Pedra: An armored vehicle?
Creius: The driver was a Manus. They're not just supplying the war anymore.
There's a pause before the Hawks' leader speaks through the receiver.
Irinei: What do you think that means, Creius?
Both sides are gathered in the same room, listening to the reports from the front lines.
Creius lets out a soft, rueful chuckle, though he does not let it betray the seriousness of his words.
Creius: That the Manus have decided to build themselves an army.
Irinei: That seems likely.
Irinei: In that case, we must prepare immediately for a response. Zeno's main force is still at the eastern front. They won't be able to reinforce us if anything happens here.
Irinei: The Foundation will need an army of its own.
Pedra: That's completely irresponsible.
A calm voice cuts through the speculation.
Pedra: It will only increase the tension on this front, and it directly violates our peace policy.
Pedra: Manus Vindictae takes in only pure-blooded arcanists. That doesn't make for a large recruitment pool. It won't be much of an army, really.
Pedra: To say nothing of the fact that they lack the organization or discipline that is needed for a true large-scale military operation. Armies need human leadership.
Irinei: You forgot to take Arcana into consideration, Pedra. You don't know what she can do to her followers with her new power.
Irinei: Whatever the case, we cannot take anything for granted. The Foundation will need the strength to defend itself from future attacks by the Manus. If we act quickly, we may even get ahead of things.
Pedra: I'd like to see what the Committee will think of this plan. I hope they'll have a better grasp of the consequences.
Irinei: You're not seeing the board, Pedra.
The communicator struggles to transmit the two leaders' heated exchange.
Creius, on the other end, stays quiet, professional, obedient.
Before long, the mediator takes over the line.
Constantine: We can't rule out the possibility of a large-scale conflict. However, the Committee will maintain its peace policy until we have reliable evidence.
Creius: And if the worst happens?
Constantine: Then we'll do what we must to survive, even if that means igniting a worldwide war.
Sentinel: We have arrived.
Marsha: I see ...
The glow of arcane skills fades as they approach, revealing their hidden sanctuary.
It is or was an abbey, appropriately gothic, with ornate stone walls rising up to meet the air—its dome long collapsed.
Marsha: This monastery ... It's not an arcane creation, is it?
Sentinel: No. It has only been enchanted with our arcane skill "Carthusians."
Sentinel: Beneath its protection, those that dwell here will go unnoticed by any who pass near.
Gargoyle Friar: ...
A Gargoyle dressed in friar's robes walks barefoot on the grass. He looks up from his book to meet the new arrivals.
Marsha: Greetings. I'm Marsha, Investigator of the St. Pavlov Foundation.
The friar nods, offering a smile soft and friendly, then extends a finger and presses it to his lips.
Marsha: Oh, I see. Have you made a vow of silence?
"Kra-ka—"
The sound of breaking rock draws her eyes away.
Marsha: ...?
Beneath a broken narrow window, a stone statue of a woman begins to stir, its surface softening into flesh.
Her face is marked by twisted sorrow as she walks toward Sentinel with an exaggerated gait.
Female Gargoyle: Marie, my sweetie, thou hast returned to us again! But oh! Child, thou needest rest.
She just pulls Marianne into a tight embrace and plants a series of deep kisses on her cheeks.
Sentinel: ...
Sentinel endures the affection with as much grit as she did the bullets.
Female Gargoyle: And this is a friend?
The woman turns to Marsha, her eyes now pooling with greater sadness.
Female Gargoyle: Oh, poor child.
The hug comes too quick to dodge and too sturdy to resist, pulling Marsha into a breathtaking embrace.
Marsha: Ugh ...
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds—
The smothering hospitality at last abates, and Marsha takes a deep breath of fresh air, taking in the pleasant scent of grass and wildflowers.
Marsha: panting
Female Gargoyle: Our Marie hast ever been tireless in her toils. 'Tis a shame that she never permits us to aid her. Am I truly too aged to be of service?
Female Gargoyle: Oh, but perhaps my age hath eclipsed my wisdom. For I have thus far been an unwelcoming host. Allow me to brew you some tea.
She leaves with singular purpose and surprising speed.
Sentinel: My aunt is a gentle soul. She came by here one year ago, not fearing the danger, saying she must take care of everyone left in the family.
Sentinel: That old lump of stone that greeted us came here to take refuge with his brother after they were injured last year.
She hangs her head with resignation.
Sentinel: Only a small number of my kind dwell here. Many of us remain divided by the war.
Sentinel: Enjoy my aunt's hospitality. I shall go now to collect what you seek.
Marsha: I'll be here then.
Marsha: ...
Marsha: Hold on.
She lets herself relax only a moment before noticing the stone-faced Gargoyles that look down at her from a dozen perches.
A thought crawls under her skin.
Marsha: Hello?
She spins around in place, meeting the unblinking eyes of each statue, stopping on the figure of a young girl.
The girl's hands cover her face in a mournful pose—the silent tragedy of an endless moment of loss.
Marsha: This is ...
???: Why hath my cousin brought you here?
A voice calls out behind her, rigid and almost rude.
