Beatrice's Monologue
What you hideinside you.
My existence took an unexpected turn when our paths converged. You were the missing fragment I had tirelessly sought.
Four centuries of anticipation are now inconsequential.
The intricate plots woven by my mother lost their significance the moment you entered my life. Previously, I perceived only a single hue; now, a kaleidoscope of shades unfurls before me, crafting a luminous and harmonious world.
However, within this metamorphosis, inevitable pains have also surfaced.
I've acquired the skill to cherish each intricacy, transforming creation into a fervent passion. What I once detested, the source of my mother-inflicted anguish, has assumed a renewed significance.
We do not craft for annihilation or experimentation.
Even though our machines may be formidable weapons, we forge them for protection, not for reaping lives.
The steam engine and its myriad forms astound me daily. It's remarkable how a singular invention can breathe life into countless manifestations.
An unlimited frontier unveils itself, and I can't help but feel gratitude.
My joy is authentic, even amidst my morning tears, for I weep with purpose: to seek joy.
My knight has brought forth a light that renders the minimal tribute as shedding tears in their honor. The sensations of our pact alleviate the ache in my chest, yet they fail to dispel the void, the fear, the urge to flee that linger.
You harbor secrets, shadows you fear to unveil. But that is inconsequential; I only wish to alleviate your suffering.
I yearn for you to perceive the world in its true colors, to feel a sense of belonging, to leave behind that profound sorrow.
You cannot conceal it from me.
You profess to love me, yet you withhold your sorrows.
You declare love for me, yet you deny my capacity to share your burden.
My life altered for you, and now, I aspire to change you for myself.
My utmost joy would be to witness, at last, your pure smile, brimming with love and bliss.
You heard my sorrows, my lamentations, and still, you loved me. I sense the shadows within you, but you fear that by revealing them, we will drift apart.
No, Marco, it shall not be so.
Even if it proves difficult, I will shatter the current state. I will love you in your vulnerability, in your distress. I will help you see the light, and even as you change, I will love you in all your forms.
Hence, I silently ask for your forgiveness, without uttering a word.
Prologue
Who are you?
The laughter that echoed in the surroundings dissipates into an unsettling silence.
Crusch's eyes fixate on me, unveiling an instantaneous understanding of the tragedy that has just unfolded—the worst of calamities.
Her usually imposing and firm countenance shatters. With palpable determination, she rises and approaches Félix, seizing him by the shoulders. Félix's face displays genuine surprise, assuring me that this is not one of his usual jests.
He has transformed. Now, he appears more solemn, more formal, exuding an aura unmatched by his former self.
While Crusch holds Félix in silence, my gaze descends to my own hands. The air feels dense, charged with tension. The situation is undeniably uncomfortable, and despite the protective nuance in Crusch's posture, I can also perceive the unexpressed pain that engulfs her.
"Excuse me, you're hurting me," Félix murmurs, his words uncomfortably resonating in the tense atmosphere that has taken shape.
My eyes slide through his hair, capturing Crusch's firm grip, and I notice how her lips tighten in a tense line as she locks eyes with determination.
"Félix Argyle!" Crusch exclaims with desperation, her voice resonating with a mix of emotions, from anguish to determination. "You are Félix Argyle; I rescued you from the abuses of your father, Biehn Argyle."
An unknown detail emerges before me. Félix's countenance grows more serious—a nuance confirming the truth of Crusch's words.
"How...?"
"Fourier!" Crusch interrupts, releasing Félix's shoulders and unsheathing her sword, the hilt carved in the shape of a majestic lion. "It was us who decided to fight for him, the three of us, always united and..."
"How do you know that?" Félix interrupts seriously, his gaze fixed on Crusch. "That's information only Mr. Frey and I share in depth."
Félix assumes a defensive stance, while Crusch maintains her intense and firm gaze. Gestures become a tense dance of emotions and buried secrets.
"Félix, with cautious gesture and without hesitation, approaches Crusch, his hands moving in the air with a certain authority.
"I won't stay silent. I don't know how you got this information, but I need to know," Félix declares, his tone unwavering.
At that moment, I intervene, taking his hand to halt any development that might worsen the situation. My intervention separates the two, and I feel Félix's irritated gaze fixed on me.
