made his death more honorable!
Yet, he chose to die this way, after a life of debauchery.
She breathes a heavy and bitter sigh, and finally, color returns to her face.
*sobs* I'm sorry ... I shouldn't have told you that.
It's okay, Isolde, you're doing it right. That's what therapy is for.
These memories are exactly what we need. What's been deliberately repressed and ignored in the depths of your heart will manifest into words, and help you reconnect with your emotions. Soon your symptoms of hysteria will diminish!
Don't be afraid. You can talk to me about anything. In the name of my family and the Hippocratic Oath, I will keep things between you and me.
Everything will be a secret, our secret.
Our secret ...
The woman's cheeks, still wet with tears, reveal a tragic smile, like dew on rose petals.
She closes her eyes, striving in that moment to open them without being free from the fog of the past.
I remember that room.
The room was excessively bright. I never got used to light bulbs, preferring the softer light of candles. My mother always had a white candle burning when she saw me at bedtime.
What happened to that candle?
Someone knocked it over. Ha! That naughty brat, my dark-haired brother!
He lit the candle, set the room on fire, and burned all his paintings!
He ran to me, his body burning! In his hand was ...
A gun.
I once told Theophil, he's not a genius like Weininger. Biting the bullet won't make him famous. Only a debut leaves an impression, the shows that follow are boring repetitions.
He laughed. "Indeed. Too many have shot themselves for fame. Only through passionate fire would the world remember me."
I bid him farewell, and went downstairs to talk to the ladies. Blood soaked the wooden floor and dripped into my cup. Plop, plop, plop. I went upstairs and found Theophil lying in a pool of blood.
A revolver was in his hand. Ah, how its cylinder clicked like music.
I lifted my dress so the fire could roll down like water. I leaned over to the hole on his left temple and said, "Theophil, where is your fire?"
Theophil sat up, and said, "Isolde, where's your gun?"
"Your gun?"
... My gun?
Her voice trailed out into a low sinister growl.
Isolde swoons toward her reflection in the mirror, her hand raised high as if delivering a monologue on stage.
My gun! I remember now, I was holding the gun all along!
Theophil stood in the study. The flames engulfed the beam, the ceiling, everything.
What?!
Kakania speaks as softly as possible despite her shock, with the intent not to disturb the woman's soliloquy.
He ran toward me, screaming, in pain. He was burning, the heat drying up my eyes ...
The woman begins to shake under the weight of revelation.
He was on fire, and running towards me. Doctor, he ran at me!
She clenches her teeth, trying to squeeze out words, gripping her chest as if to squeeze out her insides—to open herself like a finely crafted wooden box, offering herself to her rescuer.
Breathe in, breathe out ... It's okay, Isolde. I'm here by your side. You're safe.
Kakania extends her arms, gently encircling the woman into her embrace.
She breathes deeply, calming down inside the green warmth.
And then, I heard a shot.
...
Their embrace tightens slightly.
I-I can't remember ... The trigger was hard to pull. After the shot, it slipped out of my hand ...
She lifts her head up towards the good doctor, tears flowing from her eyes.
...
I killed Theophil! It was me!
I don't deserve the right to attend his funeral, or to hold his memorial art exhibit. I don't deserve any of the sympathy and kindness ...
I should have burned in that fire, I should have died! *sobbing*
It's fine.
...?
I'm neither judge nor police, Isolde. I'm just your doctor. I'll remain faithful to you, no matter what you think you are.
Your life was in danger. Anyone would've done the same.
It was not your fault, Isolde. You were just ... terrified.
Don't be ashamed of your instinctive behavior. Rest assured, your secret is safe with me.
According to Dr. Freud, embracing your darkness is the first step to liberation.
It takes courage, and is not easy to do. Most people can't do it, but you've done a very good job.
Yes. An excellent job.
Doctor ...
Her tears now are like a broken dam, relieved of the burden that it had too long held.
Kakania holds her gently, waiting for her long-overdue catharsis to come to an end.
Alright, this is as far as I can walk you. You have to host a ceremony tomorrow, and Tosca's next week. Vienna won't forgive me if I take up too much of your time.
Don't worry about it. Like you said, the night breeze will do me some good.
She still cleaves hard to Kakania's arm, imperceptibly shaking her head.
As twilight falls, few passersby notice the distinguished opera singer among them.
I heard from Heinrich that you're trying new things?
I read his stage design. The style of Berlin expressionism he adopted is quite refreshing.
I have to admit, he became a little strange after his trip to Berlin. But his passion for art didn't change, nor did his love for his fellow Viennese.
I appreciate his hard work as well. But sadly, the Vienna Court Opera didn't approve our performance application, so we turned to the Vienna People's Opera.
Well, I'm not surprised. Understand that Mr. Mahler is the artistic director of the Vienna Court Opera, and even he could not bring Salome to the stage.
Those boring, stale old-timers will never approve of new forms of art. They always expect something predictable and unvarying, the same old pieces and settings.
...
Her complexion darkens again as she turns her head.
I'm the reason Tosca can't get the permission.
Because I, the star, am a medium, a maniacal "arcanist."
Oh, no, that's not it. In Vienna, the great composers, conductors, and performers ... almost all of them have been arcanists.
Wiping out the unique talents of arcanists and their artistic contributions would be like setting fire to the cultural tapestry of Viennese society!
Oh, sorry. A flood! A flood is better ...
The actress is, or at least acts, oblivious to this minor slip.
They consider it a desecration of the stage. When a singer is channeling, she's essentially asking a spirit to possess her and speak directly through her, thus she "becomes" the character in the opera ...
People will question the authenticity of the voice—is this still the singer's own voice? Or is it fraud?
No, Isolde. They think that, because they know nothing about performance, not even the slightest thing.
The nature of the stage is to be someone else. If they're so intent on the presentation of the true self, the mirrors in my clinic would like a word with them.
It is an actor's job to become another person. On stage, in a fictional world, they briefly trick our eyes into thinking it's real.
And to achieve that, we rehearse rigorously, through sweat and pain. We take care of the music, the costumes, the settings, the lights ...
Your gift helps you do this better than others. That's all.
...
But I used the arcane skills of the Dittarsdorf family. I couldn't have done these things without them.
What if an arcanist's talent for art is also a curse?
Maybe I'm just a fraud, doctor. I'm propped up by my illness, and once it's cured, my talent will be gone with it ...
Kakania pauses abruptly.
She turns back, looking at an operatic genius tormented by her own talents.
It's not like that, Isolde.
Using your talents is not cheating.
We're "arcanists." But before we allow ourselves to be defined by that word, who are we really?
If an "arcanist" grew up on a lonely island, she wouldn't see herself as an "arcanist," but as a "person" like you, like me, like everyone.
Doctor ...
Isolde meets her gaze as the stars twinkle back in Kakania's eyes.
But you know, the truth is, when I look at a crowd, I don't see any "arcanists"!
All I see is our people, with different talents, trapped in life, their selfhoods ground smooth until they're indistinguishable from the crowd.
Humans celebrate their flaws, yet they persecute our gifts.
They control the narrative. They define our gifts as diseases, our talents as weaknesses, and our bloodlines as curses.
If we're cured, we're just another face in the crowd. But if we live on with our "diseases," we're forever ill, forever afflicted.
We arcanists have to live in such a world, where we survive through suffering.
...
Look at this city, this most enlightened, tolerant city. Under the sweet surface of the Sachertorte lies powder and poisonous wine.
Arcanists are recognized for their artistic abilities, nothing more. We hold no parliamentary seats, no professional titles, and no professional credentials.
We are exiled and marginalized. Our only voice in the culture is to be decoration, because decoration impacts nothing.
The restrictions and discrimination against arcanists are worsening by day. First we had to register with the government, then we needed residence permits, and now, permission to cast arcane skills.
And we can do nothing but tolerate, stay polite and dignified. Be a "good" arcanist, show no signs of "instability," because we're supposed to stay rational, otherwise, we're animals.
But people are complicated, they can't stay rational forever—as Dr. Freud said, we're just seeing the tip of the iceberg.
As the streetlights come on, Kakania looks up, now resembling an actress mid-monologue beneath the stark light.
You might be sick, I might be too. But the truth is, this whole society is sick! You can't just treat the individual and ignore the bigger picture.
It was the repression of irrational desires that allowed the diseases to spread in our time.
In this case, the people on that island are much freer than we are!
You mean that mysterious island? I hear gold is in the ground there.
Kakania nods with vigor.
Remember the lady from the Foundation?
Yes. Why?
She said the arcanists on that island are not lunatics, and they're living a life free of restrictions.
Doesn't that sound great? If we could form our own society, like those artistic associations, and have control over our own production and labor.
This must've been some kind of enlightenment. I can almost see it, they'll show us another way of life, a kingdom free of repression.
To help them is to help ourselves. And that's also what your exhibit is about.
Me? No, I'm not as great a person as you.
But you are working for a great cause.
The stars in her eyes begin to spread out. Kakania reveals a deep and tender smile.
Isolde, my friend. I've shared my dream with you, and I hope one day it'll become your own, until the day when everyone shares the same dream.
Our society needs a revolution, a radical surgery.
We urgently need a new vision to reunite us at the dawn of the new century.
Like the secession in art history, we need a secession of arcanum to distinguish us from "hysterical lunatics," "street peddlers," and "con artists."
We need a new dream, a new saga. We need to reinvent ourselves and become a new people.
No more repression, only the full embrace of our primal desires.
Kakania concludes her monologue, removing her hat to fastidiously straighten the feathers on top.
That's why your work has not been in vain! From Theophil's art exhibition to the promotion of new art ...
Do not doubt yourself. You're helping a great cause.
...
Thank you, doctor. This is the first time anyone's said that to me.
I will bear that in mind.
... Your words in the breeze of night have been stirring. Can you walk with me a little longer?
I'd like to hear more things about the secession you mentioned, so that I can prepare my speech for tomorrow's ceremony ...
Yes. It is my pleasure.
Would you like a walk to the Vienna People's Opera? I think they put up new posters.
12. Art Exhibit
108 linesFrom a higher vantage, the view is much improved.
Reporter of New Free Press, editor-in-chief of the Pan ... The founder of The Torch ...
Oh, that's Egon Erwin Kisch! The reporter who uncovered the scandal surrounding Colonel Alfred Redl ... I had investigated this before ...
Adolf Loos, the architect! He designed the Steiner House, as I recall. That's Major Maximilian Ronge and his wife ... who knew that celebrities like them would visit this exhibition.
But they look different from the pictures in the papers ... They were younger, and less chubby. Has my memory failed me? Or is it because photography is also an art of beautification?
Mr. Karl was right. People are flocking to the Secession Building to get a glimpse of the new art.
