Not a Moment's Rest

It has been a long time since you last felt alone.

The screams drown out your voice. Nobody is listening to your commands.

They are not your operators. They are just ordinary people.

Reason is a luxury in the face of death.

You finally hear a familiar voice.

Amiya tries to force her way through the panicking crowd, and reaches out her hand.

You know that you are the one whom Amiya cares most deeply about, always.

You do not want to disappoint her.

You penetrate the crowd and extend your hand with all your strength.

You realize who it is standing before you, a moment before your hands touch.

The Damazti approaches you, one step at a time.

You can feel that the one-time King of the Sarkaz Court has changed. He is no longer an idle observer.

He has begun moving forward.

She is always at your side, smiling. It almost makes you forget that she is the true King of Sarkaz.

Dark Arts rumble. You find Amiya's presence downright imposing.

But still, you feel uneasy. Instincts tell you that this was no ordinary attack.

In just a short period of time, you have learned that the Duke of Windermere, defender of the frontiers, is no pushover.

She had her flagship break off from the fleet in order to save her daughter. This was an opportunity.

But the rest of the fleet was not so far away. The tactical advantage in attacking a ducal vessel is limited... unless this was a decapitation operation.

No, killing a duke only makes her men angrier. There is more to Theresis's plan.

Plus, this ship is home to more than just the duke's elite guards; you and your friends are here.

The King of Sarkaz is here.

Suddenly, a pang of intense pain dazes you.

Amiya disengages from her battle with the Damazti and runs towards you. Arts converge on her fingertips, and her crown appears above her head.

The black Arts are shattered, and the black crown gone.

Amiya's Arts disintegrate in an instant, as though they had never existed.

How could this be? It is the power of the King of Sarkaz!

An eerie dark halo envelops Amiya. She tries to break through, but the Confessarius's cage does not budge.

The cage grows smaller.

You look for someone who can help, a way to break Amiya free.

The Confessarius guards block any eyes that dare gaze upon this place.

The enemy is more prepared than you thought.

Amiya's struggle grows feeble. The ancient, bane arts drain her strength.

Her knees buckle, and she falls to the ground.

She lifts her hand, but not a ripple of Arts answer.

You feel the chilling gaze scanning you. Your heart is beating so fast, it threatens to escape your chest.

Anger and despair.

Death extends its tendrils towards you.

You clench your fist.

You see Ascalon sprinting towards you.

Countless Confessarius guards stand in her way. They fall without a sound, then the figures of countless Damazti once again bury her.

The Confessarius with blue hair lifts Amiya in her arms. The hull structure around you shatters, a staircase of earth and stone rises, and the wall of the canyon outside opens its gaping maw.

You have seen Arts like this before. But she is no Gargoyle.

Wherever they walk, the stone bridge trembles and shatters, and the cracks on the rock wall heal.

Ascalon tries to free herself from the Damazti tide, but the expressionless fragments seem endless.

The Confessarius and Amiya grow distant.

You have heard it many times from many people. You are not built for fighting, so weak you could not even complete the beginner course for trainee operators.

Kal'tsit wanted you to stay in the rear, giving orders in safety.

But Kal'tsit, equally thin and frail, stood before Theresis. You can still see the gaping wound when you close your eyes.

You should wait where you are. Ascalon needs time. You can work on a rescue plan once the battle has concluded.

A commander should learn to recognize when the situation is untenable.

But...

Your ears ring.

Amiya is your partner, your family.

Your sense and sensibility, your past and memories all cry out.

The smiles, the tears, the hard times... the brief joy.

The hull breach is right beside you.

The stone staircase is starting to fall apart.

—

You put a numb foot forward.

You leap before the bridge shatters completely.

You run like you never have before, as the ground falls out from beneath where you just tread.

Your view is obscured by the white vapors that you exhale.

Your whole body trembles. You have never so lamented the frailness of your physique.

It is not far. You can catch them. You can—

There is no time to think. The hole is within reach, but the ever-shifting rock wall could close upon it at any time.

A few steps further.

You muster all the speed you have.

The next instant, you find yourself falling in infinite darkness.

How much time has passed?

With your portable light, you see that countless hands have emerged from the ground, pulling at the passage, sewing it shut.

The space continues to contract, pressing on you.

You do not know how far you must go, but you must not stop.

Down, down, down.

Your lungs sting. A light in the distance is your only hope.

Escaping the contracting hole, you find yourself hanging from an upside-down statue. From its eyes seep water falling from above, gleaming an eerie red in the light of magma.

You recognize the statues as Djall.

The Gargoyle shoulders the roof of the cave, feet burning in the magma.

The Banshee curls up in the wilted thorns, bone whistle in hand.

The Wendigo tries to tear the rock wall apart with twisted hands, frightful visage roaring beneath a mask.

The withered Vampire extends a hand from the lava.

A creature of unknown race holds its head in its hands, stone columns running through its eyes.

You feel a heavy blow, and a pair of baleful eyes.

You look towards Amiya. Her consciousness seems hazy. Black Arts seep out from her, then fade into thin air the next instant.

Her brow twitches in pain. She is not in good shape.

You have rarely seen this expression on the brave child's face, ever since you met in Chernobog.

She draws closer.

You tighten the hand hidden behind your back.

All you have is a sharp rock that you happened to pick up in the chaos.

Your reason tells you that it is useless. Perhaps you would have had a speck of hope if you were Blaze, Ascalon, or even Popukar...

You feel regret, but even stronger is your determination.

The pain in your hand keeps you conscious.

Patience. Wait for her to draw closer...

The blue-haired Confessarius turns towards Amiya.

This might be your chance. You make the calculations. With your full strength, perhaps...

You feel your internal organs twitch and convulse. The taste of rust fills your mouth.

One little push from the Confessarius, and your right hand loses all sensation.

Bones have broken.

Wincing at the intense pain, you force yourself to lunge forward but she lithely dodges.

You fall in front of Amiya, blocking the blue-haired Confessarius's malicious gaze.

You can feel the Confessarius's breathing.

A numbing sensation filled with ancient witchcraft moves towards the top of your head.

A black vortex rises from behind you.

Amiya whispers at its center.

The black crown trembles with agitation.

'The crown... remember... souls...'

Is that Amiya's voice?

You get a feeling...

She is growing more distant by the second, to a place that you cannot reach—

You try to grab Amiya. The black vortex roils between you, and a great force tries to push you away.

You dig your one good hand into the dirt, dragging the rest of your hide along, towards the girl lying on the ground.

Just a little further—

You touch her.

The black vortex shatters and vanishes. You grab Amiya's hand.

Amiya has grown up, but her hands still feel small and frail.

Her palm is filled with sweat.

You do not know if the Confessarius's curse worked, or if this was the result of Amiya's effort and yours.

Blood sprays from the Confessarius's neck.

Ascalon walks towards you, casting not another glance at the fallen Confessarius.

Blood explodes, and a sanguine shockwave sweeps towards you.

A figure stands in front of you, arriving in the nick of time.

The Confessarius puts her hand on her neck wound. The blood that sprayed from it is slowly flowing back.

You see Logos's cold expression, and the incantation that obediently emerges from his tongue.

But you do not see Salus's fear, anger, any expression you might expect to see on one facing her own death.

You see only curiosity.

She is backing up.

Behind her—

The statue of a Banshee towers above.

An instant before everything went black, you saw Ascalon grab Amiya, while Logos shielded you.

You saw the statue come to life.

You saw the Confessarius's eyes narrow, and saw her ring the death knell first.

You turn around to see the Cautus girl lying peacefully under a tree, as if she is merely sleeping.