Marsha: Huh?
A tall, gaunt monk stands in the courtyard.
???: You are not one of us. You are a bringer of war in our house of peace. What dost your Foundation seek from our quiet halls?
There's accusation in the gravelly tone of his voice.
Marsha: You misunderstand. The Foundation isn't bringing war. We're trying to end it.
???: This war is neither yours nor ours to end.
Marsha: What are you saying?
???: ...
The monk falls silent, as if debating whether his next words are worth the effort.
His face contorts, becoming an exaggeration of self-righteousness.
???: It has come as a divine punishment for the faithless who have turned from God. Its end will come only with the extinction of civilization.
Marsha: Sounds like you want everyone—humans and arcanists alike—to suffer and die.
???: You twist my words, knight. I do not seek this end—this path of suffering—out of hatred for humanity. No, I do so because I pray fervently for their deliverance.
???: But deliverance waits for the last edifices of this sinful world to crumble. When the faithless nations, as a fire consuming its last embers, burn themselves to ash.
???: Soon the artifices of modernity, their factories of war and death, will crumble, as Babel before them had; their lies of "advancement" and "revolution" dying with them.
???: We must return to the innocence of the past, as Nineveh did, heeding the word of God.
Sentinel: Enough, cousin.
Ladislas: ...!
The rebuke breaks his rhythm.
Sentinel steps between Marsha and Ladislas, forcing her cousin to take a step away.
Sentinel: Your prophecies have kept our guest from her tea.
Ladislas: ...
Sentinel turns and hands Marsha a heavy canvas military bag.
Marsha: Um!
Sentinel: Are you able to lift it?
Marsha: No problem. I can handle it.
Ladislas watches the exchange with abject curiosity.
Ladislas: Marianne, is she not of the very Foundation thou sayest lacketh the will to end this war? What fruitless endeavor dost thou now pursue?
Sentinel: She's my friend, Ladislas. I shall grant her the freedom to come and go from here as she wills.
Ladislas: But she is not a ...
Sentinel: It is my right to do this, is it not?
Ladislas: Yes.
He lowers his head without protest.
Sentinel turns from her kin back to Marsha, who has by now taken several steps away.
Sentinel: You will find here all that I've collected since 1918; most useful to you may be a list of those in each military who have made contact with the Manus.
Sentinel: Take them from here to your Foundation and make of them what you will. I hope they will serve you better than they did me.
Marsha: I will. Thank you.
Marsha seems more than eager to retreat.
Aunt Madeleine stands at the foot of a stone pillar, tea in her hand, and nods in self-reproach.
Female Gargoyle: ...
The courtyard falls still.
Ladislas breaks his silence with a withering glare.
Ladislas: Cousin, why hast thou concerned thyself with the affairs of this sinful world? We are involved now at our peril.
Sentinel: Even if this war was, as you believe, a divine punishment, the people have suffered enough.
Ladislas: Have they? I see no sackcloth, only ashes!
He motions to the weeping girl tucked in the sanctuary niche.
Ladislas: Hast thou learned nothing from our dear Agnès?
Sentinel: Leave her out of this.
Ladislas: It was she who prophesied this war ...
He drags up the memory with sharp intention.
Ladislas: And whose body turned to stone as it came to pass.
Ladislas: Was she not the closest of us all to the ear of our Lord? Then I can see only one reason for her sacrifice. It is a warning to us.
Sentinel: Tell me, if that is so, why God would choose such a warning?
Ladislas: Revelation and prophecy oft appear inscrutable to those that disbelieve them, until their truth is made manifest.
Ladislas's voice trembles, a practiced tension of humility and pride.
Ladislas: But I do believe, and I see clearly what thou hast not—that our Lord bids us to neither fight nor end this war.
Ladislas: Because it hath come as the next great deluge to sweep this sinful world away. Agnès will return to us again as our past innocence is found and rebuilt from their ruins.
Ladislas: But the faith must be preserved if it is to be rebuilt, and these labors will be the task of the faithful—of we, the Gargoyles.
Ladislas: I pray thee heed my words, cousin: Lay down thy sword of vengeance. Do not answer to the whispering demon in thy blood, nor stain thy soul already so burdened with sin!
He lets his words cling to his lips with solemn weight.
Sentinel: ...
His cousin, however, has never been easy to preach to. She stiffens, sorrow and purpose welling in her eyes.
Sentinel: Guns, cannons, tanks, bombs ...
Sentinel: You do remember how these devices have destroyed our lives, do you not? Then surely you already know ...
Sentinel: That the innocence of the past does not simply lie buried for us to rebuild. It is dead and gone.
Sentinel: If a stain on my soul is what it takes to end this war, then I shall not hesitate to stain it so.
Ladislas is stunned. He fights back tears and turns to face the altar. The light from the stained glass windows wreathes him like a mourner's cloak.
Ladislas: Hast thou forgotten our ancestral peril? Or the manifold names we have stricken from our line when they turned from the righteous path? The demon blood hath overtaken our kin before, as I fear it soon will overtake thee.
Ladislas: I do not wish to blot out thy name as well ... Marianne.