… I can't appreciate these things at all.
Hofmann comments from her typical cold objectivity.
I've informed the Field Agent Squad, as soon as Heinrich shows up, we'll get him under control.
Ideally, we will take him away for "illegal use of arcane skills." It is the best reason and the least risk. It also complies with the laws of this time. If Manus Vindictae is behind all this, they'll show themselves for sure.
The squad will assist us from the perimeter by then.
Marcus, your mission is to watch everything closely. Heinrich could be disguised and hiding in the crowd. Also keep an eye on the Manus and their rituals—that's what we were originally here for.
Leave it to me! I won't miss a thing.
Marcus takes a deep breath, seeking a clear moment before diving.
A starburst of information floods into Marcus's eyes, reeling across her mind with a thousand pages at once.
The world has always been a book to her.
Mr. Thomas, the representative, is talking to the ladies about expressionism. His parents did not foresee the success of Impressionism—the works that made no sense but became priceless on the market.
That's why his generation over-corrects their aesthetic standards and pays compliments to any art they don't understand.
The reporter for the New Free Press and that major are discussing the frequent suicides in Vienna ...
They've written articles about it, and many of them attribute it to the publication of The Sorrows of Young Werther.
Kakania is describing the founding idea of "The Circle." "This is the first magic circle drawn by the primitive man!" Hmm, quite the strong woman ...
The military exercise in Bosnia and Herzegovina this spring ... General Conrad to lose power ... A low pressure trough on the Atlantic Ocean ... Ivory-colored paper for official use only ...
The general ... Wife of a cabinet member ... Quartz sand ... Is arcanum a bacterial infection ... Is psychoanalysis a new type of mental illness ...
Mr. Heinrich is not here.
Nothing useful on this page.
...
Ah, Ms. Isolde again. She's the host of the exhibition.
She seems ... healthier than the last time we met.
I don't know why, but I'm happy for her.
She's about to make a speech.
It is my honor to host this exhibition.
Before we begin, I'd like to express my gratitude for Mr. Heinrich, who is Theophil's friend and the curator of this exhibition.
Heinrich still hasn't shown up. Did he notice something?
And also a friend of mine, the founder of "The Circle"—Ms. Klara!
Without her tireless work behind the scenes, we wouldn't be here today. Born into a rising arcane family of the middle class, Ms. Klara is a devoted doctor and an art connoisseur with impeccable taste.
Isolde makes for a dramatic introduction, reaching out towards the audience below.
Ugh!
Dr. Kakania is standing up, greeting the guests. That's an awkward smile. Looks like she didn't see this coming.
Hmm, Ms. Isolde is giving her an encouraging look. She wants to introduce her friend to the celebrities?
So they're actually very close ...
*sigh* I told her not to mention my name ...
Ms. Kakania is lowering her hat. Does she not like the spotlight? No, that's not it. Is it because of Ms. Dittarsdorf's gaze?
Marcus observes the woman in green intently.
Isolde lifts the curtain.
This is the debut of The Salvation—the only painting Theophil left behind.
This is it!
In his last moments, Theophil became obsessed with the Golden Isle. He envisioned it as a realm of art and culture, a utopia for arcanists.
There, the primal vitality and passion of arcanists would be preserved and never tainted by the outside world.
He wrote, "That island holds the hope of salvation."
Hmm, is this so? This is above my clearance ...
Sounds like everyone in Vienna has their own interpretation of the island.
Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please! We are forming a committee to petition the Empire to cease its attacks on the island!
The arcanists there are not lunatics, they're simply living free!
Erm?!
Familiar words interrupt Marcus's thoughts, her eyes widening in bewilderment.
But beneath the spotlight, the speech continues.
Their existence is a revelation to us. To help them is to help ourselves.
Our society is sick. Treating the individual is only treating a symptom. It needs a radical surgery, a revolution that will let us rediscover our repressed nature, and reinvent ourselves in this world ...
Something's wrong. Her speech is ...
Marcus's intuition hammers out a warning. A loud clear klaxon in her mind.
Before she can act, Isolde raises her hand as if holding out some drawn sword, reaching the climax of her speech.
I wish for the arcanists to unite ...
And establish an independent kingdom of freedom, free from repression and oppression!
—!
It's an emergency. Seal the exits. Add Isolde to our targets.
Hofmann delivers her orders coldly and without a moment of hesitation.
Marcus, now.
What?
Am I hearing things, or did Ms. Dittarsdorf really say that?
At first, the crowd stirs like a ripple over a deep and swift current.
Forgive her! Perhaps Ms. Dittarsdorf hasn't fully recovered from her illness ...
I think so too!
Kakania rises up from her seat, her hat sliding off her knee, stunned hands failing to catch it.
What, how? I did not tell her to ...
Ladies and gentlemen! Dear friends! Calm down!
A man's voice booms from the other end of the exhibition hall.
Do not panic, for I have found salvation for you!
Heinrich? What is that behind you ...
Hofmann, the targets showed up! But golems are attacking us!
I see it too.
The arcane skill of object enchantment? Marcus, give it a read.
Armored statues surround Heinrich, reaching a motionless still that creates an odd, if dramatic, tableau.
Please do not ignore what Ms. Dattersdorf is saying! This is a proving ground of a world-ending experiment!
A catastrophe is coming. The clouds of war are filling up the sky.
Open your eyes and look at all we have now. The music, the art, the ambitions of progress ...
Man's gunfire will destroy them all!
Not to worry, doctor. You simply don't know yet.
The woman, now so strange in the doctor's eyes, reaches out her hand.
Follow me, and I'll show you everything, where your dream has taken root.
The appearance of the golems agitates the crowd, and the ripple becomes a chaotic crash of waves.
This is ridiculous! An independent kingdom? It is treason!
We are Viennese! Why would we want to leave our own country?
Are these golems works of art too? They look expensive, I'd like one in my collection.
Open the door and let us go! This travesty is a disgrace!
The glow of arcane skill strikes against the golem but leaves no trace of damage.
D**n, are these golems immune to arcanum? We can't get to Heinrich!
Madam Hofmann, I read them! Object enchantment strokes, the same ones we found at the Foundation branch!
Any signs of the Manus's rituals?
No, nothing yet.
Hofmann nods, pressing the communicator again.
Golems can only be broken from within. Marcus, tell everyone the method. Olla, evacuate everyone and use the mute spell. Don't let more people hear about the "era"!
The mentor, now agent, draws her sidearm, pushing through the panicked crowd.
...
Through the gaps between the golems, she keenly spots a pink dress disappearing behind a painting.
Heinrich's escaped with Isolde. There's an opening behind the painting.
After them!
13. Island
99 linesThe low stone table is ill-suited for writing, but there is little other choice for the moment.
Thank you for your mediation within the committee. I think you're right.
Sending more people to the island will only exacerbate the trust issue. They don't trust us, and that's what Arcana wants.
Things have just got better, and we can't let anything else upset this delicate balance.
I think ...
The pen hesitates for a moment, but driven by need, it commits to the paper.
If we somehow can't come to an agreement with the Apeiron, we should at least prevent them from allying with the Manus in turn.
The letter lingers dangerously on her fingertips.
Then, it flutters its wings, flying out of the room as a butterfly, heading at speed toward the headquarters of the St. Pavlov Foundation.
A timely knock breaks the tension in her.
Come in please.
The visitor lifts the curtain.
The rooms of the School of Apeiron rarely have doors.
Such curtains are merely a courtesy for guests from beyond the island.
Good morning, Ms. Vertin.
I'm here to see if you need help with anything.
May I have some more paper?
Of course. We are always generous in our support of the contemplative.
Thank you, Ms. Marta.
Don't you want to ask me what I'm writing letters for?
Despite all the unpleasant events, the integrity of your soul number is unquestionable.
The school's envoy stands silently, her gaze not reflected beneath narrowed eyelids.
The Foundation is negotiating with the outside world. They're trying to resolve this unfounded territorial dispute peacefully.
We've yet to reveal the coordinates of the island, and don't want to exacerbate the conflict.
Could you convey our sincere intentions?
... Heh heh. You're such a young girl, yet you sound like an official.
She sighs resignedly.
But I'm just a practitioner without a number, a roamer of turbulent times. I haven't been on this island much longer than you.
I will send your message, but I'm not the one who makes the decisions.
It's just, from what I know about the teachings of Apeiron, what you're striving for is not of their concern, Ms. Vertin.
I don't understand.
All that is trivial in the phenomenal world is the trivialist of trivialities.
A wind blows in from beyond the void.
In the direction of the sea breeze, one can see that the beach has been restored as if it were new, no longer bearing the scars of battle that had littered it only a short time ago.
If the "Emanation" arrives, everything will be washed away.
Wars, disputes.
Their number one priority is ... how to find "salvation," once and for all.
The debate has been ongoing for days.
The Hall of Truth occupied by the clamor of their crushing reality.
The fact is, we're going astray!
The "Emanation" in 1999 had taken away almost all our outside contacts.
Ever since the incident four years ago, we've been cut off from the outside world and have become an isolated island in the "Emanation."
And during these four years, no research on the "Emanation" progressed. In the end, the theoretical study of its patterns was proven completely wrong.
How long should we sit idly by? Until the humans take over our island?
No matter who revealed our coordinates, be it the Foundation or Manus Vindictae, someone should be held responsible!
37 is the one in charge of studying the "Emanation." Save your questions until after she wakes up. 6 is treating her now.
Also, talking about the decisions made four years ago is meaningless now.
What's more, the Foundation is not hostile. They helped us minimize the damage from the reveal.
Manus Vindictae has also given us constant material support since that difficult time four years ago.
Ha, 37? She's just a child, can't even handle her own business. Ever since she brought outsiders to the sacred place, everything has changed ...
You know you're judging a child in a coma? Even if 37 did something wrong, she's certainly paying for it!
Those gathered glare at each other from the edges of the room, seething with anger.
Far from their formal votes awaiting the casting of stones—the debate has yet to even produce a clear topic of debate.
The pursuit of truth of days past, now muddied by the dust and blood of the phenomenal world.
Don't get angry. What 42 is trying to say is simple.
"Even if the 'Emanation' will take away the human army, when is it coming?"
"Now that our model has failed, how can we be informed of the next 'Emanation,' and act accordingly?"
"If pure theoretical research is doomed to failure, and if we must look outward, how can we restore communication with the outside world?"
"Do we stand with the Foundation, or with Manus Vindictae?"
A clear voice of opposition rises from below.
210, your words are provocation!
Are you saying that we should stop being neutral and get involved in the endless faction disputes? This is against what Apeiron stands for!
I can't agree either. The truth is supposed to keep us off the wheel of birth, not on it.