"You won't take any action now," I say calmly, trying to maintain control of the situation. "Someone close to both of you might be entangled in the effects of Gula."
Félix reflects for a moment, then leans in a forced apology.
"I regret my attitude. We need to discuss this with Mr. Frey," Félix says, turning away and seeking someone I still can't recognize.
Crusch's legs give way under the weight of her emotions, and she falls to the ground. I observe her defeated figure, and helplessness engulfs me. She has lost more than anything in this moment: her identity, her achievements—everything has been usurped.
I know it's partly my fault. She got involved in all this by trying to save me. I clench my fists, a mix of emotions stirring within me.
The temptation to use the checkpoint to undo this situation is strong, but something inside warns me that it's not the solution. An unusual fear takes root in my mind—a fear of the unknown.
While celebrations resonate around me and the sunset paints the scene with golden hues, everyone revels in victory. Rescuers attend to the wounded, mages celebrate their magic, and Irlam's soldiers organize the withdrawal of the cannons.
From my position, I can see how the whale's corpse crystallizes over time.
It's pierced everywhere, its head separated from the body. Despite precautions, I can't help but wonder what the plan is now that Crusch no longer exists.
Although the world is expected to fill the void left by her actions, someone so influential and significant cannot be easily replaced.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to the wind, watching the events with an overwhelming sensation.
Beatrice approaches my side, her comforting presence. Her eyes look at me with concern, but in this whirlwind of thoughts, I can't find clear answers: Pandora, the cult, the sages, Irlam, and now this.
What should I do?
Crusch, lost in her thoughts, examines her own hands. I don't know what she's thinking, but I suspect she blames herself for rescuing me.
After a few moments, someone captures my attention. He approaches, walking alongside Emilia.
It's a man with long green hair, a lock covering his right eye. His slender figure contrasts with the definition of his arms. He wields a sword with a hilt carved in the shape of a lion, and his presence radiates a majestic air.
Every detail about him seems to speak of elegance and beauty.
His pale and smooth skin, his symmetrical features—everything about him is a display of beauty and charm. But there's something more in his gaze, something that tells me he's more than just appearance.
He comes closer, accompanied by Félix. Emilia doesn't seem surprised by his presence; she even seems to recognize him. Upon arrival, before words flow, Crusch looks up, and her eyes fill with surprise and recognition.
"You..." Crusch whispers, her voice full of contained emotion. Crusch, usually so undisturbed, seems to have lost her composure.
Her skin pales, and her breathing becomes agitated.
The man, Frey Karsten, looks at her with curiosity but shows no surprise at her reaction.
"You are identical to my mother, no doubt about it. Something strange is happening," he comments calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
This is the first time I hear his voice, a deep and rich voice. Crusch clenches her fists, her gaze fixed on him with unwavering determination.
"Who are you?" she questions firmly, still holding his intense gaze. "I don't know what you're planning, but I won't allow you to take away my identity."
Frey remains calm, crossing his arms with a serene expression.
"My name?" he says with a tone reflecting his confidence. "I am Frey Karsten. If you don't know me, you probably have no connection to this camp. But it's not the time to focus on that."
Frey Karsten. Now, a presence has emerged in place of Crusch. It's not just that she has been forgotten; the world has found a substitute for her actions. I can't glimpse this enigmatic figure, but I'm sure something unusual lurks in the shadows.
If I try to piece together the scattered fragments...
The only silhouette forming in my mind is...
"I am Crusch Karsten, daughter of Helena Karsten and Meckart Karsten." Crusch holds her composure, not allowing intimidation to show, guarding her expression while hiding her feelings deep within.
"Taking advantage of forgetfulness to assume someone else's identity is a crime of high magnitude. Your resemblance to my mother, Helena Karsten..." Frey's tone grows stronger, hinting at a certain annoyance.
Crusch reinforces her posture, grabbing Frey's attire with frustration and resolution. Even as her nails scratch her own skin, it seems to not faze her.
Emilia steps into the conversation, displaying a gesture of empathy towards Crusch. Wilhelm strides forward, halting Crusch's outburst amidst her distress. A chain of reactions unveils the intricate nature of the moment.
