GAMEPLAY

Rain once again flows upward. The people swallow gold.
Inside the safe house, a crystal has shattered into star-like fragments, and Beryl's face flickers in their glow.
She picks up one of the fragments and runs her fingers across it.
Beryl: This is not the crystal the ritual requires.
Brume: Okay.
Brume: What next, then?
After another long trek, Brume finally arrives in the Ural Mountains.
The freezing wind bites at her.
Brume: shiver ... I'm half near frozen.
Félicienne: Honestly, Adèle, you take Beryl's word as law now.
Félicienne: You nigh on kill yourself finding a stone for Beryl, only for her to shatter it in yet another failed ritual, then set out searching all over again ...
Félicienne: Aren't you tired of this?
Brume: ... Madame Bouanich's ritual seems extremely difficult. Some failures are bound to happen.
Félicienne: Is that really your belief? Or are you simply allowing her to toy with you in the name of "adventure"?
Félicienne: This is Beryl Bouanich, ma chérie.
Félicienne: Other lesser diviners may require rare and pure crystals, but when has she ever cared about such things?
Félicienne: Even to sustain life, she only needed a most ordinary white crystal.
Félicienne: Yet now she gambles the success of the ritual on stones which were once nothing but replaceable trinkets to her!
Félicienne: What utter tosh. Is Beryl really so inept?
Brume: Madame Bouanich's abilities aren't what they once were. Perhaps she truly does require stronger conduits now.
Félicienne: Heh. Conduits ...
Brume: And what's so wrong with that, hm?
Félicienne continues to chuckle to herself.
Félicienne: ... At any rate, I do so enjoy watching her stammer.
???: Ms. Brume! This way!
Just as Félicienne finishes speaking, a bright voice calls out. A girl waves from not far away.
Brume looks toward the sound—and freezes in shock.
Brume: —Mina? What are YOU doing here?!
The white crystal orb glimmers softly, a faint face shimmering within it.
Beryl: ... You met Mina? The girl you befriended while searching for stones in Delhi?
Brume: That's right, but now she calls herself Asiya. She says she's a Bashkir and a guide for the mines. She even claims she's never left these mountains.
Far away in the mining region, Brume had returned to her temporary lodging and locked the door.
She took out the orbuculum Beryl gave her and called upon Beryl.
Brume: Though Asiya's appearance and manner differ from the Mina I met in Delhi ... they are the same person.
Beryl: ...
The diviner considers it for a long moment, then lets out a soft, knowing laugh.
Beryl: Heh ... the same person with a different identity.
Beryl: So that's how it is ...
Brume: W-What does that mean?
Beryl casts an unnoticeable glance to the parlor window. A faint silhouette approaches.
Beryl: This is not the moment to talk, Adèle.
Beryl: Continue your searching for the demantoid. I shall be in contact soon.
The orbuculum dims, followed by a knock at the parlor door.
Beryl: Come in, Mr. Forget Me Not.
The usually polite alchemist appears uncharacteristically tense.
Forget Me Not: So, Madame Bouanich—what is your answer?
Beryl: Hmm ... a resurrection ritual is indeed interesting.
Her calm expression reveals nothing.
Forget Me Not: Your daughter Matilda is in the Foundation.
Forget Me Not: As her mother, it would be easy for you to ask her to retrieve a few materials from the Arcanum Containment Department.
Forget Me Not: What is it that you're hesitating over?
Beryl: My daughter and I have not spoken for quite some time. Making contact may not be wise.
Forget Me Not: Then allow me to give you a reminder.
Forget Me Not: You can't sit on the fence forever. In the end, you'll choose a side.
Beryl: Both Manus Vindictae and the Foundation are my collaborators. It is not so complicated as you imagine.
Beryl: Impatience never leads to successful business, Mr. Forget Me Not.
Beryl: Allowing time for consideration is a necessary step.
Forget Me Not: ... I see. Then on the fence you'll stay.
Realizing there is no use in continuing, he stands and shakes his head.
Forget Me Not: Ever since Paris, you've become difficult to contact.
Forget Me Not: And you have grown increasingly distant from our cause.
At the door, he turns back to look at her.
Forget Me Not: You know very well that you cannot survive the "rain" alone.
Forget Me Not: You mustn't detach yourself from the world, Madame Bouanich.
Late at night, the orbuculum glows once more.
Brume: You mean these people are anomalies caused by the "Storm"?
Beryl: It is only my supposition. Until we fully understand the "Storm," we cannot say for certain whether it is true.
Brume: No, it's logical, really.
Brume: When the disorder of an era reaches a certain threshold, the "Storm" washes everything away and returns it to a fragment of the past.
Brume: The problem is, the disorder hasn't been completely corrected ...
Brume: So identical identities appear in different forms, and identical people appear with different identities.
Brume: Yet none of them can truly be regarded as "the same person."
Beryl: Well done, Adèle. You have taken another step to understanding the truth of the "Storm."
Brume: ...
Brume: The truth of the "Storm" ...
Brume: I still can't fathom why or how it forms or what its origin is.
Brume: But there is one thing that's certain—how the "Storm" must be defined.
Beryl: Oh?
Brume: This "Storm" ... it's an utter disaster—playing with people's lives like toys.
Brume: Amidst it, even the greatest treasures lose their value—and Manus Vindictae seeks to control it.
Beryl: Yes. It has only brought disaster.
Brume: ...?
Agreement between Brume and Beryl is exceedingly rare.
It leaves Brume stunned.
Beryl: Fate should be immutable—an ever-flowing river. Nothing should be able to deviate its course.
Beryl: And yet, in correcting its fallacies, it has been reduced to mechanical vulgarity—a tool to be exploited ...
Beryl: It is no longer what it simply is.
Beryl: The rainwater has eroded the edifice of fate; cracks have etched their way deep into its foundation.
The orbuculum falls silent on both ends.
Brume is struck speechless, while Beryl sinks into thought.
Finally, a mocking voice breaks the stillness.
Félicienne: Hah—so this is why you're on edge, Beryl!

Open your eyes to see the future that we know?

The Unforeseen