I was just interpreting what 42 had in mind.
Moreover, we're already caught in the wheel of birth—human weapons were undeniably dropped on our island before.
The tragedies it caused, and the thirst for justice will only keep us trapped in this cycle!
But what caused this cycle to begin with?
Brothers and sisters, you are blinded by the shrapnels of that conflict, and you're missing the "essence." Listen to me and I will tell you—
Cut to the chase, 210! It seems you're the one blinded by your own rhetorics!
Who can get me the stone clock on 6's seat? I'll clobber him myself!
The rhetorician taps his forehead mockingly, ignoring the dissatisfaction of his cohorts.
The original cause, is the failure of our research on "Emanation."
Our excellence comes from our beliefs. Once the truth fails us, the foundation that sets us apart from the world will also fail us.
However, my people of great wisdom, forgive me for imagining a worst case for you ...
We believe the book of nature was written in the language of mathematics, and every number is a transcendental existence living in the kingdom of eternity ...
Math is the path to truth. The calculation of math patterns has led us to pursue the fundamental knowledge of the world: the origin of pneuma.
But, what if the supreme existence has no pattern at all? What if the ebb and tide of pneuma is chaotic and irrational?
An uproar ensues.
210, are you denying our beliefs?
Are you saying the results we've achieved are just coincidences?
The fundamental theorems of ancient mathematics, the applications and improvements from modern mathematics, the mathematical laws in atomic clocks and leaf venation,
and every prophecy of "Emanation" that were proven correct ... Were they all just a collective dream of ours?
Well, like I said, I was just imagining a worst case scenario.
Exhaustion is also a common method of proof.
Their further defense becomes untenable amid loud denunciations.
The calls rise one after another, bouncing against the stone walls of the hall and reaching the ears of listeners outside as an echoed cacophony.
...
Please help us, O Apeiron.
Correct the errors of our souls, bring us back on the right path ... Harmonize our spirit with the flesh, our will with life; avoid sedition from a city; purge sickness from the body ...
...
Sophia wipes away her tears.
A flock of seagulls flies over the beach.
They circle and dance in the air with an unusually delicate grace, more like butterflies than birds.
They don't look like seagulls, or am I mistaken?
The Corrector moves forward.
Stepping into the crystal-clear sunlight ...
Where the red wax seal of the St. Pavlov Foundation's express letter is clearly visible.
Are these all from the outside world?
What's happening out there?
14. Fitcher's Bird
84 linesI'm looking for Isolde von Dittarsdorf.
Two vigilant eyes appear from within the vent.
The watcher silently looks over Kakania, then opens the underground passage.
I'm looking for Isolde von Dittarsdorf.
A small window opens high along the stone wall.
A different watcher now looks at Kakania again, more indifferently this time, unlocking the iron door with a key.
I'm looking for Isolde von Dittarsdorf.
The ragged peddler, a stranger to Kakania, nods with strange recognition.
He drapes a colorful feathered cloak over Kakania and hurries through the corridor.
You sure this will work?
No time to complain, doctor. You should be very grateful that I'm helping you.
This is an invisibility cloak from Bohemia. It took the hair of two witches to make one. No one will see you, even if you were right under their noses.
... Okay.
The stiff feathers cover her entirely, making Kakania feel like an odd, flightless, if colorful bird.
Enduring the discomfort of the smell, she quickens her pace.
...
The sound of her own footfalls accelerates her heartbeat, though she tries to remember they are only audible to her. She turns a corner, then passes through to another corridor.
Things might well have gone smoothly—if not for some unexpected occurrences.
...?!
Where did the feathers come from?
Holy—it's losing feathers! I should have known these arcane devices were unreliable!
I'm so close!
Kakania breaks into a run, her billowing skirt escaping the cloak's cover, and so appearing in the air behind her.
Hey, wait.
Isn't that the wanted criminal, Kakania?! That traitor!
Disturbing the peace, inciting treason, and bewitching citizens with arcane skills! How dare she infiltrate the government!
Halt, you're under arrest!
*panting*
Kakania slams the door shut, barricading her pursuers behind her.
The room she finds herself in is oddly spacious.
A graceful figure emerges out from behind the bookshelves.
Isolde drifts toward Kakania like a wisp, as if not fully real.
For so long! Was your journey here safe? How have you been?
Kakania can't help but step back cautiously.
Isolde, what is going on? What have you and Heinrich done?
Why did you say that at the exhibition? Who were those people helping me on my way here?
What's with the golems, the secret tunnels, and that turmoil?
You vanished from the exhibition, and now "The Circle" is considered a treasonous organization and our members are now wanted!
Newspapers are criticizing us! The New Free Press called us "treasonous and naive, like a teenage runaway."
And now "The Circle" has become subversives, and I'm wanted! They even thought the chaos and subsequent turmoil were planned by me!
This-this is not why I founded it!
And now you invite me here, claiming to have found "the way to realize my dream" ...
You're confusing me! Are you still the Isolde I know? You ...
Please listen to me, doctor! I've been meaning to tell you, from the beginning.
But Heinrich stopped me and told me the exhibition was a better time.
He said your dream is a dream for everyone, and that's why we should announce it in front of everyone.
I should apologize. I did not see this coming. I have discredited you, and you have every reason to hate me.
She poorly hides the disappointment from her face, wilting as the light in her eyes dims momentarily.
But worry not, doctor, I give you my word, soon you won't have to worry about anything.
These people don't understand your dream, and they won't become your allies.
But we—we are different!
We?
She furrows her brow, mulling over the word with full weight and prudence.
The mister who sent me your message, the people showing me the way, all were unfamiliar faces, I've never met any of them before.
Who are they? No, who are you?
What is "your" purpose?
Heh heh, doctor, it doesn't matter, doctor!
What matters is that, "we" share the same dream with you, "we" long for the same paradise as you do.
That glorious kingdom of freedom!
She steps toward the void again with staged emotion, her smile as beautiful as it had been in any performance.
Isolde ... Are you seeing illusions again?
No, doctor, I'm completely cured. You healed me!
And now, it's my turn to treat the world with you. Let's scrape the paint off the top, reveal its true colors, and reshape it.
Until it is transformed into a perfect world, a perfect society!
Because we are the chosen ones!
You ...
You planned the riots in Leopoldstadt, right? And the march demanding the transformation of society.
Isolde smiles half-mischievously.
Isolde, I don't know what they said to threaten you, but you can't stay with them!
They're not treating you—you're committing a crime!
The actress stands bewildered, as if she had never considered it at all.
But I did exactly what you told me to do, doctor.
Me?
Isolde takes light steps, retreating but not turning.
It was you who told me to stop repressing myself, to release my inner desires, and to be sincere, to be free.
The graceful woman takes her place. Soon, she will pay homage to that splendid one-act play with her art—the curtain of her stage is about to rise.
Isolde nods, turning in a move at first bashful.
But then her face returns, now hidden behind a black mask.
It was you who told me that our society needs a surgery, and that we arcanists need a new life that belongs to us.
Is this not your dream?
I just ... want to give you the truth of the world.
I just want to give you back your dream.
15. With Hope Rekindled
115 linesBurn these letters, Marcus.
Destroy them in accordance with the Field Mission Manual Article 341 so that no one else can read them.
Hofmann walks briskly, handing over the latest reviewed letter to her assistant.
Ok, Madam Hofmann ... But shouldn't we reply to these messages from the Field squad?
Don't bother. The secret letters are sent to all active investigators above rank four.
The squad is like the watchers of the Critical Points. They collect and record every event different to the ones in history and report to the Foundation. These incidents will be the index for evaluating the stability of the current era.
In other words, the more reports they send, the more unstable the era is.
This keeps every field investigator up to date on the situation so they can plan their next move. In the past, we have seen too many tragedies caused by a lack of information.
But now, our own task is more urgent.
Hofmann bites her lip, rushing Marcus around a corner.
Recent events have added a few more strands of white to her hair.
"The Circle" publicly committed treason, Isolde and Heinrich disappeared, Kakania became wanted.
The Leopoldstadt riots and the march of the lower-class arcanists may be directly related to them.
Heinrich and Isolde's speech is like the spark that ignited the powder keg that is Vienna. The riots have been going on for days.
But ... Why was Ms. Kakania wanted?
She didn't act out of line in the exhibition, and seemed totally unaware of the speech. All she had was the book which didn't belong to this era. Clearly, Heinrich didn't tell her a thing!
It's because she is the known founder of "The Circle," and a middle class with no background.
This is good news for us, Marcus. We can start with Kakania. They didn't protect her from being wanted, which means she hasn't been fully assimilated into this elite group of nobles.
How typical of Manus Vindictae. We need to find her fast.
Luckily, the Spider Tail you put on her is reacting.
*crash*
Stones scrape over the top of her head.
The investigators turn back in shock.
The statue standing at the entrance to the Foundation's Vienna branch has just been shattered to pieces.
A hysterical laugh can be heard booming from the fourth-floor window.
Hahahaha! Go to hell, you dirty, disgusting officials!
For a kingdom of freedom!
Shoot, they're attacking the Foundation branch?
Focus on what's important, Marcus! Someone's summoned a bunch of critters on Carinthian Street! They're coming this way!
*coughing*
A strangely scented smoke spreads out over the street, making the already chaotic scene even more incomprehensible.
Something's wrong with this mist. Maybe the evaporation of the arcane potion. *cough* Devil's Shoestring, judging by the smell ... For better diffusivity?
Marcus, cover your mouth and nose. We'll enter the Foundation's branch when it clears up.
Hofmann pulls Marcus's hand, darting through the crowd at speed to avoid inhaling more of the unknown gas.
At last, they reach an area not yet engulfed by chaos.
For now, all that's left for them is to wait.
...
The unseasoned investigator stands stunned and uncharacteristically vacant in mind.
Marcus, are you ok? Did the mist get to you?
No ...
Marcus pats her head, where a layer of cold sweat has formed.
Madam Hofmann, the terrorists and the people in the march, what they shouted, "for a kingdom of freedom" ...
That's-that's what Ms. Dittarsdorf said in the exhibit, and she quoted that from Dr. Kakania ...
And-and it was me ... I told that to Dr. Kakania! I told her about the island, I told her it's a place of freedom for arcanists!
So-so I'm the one who caused this turmoil! I told them the secret of the Golden Isle and caused the chain reaction!
...
Hofmann seems to have neither words of comfort nor criticism planned. She bites her tongue in her mouth.
Marcus, meanwhile, collapses slowly to the ground as she holds her head.
I didn't listen to you ... I'm too reckless, I lack rational thinking, I'm unstable and out of control ... And the one thing I can control, my arcane skill, didn't help at all ...
