Liberi Reader

The soldier turns around, only to see a crossbow bolt punching through his friend's skull.

The miners are gathered under the outpost, gazing at the flashing warning light above their heads.

The searchlight catches them, and it is immediately followed by a hail of projectiles.

Rankin continues to push forward towards the outpost, raising his crossbow and taking aim at the vexing searchlight above their heads.

Suddenly, Rankin feels a sharp pain on his forehead, and the left side of his field of vision is covered in red.

Blood streams down. He hears a ringing in his head.

The cries around him seem so distant. He can hear the sound of crossbow bolts finding flesh. He can hear the sound of bodies hitting the floor.

He must not fall. Not when victory is so close.

He wills his limbs to move with the last bit of strength he has left, once again raising his crossbow, aiming at that loathsome light above. He pulls the trigger.

The miners' voices feel more and more distant. It is all Rankin can do to keep up.

No one notices him in this battle of life and death.

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He leans against the rubble and heads upwards, one small step at a time.

His senses are returning, and his body is getting used to the pain.

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He walks over bodies that were alive just a moment ago. The spiral staircase leads to an aperture at the top, where the most beautiful aurora of the Ursine night shines through.

He remembers sitting in the mine elevators, gazing up at the only light above.

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Finally, the last step. He finds himself standing amidst the aurora, beneath the stars, with friends.

Rankin wipes away the blood on his forehead and takes a look at his brothers and sisters around him.

In the distance, Deity Grypherburg remains hidden behind the thick taiga. The vast, frozen icy lake seems to taunt them for their foolish challenge.

Rankin's eyes burn bright as he tries to communicate his vision to the others.

Their faces are bright with the joy of victory too. They have waited for this day for far too long.

Rankin turns around, but does not see the familiar figure.

I ran away when the first bolt left the crossbow.

It's no shame to be afraid. It is only the most foolish of fools who do not know fear.

Rankin is mad. Everyone who follows him is mad.

I wanted to pull them back. But if they want to die, let them.

I can't die yet.

From cobbler to tutor, to being adopted by a count. I didn't do all that just so that I could die in a place like that.

Die, and it's all over.

I must survive.

A dull thud coming from the distance shakes the icefields, and makes their eardrums and hearts tremble.

Mantra carefully projects her perception into every corner.

She identifies one little fluctuation amidst all the numb, unmoving thoughts.

Vetochki takes a knee before the illusion that she believes to be her grandmother. She takes the hands that do not exist to Mantra's eyes, and rubs her cheeks against them.

It is only when she sees the tears on the girl's face that Mantra realizes how frightening this trust is. The girl continues to do so, even without getting any response.

Mantra remembers Raidian's words.

'Vetochki's parents were executed for organizing a strike. Her grandmother is her only family now.'

'It seems as though everyone in the mining district knew Nadia, including the guards.'

'They sought her assistance more than they sought the medical team's. They sought comfort when they were in pain, insight when they were lost, and found a strange peace in her words.'

'...I should have noticed that something wasn't right. I thought she was just a respected old woman.'

Mantra watches the girl before her, and gently makes her own voice appear in the girl's mind.

She believes you will find peace here.

Once all hope is gone.

Vetochki.

Vetochki turns around to see the Phidia standing behind her.

Vetochki does not want to turn around. As long as she does not do so, those cold and withered hands will forever remain the way they are.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

She keeps telling herself.

But she turned around.

Babushka is in front of her. Babushka is singing a lullaby.

Babushka is in front of her. Her hands are cold.

She said some other things, but I never answered.

Was it because I couldn't talk, or because I had already walked away and went home?

All I know is that I saw red—

Red dripping on greyish-white plastic.

I thought I was back outside at that place again... but no.

It was babushka.

Yesterday, and today. I learned that the red inside a human body isn't endless. It will dry up. It makes people hurt. It brings death.

So I tried to stop the red that was flowing out, with my hands, like the game that I played with my friends when I was little.

'Whoever picks up the most water has the most happiness.'

'Whoever bags the most winds has the most freedom.'

I can't keep it.

I must keep it.

I can't—

The cold body sinks into the plastic, into the mud, before my eyes. I look up and see 'it'.

A pale, standing shadow.

I cried—

The light of Arts floats around Mantra. She has made the foe reveal its true colors.