Night falls, and Diggers sits on a bench by the river, holding a cheap takeout box.
He stuffs his mouth with food.
Diggers: munch
Diggers: Could it be that Sophia can reverse time with her arcane skill?
Diggers: Or is this just a big illusion that I've conjured up?
???: Woof, woof!
Diggers: Aww! A puppy!
The puppy's wet eyes are fixed to the meat on his fork.
Diggers: Go on, eat up.
In the quiet night, the evening star twinkles above the dark purple horizon.
Diggers: I guess it doesn't really matter how I'm back here, no strange languages, no strange doctrines.
Diggers: So, for now, I'll continue spreading my art, speaking out for those who pursue "peace and love."
Diggers: But …
He falls silent, an unusual occurrence.
A gust of night wind blows a crumpled poster to his feet.
Diggers: "A grand art gathering coming soon to Carnaby Street!"
Diggers: "An unprecedented arcanum feast, an unparalleled grand march."
Diggers: "Against war, against everything!"
The exaggerated slogans pique his interest.
Diggers: Oh! I need to do more. People trust actions more than words.
Diggers: This is where I'm needed.
This is what he excels at.
There is no need for preparation. It all flows naturally and seamlessly.
Diggers: London needs imaginative art parties. It needs street fairs for everyone to get their voice heard.
Diggers: London is utopian.
Diggers: I will throw a feast for more people to have fun. By then, our philosophy will hit the headlines of all newspapers and become a new tidal trend. Everyone will get to know and fall in love!
Countless dream bubbles float in the air, reflecting rainbow colors under the sunlight.
Dreamlike visions bloom within them.
Diggers: Everyone will see that world.
Diggers: No violence, no hatred.
He is lost in his own fervor.
A flamboyant artist, and a narrow-minded egotist.
The culprit who caused utter chaos with his Reflective Bubbles.
Until a car speeds up to him.
Car: beep
The brakes screech, but it is too late.
Diggers: Whoa!
The artist's frail body is flung high into the air, crashing down hard.
Diggers: Ah!
The panicked scream echoes off the cavern walls.
He sits up abruptly, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with trembling hands.
Diggers: Huff—huff—
Diggers: It was just a dream!
Diggers: I even came up with the newspaper headline.
Diggers: "Pioneer Artist Dies for Peace and Love."
Diggers: Or maybe it should read: "Chaos Instigator Dies, Peace Restored to London."
Diggers: If I'm lucky, they might even include some of my ideas.
Sometimes, he envies the famous; all they have to do is speak, and their thoughts are spread far and wide by their followers.
Diggers: sigh
He gets up, almost tripping over the fabric.
Diggers: Oh, the islander's robe.
Diggers: I guess I should put this on, then get out of here.
Diggers: Leave this island, leave Manus Vindictae, leave all their organizations and hierarchies, and continue my art.
He dons the white robe.
The escape from the cave is surprisingly straightforward.
All the critical checkpoints are unguarded.
Diggers: Hmm, where is everyone?
Diggers: Are they all at another maths class?
???: Aren't you leaving?
Diggers takes a deep breath.
Diggers: Hey, my friend.
Island Believer II: …?
Diggers: We bathe in the light of Apollo's star, following a fixed rhythm, balancing the excess of our souls.
His acting skills have slightly improved.
Diggers: So, could you point me in the direction of the ferry?
Diggers: I want to ... um … go to the real world ... to find those … uh … fragments.
Island Believer II: ...
Island Believer II: I don't quite understand what you're saying.
Island Believer II: But if you want to leave, you can come with us.
Diggers: Wonderful. You must be a very generous number.
The believer gives him a strange look.
Island Believer II: We're not numbers.
Island Believer II: Those gathered here are either fractions or those who haven't yet discovered their soul numbers.
Island Believer II: That's why we're leaving this place, where only integers can live with full rights.
Diggers: Then we're on the same page!
Diggers: It's rare to find like-minded people on this little island. So, where are we headed now?
Island Believer II: Forward.
Island Believer II: A lady promised us that the envoy would be waiting ahead to meet us.
Island Believer II: At the end of the cape.
Diggers: Take me with you. Please take me with you.
Diggers: I believe that art isn't dead yet!