You vouched for me and appointed me to the field mission from the headquarters, but I ...!
... Maybe it is like what you said.
Hofmann rubs her temples figuratively, ignoring the now-pale complexion of her subordinate.
Maybe you did play a role in this era, causing a butterfly effect in history ...
But trying to be responsible for everything beyond one's capability is a symbol of irrational hubris.
—!
First of all, creating chaos in this chaotic time is more than easy. Just look at all the frequent ethnic conflicts, assassinations, and espionage.
If not "The Circle" and Isolde, the Manus will find themselves a different flashpoint.
You never know how the leaked information will simmer. Its subsequent spread is uncontrollable, and remorse would be useless.
The thing is, everyone has their own ideas about that island. Your words just deepened their expectations.
...
Her cheeks finally regain some color.
As for your self assessment ...
We have all heard it: humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional.
They're sensitive to the darkness in the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality.
But if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents ...
Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive, immature and unstable.
And that's why it sometimes dawns on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback ...
These "instabilities" might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.
Madam Hofmann ...
I took you away from the "Storm" in 1912. It's been a long time after that, so I know how precious it must be for you to return to 1914.
And your urge to complete the mission, and go back to Romania.
You're not an impulsive person, Marcus, you're just growing up.
And you do need to grow.
Hofmann brings her hand to her mouth, coughing softly and hesitantly.
As for appointing you, it was by my own will.
Because, the age of humans has come to an end.
The age of humans ... is ending?
Marcus staggers back to her feet.
Contrary to her expectations, Hofmann's expression is unchanged.
As if she is merely stating an established fact.
If the eras keep on regressing, human technologies would fail to accumulate.
Meanwhile, arcane skills that depend largely on the individual's potential, will shine.
In this war of reversals, futures, and time, it is you who will survive, not us. And that's why sooner or later, you'll have to go at it alone.
This is the most rational assessment I can make for the continuation of civilization.
Rational ...
But I've been doing my best to be rational as well. Even though I keep reading and practicing information analysis ...
I ... can't make a choice. What if I make a wrong choice? What if there's no right answer? What if I never told Kakania about ...
Enough. You're getting carried away.
There is nothing mysterious about rationality. It simply guides us out of confusion and straight to the essence of things.
The essence?
The reason why we're doing a job here is simple, Marcus.
Arcanists keep going to the Manus. It's because they can promise the "salvation," while we can't.
Therefore, decoding their immunity ritual against the "Storm" is top priority. If we can't, being isolated on a small piece of land, we're bound to meet our end in this temporal catastrophe.
We are not the only investigators sent by the headquarters. So our mission is to collect every clue left by the Manus and send them back to Laplace.
Everything else is secondary.
...
Marcus presses her lips tightly, not wanting to speak.
She takes a deep breath, following Hofmann's words as they step out of the darkness.
She can do nothing more than focus intently on their current situation.
Madam Hofmann, besides finding Ms. Kakania, there may be another way.
That painting, the last work of Theophil, The Salvation. Something's off with it.
When I read it in the exhibition, I felt a familiar afflatus. It was concealed in a clever way, but I noticed the traces of concealment.
Manus's arcane skill?
Marcus hesitates for a moment, performing at once a nod and shaking her head, creating a muddled response.
But I couldn't read anything more from it. If we can persuade Ms. Kakania to help us with her arcane skill ...
Is her arcane skill similar to yours?
No, quite different. I fought her once. I feel that under certain conditions, our arcane skills might be complementary.
Marcus posits wholeheartedly, once again drifting into her own thoughts.
Well done, Marcus. This is something only you can do.
The government has the painting now. The Field Agent Squad can retrieve it for us.
Hofmann nods, loading more bullets into the chamber.
The fog is cleared. Let's go.
Now, we need to find Kakania.
16. Quest in the Woods
136 linesKakania covers her head, retreating backwards.
If that's true, then the world we are living in, the era, and the people ...
Everything will be destroyed in the near future?
Outside, the thick smoke of the riot rises. Far away, the windows of the café are shattered by debris, and people scatter in all directions.
And in the distant grand halls, and in the exquisite mansions filled with roses, the waltz of the great empire continues to play.
"Only the chosen ones will survive the 'Storm.'" What about the others? Millions out there have never even heard of the "Storm"!
Yes, only the chosen ones will survive the "Storm." This is a trial, doctor.
She remains smiling and calm, like an uncanny portrait of her former self.
A person Kakania feels she no longer knows ... or maybe never did.
A trial?
Then who started it? Who decided the standard?
You? Or the so-called Guiding One? God? Or the supreme existence?
Who gave them the power to decide the fate of others? Who allows such absurdities to happen?
She steps forward with each salvo in her barrage of questions, voicing the confusion burning in her mind.
What is "the past with the right order"? If time just keeps going backwards, when and where will it stop?
To a time when man did not exist? Or to a time before civilization?
Then why did we write poems, pursue art, and develop civilization? Why did we try so hard to make progress? What was the point of it all?!
Her chest heaves like a burning furnace, rage red-hot in her face.
Meanwhile, the delicate figure ahead only slightly furrows its brow.
I don't understand, doctor ...
The cold face tilts as if taken with genuine bewilderment.
Why are you so concerned about "the others"?
...?!
Kakania suddenly feels a chill rising from her hands and feet.
When we reach the new world ... we can fully realize your dream. We will create a kingdom of freedom for everyone!
As for the embers of the old world ... they are like a tumor that should be removed ...
Why care about them?
A tumor that should be removed ...?
Kakania watches her bow.
She remains standing on the stage.
Isolde gently lifts her skirt, swaying her body as if dancing. Her voice melodious, as if singing.
No one else hears the silent waltz she's dancing to beneath the drumbeat of explosions outside.
Look at this painting. How chaotic it is!
Look at the repression in the darkness. Look at the beasts in the people's hearts, and the maggots under the golden surface.
I listen to them, as they listen to me.
The shadowy echoes inside the skulls, the cacophonies of chaotic colors, the smudges on the canvas of rationality, and the filth in front of magnificent boulevards ...
They were excised, suppressed, the top paint scraped off and replaced with an empty, monotonous white.
Yet in the end, they will be released, to the fullest, to everything!
She spins, performing the steps of her waltz, her skirt tracing a circle as demure as the satin shoes on her feet.
As she dances, a close cacophonous roar rises from the window.
The dancer before her suddenly seems more dangerous than ever, but her feet are stuck, as if coated in resin, unable to move a step.
Theophil has left! He shone like a star in the end, just as he wished.
But the rest of them, with their rocks and shattered windows, are still left to struggle.
If only I could help them, just like how I helped Theophil.
... What do you mean you helped Theophil?
She smiles—an arc filled with saccharine pity.
You didn't hear him! You were not there.
He ran at me, stuttering my name.
Every inch of his skin was ravaged by flame. So much pain. So much spectacle.
"I need to get water!" But he was already on fire.
And the only water I found was in his skull and veins.
She suddenly stops, as if the music score has reached a rest.
Isolde's arm extends straight. Her thumb points up, her index finger extends forward pointedly, her forearm lifts into a shooter's stance.
Bang.
The sound of this empty gunshot pierces straight through Kakania, as surely as a bullet.
The doctor's lips mutter, voicing the question as if to herself, as if searching for the proof in her own memory.
She still remembers the fragile trembling that filled her embrace that day, and the sensation of tears soaking her neck.
So this is the truth you had repressed? You ...
The actress turns around, never before so true to life.
You were right, doctor. Lifting your repression is the first step to liberation. I am fully cured!
Look at me. Did I do a good job?
...!
Once again, an explosion rocks the ground from below, and smoke begins to pour over the streets, rising into view.
This room, so rich in history, is shaken by bursts of long-aged dust.
Come with me, doctor. I am inviting you, just like how you invited me.
Let's heal the world and save it together!
The actress turns and reaches out, but now there is no one before her.
Only an empty door.
*pants*
She runs, her mind forcefully blank.
Without the luxury of reason, direction, or purpose, she flees on instinct alone.
Finding her way back quickly reaches a dead end. The path she came by is obscured. Everything warping beneath the unsettled dust.
There, is that Ms. Kakania?!
Relax, people. Ms. Kakania is on our side! She has helped us a lot!
Illich ...
Behind Illich stands a throng of bizarre figures.
Immigrants without residence permits, workers who can't pay their rent, farmers who have lost their land, traders who can't afford their wares, critters with nowhere to go within the city.
What are you doing ...?
A gentleman from America said we could do something big here, so I gathered everyone!
We will march down to the Carinthian Street, to the Vienna branch of the Foundation. Our slogan will be "EQUAL RIGHTS AND FREEDOM FOR ARCANISTS" ... How American is that?
The peddler feigns a smile, yet his expression remains spirited.
He seems to be quite a big shot with wads of cash in his pocket and reliable connections in the government!
He said we no longer have to worry about the residence permit and the arcanum license after this job!
Kakania chews on the words absentmindedly, but the hopeful figure immersed does not seem to notice.
Aren't you coming with us, miss? This kind of activity is your favorite, isn't it?
... Hey, where are you going?
Right. Where are you headed?
"Doctor Kakania, isn't this exactly what you've always been so passionate about?"
"Doctor, isn't this exactly what you've espoused, just put in practice?"
Out of nowhere, she recalls the words of that poem.
"Seeking Silenus in the woods, I asked him."
A sharp question shoots up out of her skull.
Kakania, you should be tried and punished!
Why?
You gave your friends hope, prescribed them treatment, and vowed to stand by their side. But now you're silent and turning away. This is a betrayal!
You betrayed your patient, you ran away from your kind. You are unfit to be a psychiatrist, you're not worthy to be a human being!
What am I supposed to do then?!
My patient, I never figured out her true thoughts and feelings. And my fellow kinfolk, they were innocent and unaware of the manipulations of the influential.
Even I was in confusion. How could I tell them the truth that I didn't know?
How am I supposed to face the overwhelming madness and destruction on my own?!
So, you're just someone who happens to stumble upon the truth, a bystander who happens to be watching from the shore!
This is why you are a disgrace.
It's a sin to just stand by and watch; it's a sin to promise salvation but fail to bring them ashore; it's an even greater sin to ignore this tragedy and turn away!
... Yes. I admit.
I'm a hypocrite.
I used to be so eager to help my friends, but when they really needed me, I turned my back on them.
I told her to release her repressions, but when she actually did, I couldn't face the destructive consequences.
I propagated my dream with great enthusiasm, hoping all my kith could live in a free world. But if it's realized in this way, it's the worst nightmare imaginable for everyone!
I said I would start the secession of the arcanists, but what is the essence of this movement? A rebirth, or a complete betrayal?
