Story Reader / Affection / Liv: Limpidity / Story
By the time you and Liv reach the base of the windmill tower, a hoarse thunder rumbles across the horizon. Dark clouds devour the sun, brewing what seems to be a long-overdue storm.
Ms. Vimine!
There, paint buckets lie overturned. Spattered in a riot of color, Vimine is scrambling to gather up that absurdly large drawing board. Seeing her struggle, Liv rushes forward to help manage the chaos.
Oh, Liv! And your... uh...
Right, right! Liv and her date.
What are you two doing out here? The weather report just blasted an alert. That hurricane that was supposed to hit Vennquis until the day after tomorrow? It's almost here.
A hurricane?
Yes, a big one. You should get back now. I'll be fine; I'm heading to the windmill tower in a minute.
Ms. Vimine, before you go... I wanted to ask you about this. Do you remember this fairy tale book?
As Vimine's eyes fall upon the fairy tale book in Liv's outstretched hand, her busy hands still.
Ah... I do, I do. Right before the Punishing outbreak, I was just a starving artist, paying the bills by illustrating other people's stories.
Work was so hard to find back then. I was lucky to have even one client... I remember every drawing I made, and every story that went with them.
Then do you remember one called "The Maiden of Eden"?
Suppressing her anxiety, Liv calmly retells the story she had shared with you the night before.
If you do, please... you have to tell me how it ends. It's important to me. What happened to the little gray raven and the maiden?
Ah-haha... I think I... might have forgotten?
Vimine suddenly turns away, hastily packing up her art supplies.
Come on, let's go! We need to find shelter now, or we're going to be drenched!
Then what about the author? Do you remember her? She... she shared my name. Liv.
...
Maybe she wrote something else? Anything at all, if you know—
...She only wrote this one book.
"The Maiden of Eden" was her last story. It was never even published.
So you do know it.
Please... what happened to the little gray raven and the maiden? After the winds grew stronger and the air turned cold?
What if it doesn't have a happy ending?
The little gray raven and the maiden, holding each other against the windstorm... Maybe that's not such a bad place to stop.
Even so, I still want to know what happened next.
"Because now, I finally have the courage to face it." She purses her lips and tightens her grip on your hand.
...The original manuscript is in the church. At the top of the windmill tower.
The windmill tower... You mean the one right next to us?
Yes. She used to go there all the time. For inspiration, and to... pray for her daughter.
...!
Antonia would be so happy to see you home.
I held you once when you were just a little thing.
Whoosh. A gale erupts from the ruins, catching the fallen leaves in a vortex of wind and spinning them into the sky.
That author... she was...
Your mother, Antonia.
...
A warm wave of sorrow, borne on the gale, washes over her. She staggers back, speechless, the wind whipping at her slender frame.
Tilmin Kj{195|166}reste Liv was her pen name. It's a phrase... it means something.
Til min kj{195|166}reste Liv... It means...
"To my dearest Liv."
Every story she wrote was a gift for you, Liv.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Liv breaks into a run toward the windmill tower.
Whether from the desolate tower's disrepair or the sheer force of her own tumultuous emotions, a subtle vibration shudders through Liv's world.
She races to the windmill's peak, to the small church where her answer lies. Her hands fly to the cabinet just inside the entrance, pulling out the third drawer from the top. And there it is: the manuscript, long dismissed as a simple storybook.
...The wind grew bitter and sharp.
She traces the crooked handwriting, and in a trance, begins to read the words aloud.
Searching for a way to leave this world, the little gray raven soared through the sky.
One by one, silver snowflakes drifted down and settled upon its feathers. Winter had come, as it always did.
The little gray raven flew back to the maiden's side, only to find her collapsed on the frozen ground.
"Don't worry... I'm just a little sleepy..." the maiden whispered to the little gray raven.
A soft light glowed around her, and she was becoming like morning mist, clear and fading. If she did not leave this place soon, she would disappear forever.
