Story Reader / Main Story / 34 Dream till the Timeless End / Story

It's been quite some time since that weird "post-war syndrome" incident.

Everyone seems to know how you caused trouble at the Star of Life because you were too worried about your members' safety. Even colleagues occasionally tease you about it.

The only tension is the elusive, obscure sensation. It happened uninvited on an unremarkable day and has since taken up stayed in the heart.

...These are very clear symptoms of overexertion. The test shows no other problems, so I won't give you any meds. Rest is the most effective. Take some time off, if you can.

The Star of Life doctor continuously scrolls through the test reports on the screen, offering reassurance.

After the test results came out, friends who learned of my condition sent kind messages. Soon, many asked to meet up.

You wake up on a rare afternoon with no missions and daze for a long while.

You open the calendar and memo to see Ayla's name written under a circled date.

WGAA Opera House, Babylonia, 8:30, Line Spacing: 0.

And in the center is tonight's main: "The Tale of the Gray Raven".

Rhythmic verses and lyrics resonate in the hall.

"Blood-red and blinding, shadows coil and creep, and malice drips with hungry teeth."

"Gunsmoke burns the air and scattered shots grow rare. The Area of Defense hangs by a thread."

As the music continues, the performers' gestures grow increasingly bold.

You are lost in the music, but sense sudden movement beside you.

Ayla sits beside you, leaning over slightly. She whispers to you without taking her eyes off the stage.

"You" are about to go on stage.

I specifically asked the prop master and director to make "You" stand out more.

Before you can finish speaking, the stage lights suddenly overlap, illuminating performers who were in the shadows.

Fear not, and don't worry, the Gray Ravens are here.

As the "Commandant" dances on stage, all characters twirl around them, pushing the story toward its climax.

Pretty good, right?

You pause as the actors, who are wearing familiar makeup but not-quite-accurate costumes, exit the stage.

The rousing scene ends, with only one person remaining next to the character known as "Commandant".

"Old Time..."

The moment she speaks, the surrounding noise gently fades. Sounds become distant and ethereal as the stage seems to move closer.

Then, it changes into a completely unfamiliar voice, a clear and crisp sound filled with emotion.

"Despite your ravages..."

Your smile that just appeared fades. A subtle tremor and anxiety run through your body, like you've missed something important.

"My lover shall be young forever in my poetry."

<size=35>[player name]...</size>

<size=45>[player name]!</size>

Your thoughts are interrupted as an external force forcibly turns your head. You see Ayla's worried expression.

Are you okay? What happened? You look terrible.

Ah, my dear Gray Raven Commandant, I shall...

Outside the opera house, the cold wind hits your face, clearing your mind.

Here, it's hot.

You take the drink and scoot over. Ayla sits down beside you.

Sorry, was the script bad? Did the lines make you feel uncomfortable?

Several scriptwriters are Gray Raven fans. They've always wanted to tell your story, but there are too many confidentiality restrictions.

Ayla laughs as she springs to her feet, moving with light, graceful steps.

Do your worst, old Time...

Before I can join in with her impromptu performance, Ayla abruptly stops with furrowed brows in deep thought.

It felt... a little weird...

My response helps Ayla shake her hesitation, and she laughs softly.

Ayla steps back and makes a camera gesture at you with her hands with one eye closed.

Hm, that doesn't sound too bad, you know. If you don't mind, [player name], you should quit your job and become my model!

Ayla's question brings back the discomfort that was almost undetectable in our casual exchange. That strange feeling waves at you, asserting its presence.

You try to recall that brief image, but it has already faded, leaving only vague unease.

Hmm? Do you like her? Or did you only enjoy her poetry recitation? I can get you an autograph if you want.

In the play, the heroic protagonist needs comrades to fight together, and also needs someone who understands them...

I told them as long as they don't make specific references, [player name] wouldn't mind having a character.

It's a shame, really. I wanted to take you to a different performance, but that script had been indefinitely suspended for some reason.

By the time I heard it was approved, a performance group was already rehearsing it. Sadly, their schedule never seemed to match your breaks...