I'm just like my father, mother, and brother, who tried to shed the label of "arcanists selling small wares" as soon as they climbed up the social ladder.
I'm lost. So please, tell me ... What should I do?
The reply is a cold laugh.
You already know, don't you?
"Who shall vanish in the rain?"
"Who shall be granted the eternal happiness, the grace from above—"
"And that emptiness, the cessation of existence?"
In a daze, she stands in the middle of the Ring Road, letting the chaos pass by around her.
A stone debris from another explosion flies toward her, but her stance remains unchanged, as if oblivious or welcoming of it.
Ms. Kakania!
The stone suddenly changes its trajectory.
Her body is pulled away. The figure shaking her is a familiar face.
You are fine. Thank goodness! I've been trying so hard to find you.
I have something important to tell you.
The young assistant clutches the doctor's sleeve tightly.
A catastrophe is about to sweep across the globe.
But there are still things we can do. If it goes smoothly ... perhaps we can save plenty of lives.
17. Art Above All
80 lines... The Field Agent Squad cannot make it this time. They have a more urgent mission.
But the Vienna Branch already requested support from the army, even though we haven't told them what is happening. They are irritated by the blatant attack.
We'd better use the power of the "era" now.
Hofmann clips a Laplace-issued communicator back on her waist.
Only one question remains. Is the source of this intel reliable, Marcus?
Are Isolde and Heinrich really playing in the premiere of Tosca?
She questions her assistant, but her gaze is fixed on Kakania, who sits there idle in thought and action.
Yes. It may sound a bit absurd, but that is Ms. Kakania's inference ...
... It is you who asked for cooperation. I've done what I can and told you everything I know.
She hangs her head, her voice uncharacteristically dispirited.
Unless the show is canceled, Isolde will show up. She is a perfectionist when it comes to her work.
If she shows up, so will Heinrich.
Neither of them is under bounty. And the upper class loves her performance, so it's not hard for them to guarantee a show even in these troubled times.
I know her well. She will be there ...
... If I know her as well as I think I do.
Kakania says nothing more, and her eyes fix on a curtain, locking into a trance.
The opera is about to begin. The audience pass through the aisles and take their seats on the soft chairs.
... Madam Hofmann, what mission is the Field Agent Squad dealing with?
Marcus speaks up, trying, in the manner of her books on conversation, to ease the momentary awkwardness.
Assassinations. There's been an outbreak in the Empire over the past three days. They are sent to guard the important people.
We're out of manpower right now, so don't expect any backup.
But don't worry. We don't need to capture or defeat the Manus. Just focus on the original ritual.
Put your own safety first. Understand, Marcus?
Marcus signals her understanding. Once again, she dives into her "read" on the interior of the Vienna People's Opera.
Hmm? The audience is bigger than the tickets sold.
I counted the seats in the balcony and gallery. There are still too many people in the main hall. Are they all staff of the Vienna branch?
No. This could be the doing of Manus Vindictae.
Haha.
What are you laughing at?
At you, Ms. Foundation. You have no idea where you are. This is Vienna, the city of music!
And this is Isolde and Tosca! People are crazy about them!
I bet they would even stand outside the railings if standing tickets were sold ...
And when it reaches act three, they would fling themselves over the edge, crying "O Scarpia, avanti a Dio!"
Hofmann's brow hangs heavy with vigilance.
I don't get what you're saying, but it sounds even worse than Manus Vindictae.
I-I collected information about this opera ...
Marcus hands off another stack of material to her mentor.
"Rome, 1800. Painter Mario Cavaradossi and singer Tosca are two lovers ..."
"Cavaradossi has been arrested for helping the fugitive Cesare Angelotti, former consul to the Roman Republic."
"To save her lover, Tosca turns to Scarpia, the Chief of Police."
"Scarpia has coveted Tosca for a long time, so he proposes that Cavaradossi will be freed if Tosca gives herself to him."
"Tosca submits to him, but when he tries to embrace her, Tosca stabs him in the heart with a dagger ..."
For heaven's sake! How did you make that sound so boring?!
Kakania stands up, unable to bear the indignity any longer.
She reaches out, snatching the stack.
I don't think you should read the script ahead of time. It takes away all the surprises.
Just let the singer guide you and immerse yourself in this world ...
Isolde is very good in guiding the audience. She's the best there is!
Kakania grips the script tightly, ready and willing to defend her beloved play.
As a seancer, her incredible arcane skills allow her to act like the characters themselves on stage.
She can do all kinds of voices, even those that seem physically impossible ... When she does this, she becomes a completely different person, taking us to a world beyond reality.
It'll feel like witnessing a miracle firsthand.
...
She realizes her behavior is, for the moment, quite grossly inappropriate.
Kakania slinks back down and removes her glasses, holding them in her hand.
She trembles as her hands reach up to grasp her forehead, her voice falling into a sob.
Marcus hesitates, but eventually reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder.
I'm sorry. I know you still see her as a friend.
No. I'm just thinking ...
I thought I knew my friends and my kin, but really I had no idea what they were truly thinking, even with this mirror and all the psychological theories.
I am like Pandora who opened the box without knowing what was inside. Was it hope, or destruction?
That sounds ... dark ...
But I also think ...
... Perhaps we can never truly understand one another, but things won't get any better if I give up because of it.
Kakania shakes her head, rubs her eyes forcefully, then puts on her glasses once more.
I can not turn my back on this.
Don't worry about me, Ms. Marcus. Now that I'm here, I will fulfill my promise.
I will stop her.
As for the doomsday you talked about ... I don't know what I can do about it, to be honest.
All I know is, if I don't stop her today, every day of my life will feel like doomsday.
No matter what happens from here, the show has begun.
The lights dim.
Just as she had scripted it.
The black-haired opera singer steps to the front of the stage.
...
—!
18. Only Applause
71 linesgundongzimu_1#0.1#52
... It is going smoothly.
Looks like Isolde is going to finish the show.
But how did she get on stage? No one saw her backstage!
A secret passage, like at the exhibition.
Marcus, keep an eye on Isolde. I'll go find Heinrich. The branch staff will take action as soon as she comes off the stage.
I'll talk to you on the intercom.
Hofmann rises from her seat.
The surrounding audience look at her disapprovingly.
...
Marcus stares intently at the stage.
The spotlight shines, casting its beam on the stage's sole protagonist.
Vienna's unparalleled nightingale.
But Marcus has no interest in her beautiful songs—she is only calculating the progress of the unseen drama.
gundongzimu_2#0.1#49
This is the second act. Scarpia, the chief of police, will propose a bargain.
Tosca will pretend to submit, and request safe-conduct for her and Cavaradossi.
When Scarpia signs the paper ...
Her focused state narrows her vision. Marcus can even feel the slight tremble of the star's hair as she sings.
*deep breath*
Tosca bows before the statue, brewing her revenge.
And which road do you choose?
"The shortest one! Civitavecchia."
A small piece of paper is retracted from Tosca's fingertips.
... Almost there, almost there.
Tosca lifts the red silk from the table.
She picks up the dagger, plunging it into the heart of the police chief.
Facing the man lying in a pool of blood, she laughs aloud and maniacally.
This is Tosca's kiss!
...
Ah!
Wait. Something's wrong.
Are you choking on your blood?
Marcus shoots up from the gallery.
The information her "reading" reveals causes the telescope to slip from her hands.
What? Are you sure?!
Definitely, Ms. Kakania! He's not acting. That's real blood! Coming out of Mr. Karl's body!
The assassination in the story has become reality! Why is the show still on?!
Why ... Why isn't the audience reacting?! What about the branch staff?
Madam Hofmann! Can you hear me?!
Her cries go unheard. The audience remains attentive and silent.
There is no sound from the communicator.
D**n it. What is going on?!
Kakania rushes down from her seat.
She runs through the audience, whose expressions remain unchanged, with heads locked straight to the front of the stage.
It really is ... Mr. Karl ...
The pool of blood beneath Karl slowly spreads, steaming in the cool air.
Why? Why is no one ...
Are you all mad?! A man has been killed, don't you see?! Stop the show!!
The audience sits calmly and unfazed.
The music continues.
On the stage, Isolde, playing Tosca, turns around, revealing a pleased expression.
Cavaradossi, have you escaped from jail?
W-What?
My poor lover, you were put into jail only because you were too kindhearted. I've been trying to clear your name.
Scarpia proposed an unfair deal. He wanted me as his mistress.
But now he is dead, at last! The whole of Rome was overshadowed by his power.
W-What are you talking about, Isolde? That's not what the story is like ...
Run away with me, Cavaradossi! I have the safe conduct.
We will go to the sacred kingdom of happiness and freedom ... where no one knows us!
What, what are these ...
"Ausker Botiorak poisoned to death." ... "Frasnik shot dead." ... And ... "Hötzenhof assassinated."... "King of Greece assassinated." ... "Archduke Franz assassinated."
All these assassinations ... at the same time?
Applause comes from the main hall, from the balconies, from beneath the dome, from beyond the unreachable sky, all converging into an unstoppable frenzy of sound.
It rings through the hall like a torrential downpour.
...
Marcus, change of plan.
We have a code red. Evacuate immediately.
19. The Clashing Tides
91 linesTheir faces are distorting ... like those paintings ...
Is this also some kind of mass hysteria, or ...?
The opera house is bizarrely noisy, and the people within are restless.
Anyone seen my glasses? Could you pass them to me?
Oh, they've grown on my eyes. Don't mind me ...
The cheering crowd stands on their chairs, clapping uncontrollably, shouting with maddened fervor.
This is Tosca's kiss!
Come, friends, kith and kin! Take your daggers and get up there! We will all kill our own Scarpia!
Those so-called upper class people don't deserve the best seats!
Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore!
More and more people leave their seats, some shouting as they step up and over to lean over railings and into the aisles.
The music still plays, and the curtain has yet to fall.
Splendid! I can almost feel the blood splashing on my face!
There is no doubt this is art! The way in which reality replaces fantasy ... I've never seen a show like this before ...
Selah, Orff, what happened? Have you got blood on your faces, too? Is this part of the show, or ...?
Woww!
The crowd blends like a thick oil paint, surging and washing over every corner of the opera house.
They're killing each other in a frenzy! Is no one noticing this?
Madam Hofmann, I have an emergency here. I ...
Marcus stumbles, knocked over by the frenzied crowd, and the connection to her communicator is lost.
Someone rushes out from the shadows, drawing a sidearm.
Quiet, be quiet!
Go to hell, you terrorists!
If their arrival had meant to bring order, it succeeded only in making the scene that much more chaotic.
Gunshots, screams, roars, and bellows meld together.
A few staff members from the Foundation branch weave through the crowd, but they are either infected with hysteria or swept away in the flood of people.
