Neatly stacked clothes lie on the bed, the suitcase open and empty.
On the eve of her departure, she paces back and forth in the room, tidying as she goes.
Matilda: Route 77 ... Hmm, I don't understand. Why would the editor of UTTU visit such a desolate place? What could this mean about Urd?
Matilda: Alright then, at least I can drop by and visit Mama. Humph.
Matilda: That will most certainly be a surprise! What their Matilda has achieved will make the whole family proud!
Matilda: "My daughter, my Matilda, a special investigator for the St. Pavlov Foundation! Now little Matilda adds another star to the Bouanich family line!"
Matilda: humming
"Knock, knock, knock ..."
The sound of knocking comes at an inconvenient time.
Team Member I: Ms. Bouanich, a moment of your time? Unfortunately, it seems our mission has been canceled.
Matilda: Canceled? Why?
Team Member I: You may have heard what Fiona did.
Matilda: Well, I had heard the chatter about it certainly, but she only just started as a receptionist. It is no matter if she is a little unfamiliar with the processes and ...
Team Member I: Per regulations since the first "Storm," families of the deceased employees are no longer informed of their deaths, but she made a mistake, or forgot.
Team Member I: And the two arcanists she received earlier got away from her near the memorial hall. They didn't even fill out the proper forms.
Matilda: Ah, not good. That could indeed represent a serious intelligence leak.
Team Member I: And Mr. Bernard asked that we get ahead of the narrative, before it gets to the press, given how fast the news spreads in this day and age.
Team Member I: New orders are for us to find these two visitors and prevent the information from further spreading.
Matilda: Us?
Matilda: Of course. So then, our present task tracking down the editor of UTTU will be reassigned to some other team.
Team Member I: Correct, ma'am. Tracking down these two arcanists was given top priority, and ...
Team Member I: Those two were the same ones you ran into earlier today.
Fortune-tellers, alchemists, and arcanists of all stripes gathered together, creating a sprawling marketplace.
From magic-infused cords to rare alchemical texts, and a dazzling array of herbs. Its goods have attracted a steady and constant stream of visitors.
Public Speaker: My friends, after the Harmonic Convergence, we discovered the failure of prophecy and eschatology, and the new possibilities of coexistence between the faith in pneuma and science!
Public Speaker: They claim there is one god, and god is dead. But is that so? Friends, it's time to abandon the disputes of religions, and to know that we are one. God is you, god is me.
In the midst of the bustling crowd, a speaker gives a lecture out to no one in particular, seemingly unconcerned if anyone is listening at all.
Matilda: We've got information that our escaped visitors have gone into hiding with an energy healer called Mercuria.
Matilda: It's crowded here. I'd rather not attract attention to ourselves, so keep your heads down.
A solitary tent stands out in the corner, a refuge from the bustling crowd.
Team Member I: Some kind of temporary tent. And a sign lying on the ground. Something's not right. I barely sense any arcane fluctuations here.
Team Member II: Could it be a trap?
Team Member II: This market is filled with unregistered arcanists, not to mention the human tourists. There are sure to be dangerous ones among them.
Matilda: Shh!
With her sharp ears, Matilda notices a faint whispering sound emanating from inside the tent.
???: I shouldn't have come. They're gonna slice me up and feed me to the pigs!
The deep, painful cries of a man break the quiet of the moment. Irrelevant though it may be, it draws the investigator in.
The girl shifts her feet cautiously, as if approaching a sleeping, coiled python.
She delicately lifts a corner of the tent's opening and peers inside.
???: Pigs will eat everything, all the bones, your head, not a hair left. That's how they treat traitors!
???: Pops won't save me then. He won't stand at my side. No.
A mysterious girl places her hand over the hulking man's trembling hands.
Mercuria: But here you are, Mr. Gio, shivering like a new leaf. Because you're ready for an answer.
Mercuria: The answer to yourself.
She sniffs the air around him.
Mercuria: Hmm. You brought a strange smell with you, and a weak, faltering energy, like that of someone gravely ill.
Mercuria: Have you been to any hospitals?
Gio: No, just following Legers. Nowadays, only visits we have are with the living or the dead ones, not much in between. We don't deal with addicts or sick dogs.
Gio: Wait, shut it. Before you start, I'm not buying any of your goddamn spices or candles! I'm just here for an answer.
Gio: How did you know about the fire that took my family? How?
Gio: Are you some kind of psychic? Or a prophet? Tell me! TELL ME!
He jerks his hands away, only to begin gnawing at his nails.
Gio: No, no. I shouldn't have come here, unless ... Maybe I chop off your pretty little head and give it to him. That'd be my excuse.
In an instant, he presses the dagger against the girl's throat.
Matilda: ...!
Matilda fights the urge to rush forward to help.
"Whoosh."—The candle illuminating the room is snuffed out.
Mercuria: What have you got? What do you see in your hand? Is it a knife for my throat or a diamond-covered key?
Gio: Shut up! Stop babbling! You're just a witch who survived her burning, a liar!
His hand trembles again.
Mercuria: Breathe, slow and true. Look at it again. This is a dagger forged in your own dark flame.
He looks at the dagger, as if seeing it through new eyes.
Mercuria: Everything has a shell of "meaning." But hold your gaze on it, and it all strips away.
Mercuria: Until those words become strokes of black, and that dagger becomes a cold sheet of metal.
Her incense burner releases a puff of strong scented potion into the air.
All at once, the dagger transforms into a blazing fire.
It slithers up the man's arm, toward his face, roiling and coiling like a snake.
Gio: Urgh! AHH!
Matilda: W-what's going on?!
Mercuria: "Meaning" is a cage. Cast off its shackles, and nature reveals itself to us.
Mercuria: Don't be afraid. Hold that feeling. Now close your eyes with me.
Do you see it? A door surrounded by darkness.
Gio: Yes. The door is shaking, like something's behind it. No, it's scared.
Don't try to picture it. Take away the shell. Just tell me by the impression: Where does it lead you?
Gio: It goes home?
Gio: Fire! The door's on fire!
Gio: No, I-I don't wanna go there. Not there. Someone's screaming. Savina! My-my baby! No, no! Help them! Help them, please!
Mercuria: That's over now. Look around. Who is with you?
Gio: Pops and others. They're standing there, with torches and chains.
Mercuria: Who are the "others"?
Gio: I don't know. I don't know. Their eyes are covered by hands.
Gio: No, not hands. Those are hand-shaped masks!
Matilda: Manus Vindictae?!
A beam of light breaks in from above, expelling the smoke and darkness of the scene.
The extinguished candle catches flame once more, and all present return to reality.
J: Hey, who's this girl? Didn't your mom teach you not to spy on people?
A hand stretches from behind and lifts the investigator up to her feet.
Matilda: You!
Behind them, urgent footsteps reach the scene.
Team Member I: Ms. Bouanich!
J: Dammit, you're the girl from the Foundation?! Ain't that just my luck!
J flings the girl from his hand like a hot potato.
Matilda: Catch him!