It's called...

<i><b>"The Acadia Evacuation".</b></i>

Ayla clears her throat and changes her tone.

<i>Oh, blood and blades.</i>

<i>So stand! Stand! Behind you your homeland you shall guard and defend!</i>

The author's plot design was incredibly intricate, using many clever devices to convey their understanding of The Acadia Evacuation as a historical event.

Though it might differ from history, it's certainly a good story nonetheless.

I...

Ayla smiles with a furrowed brow, then finally shrugs to dismiss the thought entirely.

I feel like I should remember... No, I definitely heard about it, but it was probably just a rumor.

As Ayla speaks, she turns her head to look behind her.

Abess Research Institute, 8:30, Unknown Area, Line Spacing: 1.

Iris.

A cold voice echoes among the rubble.

Ugh... Ungh—argh...

A disheveled figure lies trapped between broken stones among the ruins.

The voice pierces through her foggy consciousness as Iris struggles to move her body.

Lu... ya...

Iris murmurs as her stalled systems restart, struggling to maintain the functionality of her damaged frame.

Such affection. If I were there, I would do everything I could to respond.

The hostile voice from the device also sounds sincere.

Give up. I don't want to hurt you. This tug-of-war is pointless except a waste of our time.

Iris looks around. Among the rubble, blood-stained clothing is vaguely visible. Her tired voice carries a hint of sorrow.

...You're right. I can't always get here in time to stop you.

But she doesn't stop. She walks toward the communication device, with each step becoming more confident.

...Why do you insist on continuing when you already understand the situation?

No, Lueya. Abess was the first and will be the last.

Iris walks to the communication device. She places her hand on the core of her chest, gently sweeping across it. A brilliant blue light emerges.

The radiance turns into lines, creating a pattern in the void. As the light fades, a musical instrument materializes in its place.

Iris sits casually on the ruins as music rises from the instrument.

It's useless. Whatever you're relying on, it will eventually...

SHING—

You suddenly hear discordant notes and a strange distortion spreads out from Iris.

...?!!

Iris freezes after hearing Lueya's astonished reaction.

No matter how hard the conductor and I try, even if we stop you, we can't revert the damage caused by the battle's aftermath.

But what if we use a different stage? What if we use a... completely isolated stage? Whatever you do on there, no audience will be harmed.

You can't do that! You can't even catch my true form, let alone...?!

The voice falls silent after realizing the problem.

Yes, we did have trouble locating you before, but now...

You destroyed the Abess Research Institute, altering a critical node... The world was hurt, and it remembers you now.

You're crazy! You're coming alone...

Listen to my new piece. For the next performance, it'll be just you and me.

Iris' voice interrupts Enora Lueya's low growl. Something changes as the musical notes resonate through the air.

She tilts her head to gaze at the moon through gaps in the ruined building.

Because even a flower wants to shield the one it cherishes from wind and rain... Conductor has been through enough.

A story that can end behind the scenes shouldn't be brought to light. Since the ending is already fixed...

Goodnight, world.

Goodbye, Conductor.

"See you next time."

These words end the chat and you set the terminal aside.

You feel happy reading through the letters that came with the gifts. Paper is better at transmitting sentiments than electronic data.

You carefully label each letter so you can put them in the mail cabinet, but, as soon as the cabinet door opens, a pile of letters falls out.

You bend down to pick them up and see your name as the recipient on all of them. All the wax seals are broken.

You pause for a moment before opening one letter. The creased paper inside is completely blank.

Feeling puzzled, you open the cabinet door again to check the label. This space is definitely for incoming mail, not outgoing.

But the thought brings a strong sense of discomfort, as if a voice deep down is sounding an alarm.

You take out fresh writing paper the moment you close the cabinet.

The bizarre dissonance rises once more. "It" crouches beside your ear, gazing silently at you.

Shaking your head to dispel the discomfort, you open your terminal as you ponder each word.

After writing out all your thoughts on the evening, you hesitate before adding one more line.