Marcus dodges awkwardly among them, like a leaf in a rushing river.
Marcus, what are you doing?! I said evacuate!!
Hofmann hurries from the other side of the curtain, pulling Marcus away from the swarming crowd.
But people are dying! It is our duty to ...
I just got a message from the headquarters.
The Timekeeper has issued a twenty-four hour "Storm" warning.
... What?
The Manus has carried out several assassinations on the same day. The instability of this era has reached the Critical Point.
... Which means the "Storm" is coming.
...
Marcus collapses to the ground.
Slowly, bewilderedly, she begins raking her hands through her hair.
N-no ... No way ... The "Storm" ...
It was me ... It was me ...
It was me who started the chain reaction ... It was me who leaked out the details of the island ... It was me!
Get a hold of yourself, Marcus!
A pair of strong hands pull her up from the ground.
This is the "Storm" of time. Compared to the chaos it causes, you and I mean nothing more than a pebble.
It happened many times before you did anything, and it will happen countless times more.
The eras in history will disappear again and again, and so will the people. The situation can't get any worse.
The only thing we can do now is to find the ritual that grants immunity to the "Storm." It's the only way to save more lives!
...
The Foundation has issued the evacuation notice. All staff must return to the headquarters before the "Storm" arrives.
The closest evacuation point is Vienna Central Station. They'll pick us up there in two hours.
Two hours?
Marcus recalls the map she saw on her way with picture clarity.
It takes less than two hours to get ...
I know. There are still things we can do, before the "Storm" truly arrives.
But the enemies are probably much stronger than we are, and there will be no backup for us.
Not far away, the head of the Vienna branch lies slain, his face wrenched in horror, a testament to a crime.
Below the stage, people in fancy dress, in uniform, in costume, roar and surge about, forming an indistinguishable mass.
You once told me what really scared you was not the threat to your life, but the possibility of dying ignorant.
I think ... I understand what you mean now.
I don't want that either ... I don't want to go back to the headquarters without doing anything at all!
...
Well said, Marcus. Let's go.
Find Heinrich and Isolde. They might know the ritual, or have the clues we need.
We can still catch the last train if everything goes smoothly.
Hofmann expertly loads her weapon again, and Marcus grips her lamp tightly.
Kakania is not with you?
Mmm, Ms. Kakania ran up to the stage. She and Isolde ...
Beyond the shoulders of the crowd, the green figure has disappeared from the stage.
Marcus squints, inspecting the curtains and stage props.
Heinrich has enchanted all the props. There must be a hidden entrance to the secret chamber.
I am sure ... Ms. Kakania and Isolde are still in this theater!
Come here!
The deep purple glow of an incantation radiates from the darkness.
Hofmann pulls Marcus back by the shoulder. The incantation flies past her hair, singeing it.
...
The familiar figure of a gentleman flits into the scene.
Heinrich!
A foot almost steps on air.
...!
Ugh, there are traps under the floor!
This opera is silent.
No audience, no music, not a word or note from any actors.
A space to think.
Isolde!
Cries echo from behind the curtain.
She opens her eyes as another protagonist leaps onto the stage.
Doctor.
20. War and Peace
113 linesI looked at it, the ring of life, the ring of all lives. Your hands form the ring, and the judgment is pronounced. On the doomsday, at the dusk when history fades away. Oh world! Its head bites its feet, its knees touch its nose. Oh man! They inhabit the earth, waiting for the sky to fall. Yesterday turns into tomorrow, tomorrow reverts to yesterday. Who shall vanish in the rain?
Who shall be granted the eternal happiness, the grace from above— And that emptiness, the cessation of existence?
What is it that you want, Isolde?!
I thought the Foundation was exaggerating the truth. But you, you are ...
Happy? Why would I be happy?
Because he was a boastful man, his ideas were at odds with yours, and he contributed to the repression of this era. A bureaucrat you hate the most.
He treated us like stains on the wall to be covered up in shame. And he was the kind of man who'd pocket the gold foil whenever he found any.
Society is dying because of these hypocrites. Don't you think we should have the surgery and remove them?
Her words, mad as they are, manage to convey a warm sincerity.
... I didn't know ...
I didn't know you would interpret my words this way.
I deeply regret ever telling you that ...
... What?
Why? Why are you being so cruel to me?
It was you who said that everyone was sick and dying, even though they pretended to be fine. Yet the source of the sickness lay not in ourselves, but in the twisted era we lived in.
A radical surgery is the only way to remove this ugly tumor ...
And it was also you who told me to stop repressing and to embrace my desires. We should restore the world to what it was like, a kingdom of freedom where everyone will be happy ...
Are these not your words? Or have I misunderstood them?
...
Why won't you look at me? Have I made such a big mistake that you don't want to see me again?
No, no, no ...
Please answer me, I'm begging you. You are my only friend and the one I cherish most in the whole world ...
Doctor, what on earth have I done wrong? Why won't you forgive me?
Kakania's stone-like visage does not crack.
Isolde chokes dramatically.
Is it because ... I'm too stupid to understand your words?
Or because I'm also sick with the incurable tumor?
If that's the case, please help me ... Hold my hands, touch my face, hug me, and talk to me heart to heart like you used to.
Doctor, doctor ...
Isolde approaches.
She reaches out a grasping hand at a fleeting corner of her garment.
... I saw myself in that dream of yours, like looking into a mirror.
It was dusk when we had that conversation. It was the first time in my life that I saw the sun.
Your dream filled my empty life with meaning. You saved me from being just a cursed vessel.
That was a beautiful dream ...
So beautiful that I forgot how ugly I was while staring at it.
...
... I never thought you would commit a crime over my words.
Crime? You mean what I'm doing right now? You don't like it?
She steps forward anxiously, fearing she might miss something.
The Foundation knows all the truths, yet they won't tell us anything.
That's why we have to release everything they repress ... the news, the hysteria, the riots, the chaos. That's what Manus Vindictae told me.
Is this not like your dream? Did I misunderstand?
What? What in the world did they tell you?
Heh heh ... They told me the method of salvation, doctor.
They gave me the opportunity to save your loved ones, the world, and your dream.
The fall is painful.
The space below the stage feels unexpectedly vast.
Enormous props fill the back area, with black and white shadows painted directly onto the floor.
Forming another stage beneath the stage.
A familiar scent lingers in the air, prompting Marcus to rub her nose.
*coughs* I've smelled this before ...
...!
Welcome, Angelotti, and Unknown Lady from the Foundation.
Welcome to the small beginning of our new world.
On the stage, he still gives a perfect impression of a harmless gentleman.
Whoa! Sleeping bullets from Laplace ... You almost hit me, miss! I can't let you through, though, not now. The leading actress is busy.
Heinrich complains, hopping to the side and out of the bullet's path.
The curtain has been raised, ladies, and the show is about to begin. Why not open your hearts before the lights come on?
Let's sit down and have a civilized conversa—whoa!
This next bullet fires true, but the air is so clouded with dust that the target had already moved before it struck.
There is no need to negotiate with a terrorist.
You will have the chance to talk to our specialist after I take you to the headquarters.
A terrorist? You wound me!
Is it because I wear the mask of Manus? Because I revealed the truth you've been hiding? Or because ...
... we accelerated the "Storm" and made this era end earlier than expected?
A glow of arcane skill breaks through in response to his query.
Marcus raises her hand, the lamp dispelling some of the darkness.
Let me help you, Madam Hofmann!
My Angelotti, why are you standing with the enemy? You're supposed to be one of us.
Angelotti ...? Is that me?
I am your "salvation," from the real terrorists of the world!
... "Salvation"?
This familiar term catches her ears, burning in them.
This ordinary word has become most irritating.
The speech, given from the cover of the props, continues.
Angelotti with a full case of books! Tell me, of all the books you have read and all the documents you have worked with, did any of them ...
... mention the catastrophe that suddenly broke out in the summer of 1914?
The scourge of the 20th century, the real history!
You have such a kind heart, doctor, yet you don't know the truth. How are you going to bear the pain when you do?
Theophil set himself on fire, Ben hanged himself to death, Emmanuel laid himself on the railroad tracks ...
Are they the suicide cases in Vienna? They all came into contact with the Manus?
Isolde tilts her head back, laughing brokenly.
Heh heh, hahahaha ... I can see them, I can hear them, the ghosts of future history, haunting the city from above!
Heads full of holes! Heads covered in shrapnel! Empty stomachs! Even the ghosts of little children ... I can see them all! Cities bombed to the ground, and trains full of people headed straight for death!
It is coming, IT IS COMING! By then, the guts hanging from trees will be more vibrant than spring flowers! There will be bullets, helmets, gauze! Hahaha!
We have no future, doctor!
How I wish it were a farce, a farce that claimed the lives of more than ten million people, a farce that dozens of leaders decided to take part in.
... Ben, a dear friend of mine ... He played the best Fantasia in A Minor ever, but came back from the battlefield missing an arm and a leg.
He remembers that day. When the generous Mr. Forget Me Not stepped across the deck, his questions stifled by a stack of thick letters.
And Emmanuel. His hands were born to write poetry, but he was sent to the front and dug trenches until he died of disease.
When did Emanuel stop painting? He could not even recall his old friend's handwriting ... It was blurry now.
Only his anger remains vivid.
Our hands are meant to hold paintbrushes, play pianos, and write stories ... but they end up in gunfire because you narrow-minded hypocrites keep inciting them to violence.
We've already suffered for our gifts. Now we have to watch our talented friends sacrifice themselves for man's childish tantrums.
Ladies, you know all of this ... yet you call us terrorists?
...
*coughs weakly*
Having been quiet for a worrying amount of time, Hofmann coughs up a mouthful of blood, dragging attention back to her.
...?!
Hofmann clutches her chest, falling just short of collapsing to her knees.
Her face is now deathly pale, and Marcus watches as the cold face she wears contorts with streaks of pain and unease.
Madam Hofmann? Madam Hofmann!
Heinrich continues to speak, entirely unconcerned.
He points at Hofmann.
The real terrorists are you, humans!
It was you who started that war!
21. Double Cross
113 linesThe scent from backstage strikes her as odd.
Something neglected within her stirs to life, pulsing in her chest—constantly pulsing, pulsing, pulsing.
... Madam ... Hofmann?
Marcus stands stunned, watching her role model sink back to the ground.
Fortunately, the Guiding One has heard our cries and promised us salvation.
The "Storm" will put a stop to this frenetic melody before all the good, artistic, heartfelt things in life are destroyed before our eyes.
It will wash away the unwanted, the unimportant. The creators of this chaos will be severely punished.
Heinrich checks his watch expectantly.
