A distant thunderclap breaks the silence that has fallen on the night. A declaration of the army's utter failure over the past two weeks.
Defeat after crushing defeat has littered No Man's Land with corpses. The living buckle under the weight of their losses, broken.
Only one man stands tall.
Soldier I: Comrades, raise your heads! Do not let the enemy think we are cowards!
Soldier I: Keep belief in your hearts! We have had many victories, and the general's artillery hasn't let us down!
Soldier I: Victory is inevitable! The enemy will crumble before our will is broken!
Soldier I: We must fight! For justice! For vengeance! We are unstoppable!
No one answers him.
That voice sparks terror in Marianne's chest. It nearly drowns her.
In her ears, she can still hear Hervé's wailing as he lay in the mud, guts spilling out, begging her to save him.
The threat of death forced her to turn away. He was the last company mate she saw.
Soldier II: Name, soldier.
Footsteps draw near, and a figure blocks her view.
Marianne: ... Marianne.
The soldier's finger pauses over the roster.
Marianne: Tell me ... how many of Arcane Support yet remain?
Soldier II: ... So far, you're the only one I've confirmed.
Soldier II: But we're still counting. There might—
Her mind goes blank. She hears the words but can't, or won't, comprehend them.
A stabbing pain erupts in her skull, like scissors tearing through her brain.
"The only survivor." The terror of the thought nearly swallows her whole. She starts grasping for anything to stay afloat.
Marianne: ... Have you seen any letters for me? I've received nothing for some time ...
Soldier II: I don't deliver mail, soldier.
Marianne: Then, do you know ... when we will be afforded leave ...
Soldier II: I don't handle leave orders, either. But I do know the assault won't—
Marianne: Why do we still fight?! For what?!
Soldier II: ... I don't know.
He shakes his head and walks to the next soldier.
A hand holding a flask taps her shoulder.
Veteran: Hey, longhair. Care for a drink?
Marianne turns, startled. The man is swaying a little.
Veteran: Best to drink while you're still breathing.
Veteran: This is my special stash—eau de vie, good stuff. Gives me a reason for living anyway ...
His head is wrapped in a filthy, blood-soaked bandage. His right ear is gone.
Veteran: Those bastards lounging about at headquarters don't give a damn about us.
Veteran: May as well drink while we can. Shot or shelled, what's the difference?
Veteran: Baa—
He bleats like a sheep. A sign of mockery.
The world spins. The trench tilts, and Marianne's stomach turns.
Marianne: vomiting
She drops the rifle she scavenged from the battlefield and crawls toward the blast shelter at the back wall, dry heaving.
Once inside, she curls up, the gray rock spreading rapidly across her body.
Right before she slips into delirium, the one-eared veteran climbs in and gently places a can in front of her.
The scent of the apples Agnès once described hits her nostrils.
Fresh and sweet. A scent of home. A scent of peace.
Agnès: ... Ladislas carrieth a peculiar fondness for traditional objects. To his eye, the irreparable flaws and wear of such trinkets are an elegance granted only by time.
Agnès: Much like thy father, he loatheth the inventions of the mechanical age.
Agnès crouches, curiously turning the item in her hands. Sunlight glimmers on her shoulder.
Agnès: But I share not their disdain.
Agnès: Perhaps a photograph is not so poetic as a painting ...
Agnès: But it may capture the apples on this table exactly as they are, and, in the years hence, I may glance upon their image, and the joy of this day will bloom full in my breast once again.
Agnès: That is to say, Marie, that I thank thee dearly for the camera.
The veteran climbs into the shelter. The blood on his bandage has turned dark.
Veteran: You remind me of my daughter, you know ... Shame I won't see her again.
Veteran: Guess what? The bastards said they won't hesitate to use guns to force us onto the field.
Veteran: So ... I came to say goodbye.
Veteran: Eat the canned food if you're hungry, longhair. Good luck to you.
He crawls back out and sits at the parapet as he calmly checks over his bullets.
Marianne carefully carries the heavy velvet bundle into the studio.
Atelier Owner: Once you sort those fabrics, you can take the rest of the day off.
Atelier Owner: Ah, and a letter from your sister arrived. I do hope it's good news.
Marianne: Thank you, madame!
She hastily says her goodbyes as she tears open the envelope.
Letter: ... Marie, Grandmother's kindness and generosity is as unmoving as ever. She hath agreed.
Letter: Shouldst thou be accepted into l'ENSAD, she has promised to fund thy atelier de couture in Paris ...
Marianne: Woohoo! Thank you, God! Thank you, Grandmother!
Marianne: Application ... application ... I must make haste!
The lieutenant glares furiously at the statue curled up in the shelter.
Officer: Marianne! Dispel your arcane skill! That's an order!
Officer: You're a soldier—you should willingly give yourself for the motherland!
Officer: I order you to—
An explosion blasts him off his feet.
Blood splatters the shelter's entrance. The deafening blasts quickly turn to the whispers of the dead in Marianne's ears.
Marianne: panting
Fire and ash swirl in the air. The stench of burning flesh chokes her.
All sights blur, fade, and collapse into a dark narrow passage.
Only one figure remains at its end, glowing faintly—a flawless lily.
Marianne: Agnès!
But the barren soil cannot nourish the lily's glow.
Her dear cousin kneels in the darkness, hands clasped in prayer, as her body is slowly swallowed in stone.
Agnès: Marie, even should we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we must believe ...
Agnès: God is always with us.
Marianne: Agnès, get back—
Agnès shatters in an instant. Shards slash Marianne's face and scatter across the ground.
Where Agnès stood, nothing remains.
Marianne: No!
Her eyes snap open. In the darkness of the shelter, the can faintly reflects the moonlight.
She trembles, panicked and convulsing. For a moment, she is unable to tell dream from reality.
Soldier III: Eat a bullet, you bastard!
Officer: Are you threatening a superior?!
Shouting erupts outside.
Marianne clutches the can to her chest, close to the letter in her pocket, and crawls out.
Soldier III: You want us to hold the line? Fine, we'll hold the line!
Soldier III: But tomorrow's offensive? That's suicide! It's slaughter!
Marianne looks around. The soldiers are gathered, their faces burning with rage.
Fresh corpses lie at the trench's edge. Shot the moment they climbed out.
One of them is missing his right ear.
Marianne: I never even knew his name ...
Soldier III: How long has it been since leave, huh? We deserve to go home!
Marianne: ...
For the first time, her eyes clearly discern good from evil.
Officer: The enemy's defeat is just one step away; hold the line—
Marianne: Liar!
She snaps, unable to stomach another empty speech.
Marianne: This reckless charge has neither aim nor purpose!
Marianne: Naught awaits us but annihilation!
Marianne: We are naught but tools to your own selfish ends!
The soldiers roar in agreement, spitting curses and protests.
And slowly, all their voices chant a single line—
Marianne: We refuse to cast away our lives!