"Stay... It's so cold here... Stay by my side..."
...
But that was exactly why the little gray raven had to go. It had to find the way back home.
Back to the warm world from which it came, and return to bring her with it.
So once more, it lifted its wings. This time, it flew higher than it ever had before.
The air grew thin and colder. The wind screamed and tugged at its wings.
The beautiful gray feathers the girl had given it were slowly being painted white by the snow.
With every beat of its wings, the little raven felt it was flying toward death.
Even so, it stubbornly continued flying. It flew because only up here could it find the path that led away... the path that could save her.
At last, it burst through the clouds, and found itself among the stars. Looking down, the little gray raven finally saw this world as it truly was.
"What is this?" it asked the twinkling stars around it.
As it turned out, the place it had shared with the maiden was not the earth at all. It was her garden, a floating Eden, high above the true continent.
All wounded creatures were sent to Eden to heal. Once recovered, the maiden returned them to the mortal world.
She was a deity of this realm, an "angel" to all living things.
Yet with every soul she mended, Eden ascended higher, climbing into storm-lashed skies where the cold rivaled the heart of winter.
This was the price she had to pay: the maiden was destined to remain alone, drifting ever farther from the mortal world she loved.
Yet she never minded, her gaze forever fixed on the world below with tender longing.
Though with that resolve, the little gray raven began its helpless fall. The flight had consumed its last ounce of strength, its very life force.
It dissolved into scraps of torn paper, scattering into the cold, raging winds.
...
This is... the final story?
Vimine looked at the woman in the hospital bed, her eyes shut fast against the world.
Only hours before, she had been sketching illustrations for The Maiden of Eden—
She had a vision of brilliant sunshine, soft meadows, and a girl in a white dress. She had planned to use the Vennquis landscape for reference, but the day had surrendered to a raging wind, shrouding everything in gloom.
She was packing her sketchpad away when the hospital called: Antonia's condition had turned critical.
...
The machines emit cold, methodical beeping, seemingly counting down the final moments of her life...
No...
A response barely more than a sigh escaped from her pale lips.
What did you say?
Vimine leaned in anxiously, afraid to miss even a single word.
This isn't... the final story.
...
But... it's too late...
She outstretched her arms like a drowning woman, desperate to break through the surface that held her beneath the waves.
Each ragged gasp was the sound of someone sinking. Vimine grabbed Antonia's wrist, a futile attempt to haul her back from the abyss.
Vimine... it's so dark here... I can't see anything...
...
Vimine... tell me...
What is it?
Tell me how the story ends...
...I don't know...
Tell me... where did the little gray raven go?
...I don't know...
Tell me... the maiden in the story... my child... my Liv...
Did she... find happiness in the end?
...I don't know.
...
Right. You've probably figured out by now that it's a story based on Liv...
But I couldn't give her an answer... I don't know how her story should end.
That day, she asked me to leave her manuscript at the windmill church. Right here.
It was her final prayer for Liv.
Leaving the windmill tower, you are met by a maelstrom—thunderous roars, a pitch-black sky, and torrential rain.
After saying goodbye to Vimine, you and Liv begin the walk home.
Her M.I.N.D. wavers, profound grief once again filling her eyes with tears.
She sees your Mind Beacon connecting, emanating a soft glow like a distant lighthouse in the storm.
"Liv, Liv." Someone is softly calling her name.
A childhood carousel, her mother's feeble smile...
The soft wool of lambs, Calliope's caring chatter...
Through the veil of tears, fragments of memory flash before her eyes—vivid and sharp as shattered glass, shimmering with countless colors.
She reaches out, longing to gather those delicate shards and press them close to her heart.
But a sudden gale sweeps everything away—her mother's silhouette, the Gray Raven's commandant uniform, the dim lighthouse—all swallowed by the roaring rain.
She stands motionless, drenched and utterly alone between heaven and earth.