It's still a little early for what Mr. Forget Me Not has planned. But the actors and actresses are in place.
Don't worry, Ms. Angelotti ... We won't leave anyone behind ... Nor will we leave any enemy spared.
I will eliminate the obstacles for you, and help you better understand yourself.
What? What are you talking about?
Blood courses through her in rapid fire.
The sound grows louder and more intense until she can hear it pounding in her ears.
The "sifting" has begun, ladies.
Enjoy! The potion specially made by Mr. Forget Me Not—a gift from the Picrasma tree.
For those who have arcanist blood, it will undoubtedly enhance their powers, both physically and mentally.
But for the powerless mixed-blood humans ... It is lethal poison.
Watching the young arcanist stupefied by the smoke, Heinrich only chuckles.
People sometimes forget how different humans and arcanists are, don't they? Marriages between the two races have been common for some time.
The mixed-bloods have become the majority of society. Those with less than one-fourth arcanist blood, some with even less, have blended in amongst the humans because they don't have any arcane power.
And so, they are seen as humans both by the public and by themselves ...
And now, the punishment for betraying your own kind! You should've stood with us, but instead you sided with the enemy and watched your own kin suffer.
The blood that you have ignored and forsaken will awaken, explode, and tear you apart from within.
Marcus stubbornly supports Hofmann's arm, but Hofmann raises a hand to refuse her help.
... I'm fine ... I'm just a bit ... I can still stand.
Sadly, you won't be fine for long.
Mr. Forget Me Not is one of the best potion-makers. The formula is carefully designed to prolong your suffering until sweet death finally spreads its wings over you.
But resent not! Your pain is fleeting compared to what my people were made to endure.
As for you, Ms. Angelotti, a choice lies before you.
In the oddly scented smoke, Heinrich raises his hand.
Me ...?
You have been lied to. Humans have whispered lies through their petty, made-up history. There has been genocide, the lengthy, vicious kind, under the banner of high-minded reason.
They tried to split the world in two, so that the progressives cannot be stopped by the "non-progressives," so that the irrational cannot speak against the rational. When they do, death and destruction follow.
You're one of us, an arcanist child abandoned at an orphanage. You must've heard your heart pounding like a knock on the door; it's the sound of a long-lost soul coming home.
It calls to you to rid your shackles of reason, to expose the lies of history, to embrace your primal passions, and unleash the powers of your gift!
You should be one of us, as you always should have been!
...
The aroma of the Picrasma tree comes to mind.
Yes, she hears it.
Echoes up from the reptilian brain, reverberating along tangled knots of reason and knowledge.
He's right, Marcus! This is the missing part of history that they didn't let you go through!
Hofmann kept everything from you, didn't she? She's a liar!
You're here because you want to find the truth. You don't have to work for a human institution!
The invasion of thoughts continues without end.
*thud*
A dagger is thrown to the ground, spinning on its handle.
Pick it up. Drive it into your mentor's heart. Show us your resolve.
An opportunity has arisen. Take it. A chance to learn who you really are, where you came from, and why you were abandoned.
...
She picks up the dagger with blade pointing outward.
Marcus ...
Very good, Angelotti!
Before the High One of Midnight sheds merciful tears and washes away the sins of man—pass the test and join us.
And we will take you through the "Storm," back to our era.
Our ... era?
A tear slides across her face.
...?
She holds the dagger, looking up at the dome in despair.
I waited in the abandoned lighthouse of that island, I waited in the marble house of the Foundation, watching the time go back to 1966, to 1929, and finally back here ...
You say this is salvation, but you're just replacing one annihilation with another.
The Foundation wants to stop the destruction, but you are speeding it up. You don't care about this era, nor the people living in it.
You abandon them. You hide in your empty kingdom, in-in your garden that doesn't yet exist, with your, haha, with your art, your-your poems, and your pianos, hahahaha!
And me, I just wanted to go home for a visit. Why would you take away even that?!
Marcus, don't lose control of yourself!
It's too late.
She charges toward the man.
... I'll kill you, Heinrich!!!
... Someone is calling me.
Leave here with me, doctor. Let the rain wash away the old world, so we can build your dream in a new one.
I thought we were on the same side of liberating our repression, giving freedom to the arcanists.
She stretches out her hand to her.
...
But Kakania stands stiff, clenching and unclenching her fist in futile repetition.
Isolde looks up with a maddening joy plastered on her face.
Is this why you hesitate?
Because I killed a person who shouldn't be killed? A person from the Foundation? After you befriended the young lady?
Is it because you made peace with the Foundation, and yet I became associated with Manus Vindictae?
She found her answer. Her eyes twinkle with delight.
I see now, I understand, doctor. I will correct my mistakes.
... Isolde?
I killed a man of the Foundation, thus you thought I was imposing Manus Vindictae's cause over yours. It displeased you, am I right?
... Then I shall prove myself to you.
She produces a pistol out from beneath her skirt.
It once helped end Theophil's suffering, and now it will take on a greater mission.
I will take Heinrich's life, for that would make it fair.
Please come with me and witness my commitment, doctor.
But Isolde has already lifted her skirt, bowing gracefully to the doctor.
The familiar surge of arcane energy—the same teleportation incantation that brought Karl to the stage.
After a brief flash of light, they find themselves on the other side of the stage.
Where a fierce battle has just taken place.
... Ugh ...
Hofmann kneels in agony, tearing off her scarf to reveal the terrifying pattern of toxic veins that has spread from her heart across her chest.
The potion is indeed lethal—forcefully activating her already weak blood vessels, turning her body into an overburdened machine, ready to explode on the slightest movement.
Heinrich then did not lie—she was destined for a long, unavoidable, agonizing march toward death.
*growls* I'm going to kill ...
And Marcus, pulled as if by fate, finds herself caught in an all-consuming emotional whirlwind from her revelations.
Her gift was not meant for battle—its misuse only makes her lose control even more.
Ms. Angelotti, if you still don't see the big picture after returning to your true self, you are not one of us.
Enjoy the "sifting" before the "Storm."
Heinrich kicks her away with indifference, no longer regarding the novice arcanist with any concern.
And at this moment, Isolde descends from the void, as if possessed by some strange deity.
Isolde, you're just in time. These two are hopeless—
The zealot's words hang in the air ...
As she smiles and raises her arm.
The deadly firearm is aimed at her once-friend, with a straight baseline and graceful arc.
... Goodbye, Heinrich.
22. Finished Page
109 lines*pants*
An unprecedented agony, like the bursting of a bullet in a chamber too small for it, only writ large to each vein across her body.
She tries to summon her reason, looking for a way out, but only shattered half-thoughts come to her.
Heinrich must be taken to the headquarters. He has vital information!
The mission has failed. There will be no back-up. The "Storm" countdown has begun, everyone will be called back to the headquarters.
This is the ninth "Storm"! How much longer will we have to wait if we miss this opportunity?!
Must leave at once. Marcus will have the Storm Syndrome if she stays here. She's losing herself!
Gun shot. Isolde, Kakania. Why are they here?
Ahh! Tosca ...! You're turning your dagger at me?!
Me! The one who showed you the way to salvation! Me! The one who brought you all to the Guiding One!
I even pleaded with Forget Me Not to keep a spot for Kakania, for your sake ...
How could you do this to me?!
The bullet deviates slightly as it fires, hitting Heinrich's calf in a painful but not immediately lethal shot.
Doctor, why are you trying to stop me?
You still think of me as a doctor!? I can't let you do any more killing!
Ms. Marcus, can you get on your feet? I'll slow them down, get Madam Hofmann to safety ...
The clamor fades away, leaving only the sound of turgid blood stickily moving through her veins.
Alas, this is the world of the arcanist. Reason is nowhere to be found, and everything is magnified by the senses.
The floor is cold, the din loud, the air filled with a scent—one that will lead her to her death.
Her vision has sharp edges cutting into her sight, and everything moves slow, making out Marcus as she is plunged into a nightmare, then the good doctor Kakania desperately attempting to hold back Isolde.
And—Isolde's gun pointed at Heinrich.
Heinrich ... You seem to be in pain.
Shhh, it's alright ... Soon you will be freed from the pain.
...
You're out of your mind, Hofmann. Don't! There must be a better way.
But how long do we have to wait for another opportunity like this?! You think you can still make it back to the headquarters? You think there will be a second chance for you?
Even if we fail, Marcus will be safe.
The situation has changed. Kakania's decision is the key to victory.
Can't let the clues end here!
This is the wisest decision.
She rises with all her strength.
Isolde sees no new obstacles, focusing only on her initial enemy.
She pulls the trigger.
... Madam ... Hofmann?
The girl, mired in chaos, witnesses this scene.
Her "reading" commences, disregarding her own personal will.
"'I can't let Isolde kill such a vital source of information.' That's what Madam Hofmann's thinking, but ... what about her poison?"
"The bullet reeks of ghosts and spirits ... Oh right, it's Isolde's arcane skill."
"Kakania ... She has gone blank. I can't read anything from her mind."
"And there's Heinrich, who claims to be the savior. What is he thinking right now?"
*crash*
The gunshot finally hits true.
One shot, two lives.
Isolde's bullet pierces through both Hofmann and Heinrich.
This is the information her "reading" provides.
No! Madam Hofmann!!!
She crawls on hands and knees to her mentor's side.
No, no!
*coughs weakly*
... Is Heinrich ... still alive?
...
Marcus looks at the stage, now coated with blood, her voice trembling.
He ... he's gone ...
... I see. Should have been faster.
You must take Kakania and leave. She can protect you from Isolde. She won't side with the Manus, from what I see.
Give her my place in the "Storm" shelter. Her arcane power will be useful to us.
So the both of you can evacuate safely.
Did, did you plan this all along?
*coughs weakly* Don't cry, Marcus. I know what I'm doing.
I have taken back my senses before I die. I'm glad. The pain will cease. To die with my sanity and rationality still intact ... it has been an honor.
NO!!
Kakania, can you give her first aid and take her to the train station? You'll meet the Foundation there. They have better equipment, they'll know what to do ...
Heinrich is dead, but there must still be clues on him. This isn't over yet, I have to finish the mission ...
Hofmann just shakes her head; weak fingers struggle to pull out a piece of paper from her bosom.
Marcus, take this.
The number of that Orphanage in Romania.
I've had it with me for a while now. But ...
Please save your strength, madam, this isn't what we need to worry about ...
We don't have anything else to worry about. The mission is over, silly child.
Ring home. Before the "Storm" comes.
The future ... is yours.
Her hand slides down.
This last second between them becomes an age to itself.
No, no! There must be something I can do!
"Everything is a book. Everything can be read!"
The most immediate threat to her life ... is that potion ...