"Wilhelm? Wilhelm! It's me!" Crusch endeavors to free herself, but he maintains his serene and imperturbable demeanor.
Crusch grapples between resisting and being restrained by Wilhelm. Now, she has been wholly forgotten, courtesy of Gula.
"I must detain you. I cannot allow discourtesy towards Mr. Frey," Wilhelm responds, devoid of recognition in his eyes.
Emilia immediately intervenes, observing Crusch with unease.
"Mr. Wilhelm, she seems stunned by the situation. She has just regained consciousness, so she's probably confused," Emilia explains gravely, casting me a barely perceptible glance.
Noticing Emilia's initiative, Wilhelm releases Crusch, who quickly moves away from his grasp. Her gaze travels from Frey to Félix, from Wilhelm to Emilia, and finally meets mine.
I have no clue how to help her. Unlike before, there is no discernible void.
The void has been filled, turning her existence into something trivial at this moment.
She closes her eyelids and withdraws silently, offering us her back.
I try to approach her, but Frey stops me.
"Do you know her?" he questions, his face filled with perplexity and deep intrigue.
I keep watching him for a moment, understanding that this is not the time for a spectacle but for careful proceedings. Who this enigmatic figure is remains a mystery to me. I don't know how he got here, but caution must guide my actions.
"Yes, she fought against Gula alongside me, but he has erased her identity," I reply with measured honesty.
I'm not sure if divine blessings can be transferred to the bearer, or if they reside as an inherent attribute of the soul. Contracts with spirits can be lost, but the functioning of divine blessings remains a mystery to me.
"I see, but there's something odd." Frey crosses his arms, his serene expression seeming capable of penetrating any facade. "Her resemblance to my mother is much more than a coincidence. I should take her with me to investigate."
I can't allow him to take her away; something inside me rebels.
"Before we proceed, allow me to ask a question." I direct my gaze to Emilia, trying to find an answer to the mysterious identity of this person.
He nods calmly, as if he already knew I was going to ask.
"Are you a candidate for the throne?" I inquire, searching his eyes for a spark of truth that could shed light on this situation.
The replacement of Crusch contradicts the prophecy of the stone, which spoke of five chosen young women. The succession of Crusch should be led by a woman, so a man cannot take her place.
"Are you still confused by the battle?" Frey puts his hand in his pocket with a thoughtful gesture. An object slowly emerges between his fingers, a crimson light hovering over us in the last illumination of the sun.
My heart pounds at the unusual scene before my eyes. I recognize the emblem he holds in his hand without a doubt: the dragon's insignia.
A chill runs down my spine; excitement and uncertainty intertwine. My thoughts become murky, and the approval granted by the dragon to this person is undeniable.
Did I hear wrong?
No, the meeting made this fact clear.
In a barely perceptible whisper, I mumble:
"Five young women..."
However, instead of affirming my statement, Frey forms an intriguing smile that fills me with perplexity.
"You seem confused, and it's understandable after fighting alone against the archbishop of Gula. You must be exhausted," he responds with a calmness that seems to emanate from the depths of his being.
Emilia approaches me with evident concern, offering support as she holds me.
My gaze rests on Frey, who still holds the insignia in his hand; the symbol of the dragon shines before me.
"I am a candidate selected by the dragon. The interpretation of the dragon's signs changed years ago when I decided to follow the path laid out by my great friend, Fourier," he explains with a calmness that suggests this has been premeditated.
A slight smile plays on my lips.
"My apologies; we've won this battle, and here I am asking trivial questions." My words intertwine with a faint trace of fatigue. "Practicing magic is something I barely delve into, and my mana reserves are limited at the moment, so my body needs rest."
Frey bursts into friendly laughter, stows the insignia with a firm gesture, and then extends his hand towards me. Our eyes meet, his unwavering gaze causing a certain unease within me.
Somehow, I sense that before me stands a threat more imposing than Ley and Petelgeuse.
"Let's head to the capital; we must celebrate there. It seems the cult has retreated for now." His smile widens, infecting Wilhelm and Félix, whose faces reflect astonishment and excitement at this encounter. "Despite our competition, I'm sure we can forge a powerful alliance."