Devil's shoestring, belladonna, narcissus tazetta roots, and the fruits and roots of the Picrasma tree ...
It's the formula made by Forget Me Not. The Picrasma extract makes up more than 50% of the potion ... This is very different from Laplace's formula. Arcanist potions seem to be a concoction of instincts and inspiration.
Argh! Is there nothing else I can do? The Picrasma extract is not a poison in itself. Just that humans cannot ...
There must be a way! Madam ... Please! She's in pain ...
Don't give up, keep reading ... I will find a way ...
As she turns the page, the realization hits.
Even if she could read every detail, every exhaustive note on this page ...
She cannot rescue a burning book from a fire. It's already gone.
No ...
Every book has an end, Marcus.
There's nothing more on a finished page, no matter how reluctant you are to flip the page and get to the end.
You will move on to a new chapter.
No no no!! No! Don't turn the page!!! Stop here, stop now! Please!!
I, I can't read on ...
I don't like this ending ...
...
She's gone ...
She was an incredible woman.
Kakania looks at her face in shock—studying it to find again the same face she'd spoken of.
Mercy.
...
Kakania can only stand there, dazed.
Until a loud roar booms outside the opera house.
The third act, a bow, and then the curtain falls.
The actors exit.
This is the end of the story.
23. Hansel and Gretel
105 lines...
Marcus holds Hofmann's hand all the while.
Tears wet the note, drop by drop.
Causing the ink on it to bleed.
The chaotic thoughts in her mind all recede away. The roaring of her heart begins to slow.
At this moment, only grief and bewilderment remain.
Madam Hofmann was calm till the end. Why? Was she not afraid?
No. I just read her fear through her trembling fingers ...
But she would not show it. She knew it would've frightened me ...
...
Repeat.
The communicator rings again.
This is the 24 hour countdown to the "Storm." All personnel must return to the headquarters.
Repeat. This is the 24 hour countdown to the "Storm" ...
Beep.
Hofmann, this is Semmelweis. You must leave now. Last call.
... You know we won't wait if you miss it.
Marcus turns off the communicator with one hand.
... The "Storm" is coming, doctor.
Come with me to the headquarters. You can take Madam Hofmann's place in the shelter.
...
The doctor says nothing.
She just lifts her head, gazing up at a non-existent canopy.
Then, she speaks—as if making a plea to the gods above.
King Midas hunted in the woods, in search of Silenus, the wisest Satyr, the companion of the wine god.
"What is the best and most enticing thing for a man?" The king asked.
The Satyr laughed in response. "Children of mischance and misery! You are asking for an answer you wish not to hear."
"And what is best is beyond your reach: to never be born, to never exist, to be nothing!"
"But you still have the next best thing: die, and do it soon."
Kakania covers her face, a piercing laugh escaping through her fingertips.
Accompanied shortly after by tears.
Doctor ...
I'd rather die here than to spend the rest of my life running from the "Storm."
Get to safety, Ms. Marcus. I still have things to do.
It's a shame that we won't get to be colleagues.
She turns resolutely, not once looking back.
But the young apprentice does not stop her.
She is thinking of something more important.
"Seeking Silenus in the woods ..."
Did Theophil write the poem in the same misery and despair?
Then why did he call the painting The Salvation?
He set fire to every piece of his work, but why leave this one out? And this strange way of drawing ...
Her thoughts are clearer than ever before.
Guilt, madness, blame, a hatred that burns through everything, raging through her thoughts.
The past that once filled that page, it was gone now.
Now no one would make her decisions for her.
Heinrich said he showed the path to salvation and brought "you all" to the Guiding One ...
Salvation ... salvation ... Could it be ...
"What really scared me was not the threat to my life, but the possibility of dying ignorant."
She closes her eyes.
All the information she has read in the past, along with the surging blood from the potion, converges before her eyes.
"If I succeed, I can prevent the death of someone who holds the clues."
"Even if I die, I'll still turn Kakania completely against Isolde."
This was your plan, madam ...?
"What really scared me was not the threat to my life, but the possibility of dying ignorant."
I know what to do now.
She opens her eyes wide, calling out to the figure as she is about to leave.
Doctor, wait! There might be another way!
But Kakania does not listen. She has made up her mind.
... Don't fall into darkness!
—!
The departing figure is held back. Marcus fights with an unprecedented determination.
Don't let madness or despair take over, doctor.
This is not the end. My mission is not over ...!
She reaches into her pocket, silencing the small machine that has been frantically signaling the final evacuation warning.
A blaze lights up the street, replacing the glow of dead electric lights.
People fight, throwing themselves into a frenzied hysteria.
The street looks like an exploded powder keg.
The Guiding One is merciful in bringing this era to an end before the summer of 1914.
Here, the nationalists, the internationalists, the arcanists, the rationalists, the progressives, the conservatives, the fanatics, the bystanders ...
They indulge in passion, insisting that it is their ideals that make up the world.
Who would have thought that such a progressive and sensible era would end in a barbaric war?
Yet in the end, like dust, they will be swept away and forgotten by time.
Only the true believers will survive the end.
...
But I must regretfully remind you ...
Killing one of our own, despite your merits, is a violation of the rules.
I will report this to the Guiding One.
...
Her smile remains picture-perfect yet hollow.
... Whatever you want.
Forget Me Not walks away in boredom.
He has long tired of this maddening conversation.
Isolde stands alone on the street.
People around her celebrate, dance, releasing their inner repression, and their primal passions.
But none of that matters to her.
She is merely waiting.
Waiting for the sky to fall.
Doctor!
...!
I have been waiting to hear this for so, so long ...
I know this is what you want. Now, I can finally make your dream come true ...
I ...
Kakania extends a handkerchief.
Wiping away her wild-eyed tears of joy.
Before we leave, I would like to take one last walk in this world.
Would you like to join me and walk to my clinic?
24. E lucevan le stelle
108 linesYou have everything wrapped up.
Kakania shuts the door, dimming the apocalyptic clamor outside.
The clinic remains cluttered, empty, quiet.
Only the mirrors no longer flash.
Yes. The mirror scares me after what happened.
It truthfully reflects my ugly face, my disgusting soul.
You're not disgusting, doctor. How can someone disgusting have noble, high ideals like yours?
Hah, perhaps. Maybe you're right. It's time to lift the cloth.
Kakania pulls back the curtain.
The dim room suddenly brightens.
An overexposed world slowly reveals a painting.
And a strange, cold voice.
I can't see it clearly, doctor ... It's too bright in here ...
Can you pull the curtains? Just a bit ...
This is the painting of your late brother, The Salvation.
We've overlooked a simple fact, Isolde. Until Heinrich's final words reminded us all.
Theophil wrote his note in despair, yet he called his last painting The Salvation.
Doctor, it's too bright in here. Can we please talk somewhere else?
She waits for a response of concern or pity.
But she receives none.
How could I have missed this, Isolde? A noble lady such as you not only can sing and dance, but also draw.
Theophil was a fine gentleman, but only fine. He was skilled, but not gifted. The women of the Dittarsdorfs have always been better mediums than the men. You're much more gifted than your brother ...
Should we be thankful of the two of you? You and your brother, a pair of messiahs of this era. One of you cried out and revealed the truth in a pitiful poem, and kept his despair in the form of art.
Ugh ... Doctor ...
And the other ... wished to "scrape the paint off the top, reveal its true colors, and reshape it."
That's you, Isolde. You tried to scrape off the despair and reshape the world with your compassionate, pitying hands.
He created the art, and you completed it.
You and your brother are the co-creators of this painting, out of your pity for this world.
... And that's why it was the only work that survived the fire.
Am I right, Isolde? Tell me!
Kakania's words carry weight.
With Heinrich's help, the two of you met the leader of Manus Vindictae. You saw the miracle, you were shown the path to salvation.
But poor Theophil could not accept what he was told. Like you, he was cursed by his noble blood. He sympathized with the world, yet he still clung to the privileges of nobility.
He didn't want to work with Manus Vindictae, but he didn't want war either.
He had his struggles. As a beneficiary of the salvation, writing of despair was his only way to vent.
He had to take his life to end the pain. And he wanted you to join him, so that you and he would be free of the torment together.
But he overlooked the fact that, unlike him, you were already living in despair. Everything he had and cared about had never been yours. The destruction of this world meant nothing to you.
My, my head really hurts ...
So you pulled the trigger on him, out of pity.
I can't see anything ... Can you please dim the room?
Look at this painting! Look at these mirrors, Isolde!
What did the leader of Manus Vindictae show you?! What is "the path to salvation"?! Is it a spell? A ritual?!
You're the only one who knows!!!
...!
Hypnotize me? Hahaha ... You, Ms. Klara, the doctor who resents hypnosis and had even fought a duel to stop it ... you are going to use it ... on me?!
Why? Because I'm a hysterical, irrational woman? The wicked witch? The cursed, inconsolable arcanist?!
Why, why are you like this to me?!
Why?! Did I do something wrong again? Am I hopelessly incurable?
Why, why couldn't you, cure me?!
Can't you ... save me from despair ... one more time ...?
She looks at the beautiful girl, her once-friend.
But she doesn't know how to save her.
...
You're the cruelest of all ...
If you've made up your mind and think I'm guilty ... Why do you treat me so gently?
If this is the salvation you brought ...
I will ... embrace it with joy.
She begins a familiar aria, singing with all her heart.
Her voice at last not some guise or act, but her true self.
I adorned the Madonna's mantle with jewels.
And I gave my song to the stars, to the sky, which smiled more beautifully because of it.
In the hour of sorrow.
Why, oh why, Lord.
Why do you repay me thus?
The song never left her.
Images appear in the mirror.
Clear, bright, and accompanied by the echo of the tide.
I am intrigued by the name of your little group. "The Circle" ...
Yes, unlike other animals, there's a power in every one of us. It's the source of our instinct. Following it, man survived the cruelty of nature.
In awe of this extraordinary power, the first of man drew a magical circle on the ground, symbolizing a higher power, and declaring that man would no longer be at the mercy of nature.
That was the first circle. The first magic, the first art!
Heh heh ...
An interesting take.
I happened to have a circle too.
This is also an ancient miracle, a circle of salvation.
It shelters the chosen ones from the falling rain,
and sees them to the promised land.
A vague murmur emanates from the mirror.
Like an ancient echo.
Yes! That's it!
I saw it! Doctor! I heard it!
I "read" the "Storm" immunity ritual! We did it!!!
Kakania falls to the ground, exhausted.
Marcus, ready now to face the communicator again, activates it.
This time, though, it brings good news.
News from the frontline. They have sent home the "Storm" immunity ritual.
Get to work, people.
In the 22 hours before the "Storm" arrives, the whole world is our proving ground.