"I didn't come here to trade jokes with you, Your Holiness! It would be better if our conversation remained serious."
Andoain looked at the old man, who seemed to be playing with him, and spoke with a face of grim solemnity. He felt as though he were being toyed with; the Pope's tone remained that of a grandfather teasing a child. While the Pope certainly had the years to back up such a dynamic, Andoain felt the sting of being dismissed.
"Fine, fine. Let's speak of serious matters to ease the tension, then. What shall it be... how about we discuss those fine subordinates of yours?"
As he spoke, the Pope's eyes turned razor-sharp. Andoain was stunned by the sheer speed of the man's transformation. One moment he was a kindly neighbor; the next, he was a battle-hardened veteran. The shift was so sudden that Andoain hadn't even realized when he had let his guard down. He was standing in the most dangerous room in Laterano, yet he had allowed himself to be lulled into a casual rhythm as if arguing with a neighbor.
This old man... is far more formidable than I imagined.
Andoain shook himself, steadying his emotions before responding. "You should not call them 'subordinates.' We are companions with shared ideals—fellow travelers! We are not like you, who seek only to dominate others."
Andoain's voice was laced with dissatisfaction. He loathed the term "subordinates" for the Pathfinders. To use such language would make him as hypocritical as this city—a place where the Sankta drove other races like cattle, while those very same "outsiders," no matter how hard they worked, were never granted the status of a Sankta. This was one of his core grievances: he had seen countless non-Sankta strive harder than the Sankta themselves, only to be denied the treatment they deserved.
"Oh? So that is how you see them. My view is quite different." The Pope stroked his thick beard, speaking unhurriedly. "What do you call yourselves? Pathfinders? The name is quite fitting—you are a group of lost souls who don't know how to walk toward the future, capable only of venting your frustrations!"
The Pope's words were harsh. His anger didn't stem from the fact that Andoain had gathered followers or even that he had brought the Sarkaz into the Holy City. He was angry because they had calculated the destruction of this city, especially on a day meant to bring peace to a weary populace.
"Do you truly believe you could smuggle bombs into Laterano without being noticed? Did you think your plan was perfect? If the Notarial Hall hadn't been behind you, quietly evacuating civilians, any harm you caused would have been met with nothing less than total annihilation by the Apostolic Knights!"
If the Pope hadn't secretly ordered the Knights to clear the blast zones, how could Andoain have found such "perfect" locations for his explosions? If Velliv hadn't been stabilizing the perimeter, and if Jeanne hadn't awakened a miracle to unite the people, would this riot have remained bloodless?
The plan was a sieve of vulnerabilities, executed in haste. The only reason it hadn't turned into a tragedy was because Laterano itself had been cleaning up the mess in the shadows.
"You wonder why Laterano helped you? Because I know that if those people weren't given this outlet, they would do something far more insane for your sake."
Andoain was rational, yes. But his followers weren't. Some had become fanatical zealots. For Andoain's cause, they were capable of turning themselves into living bombs. If that happened, it wouldn't just be a few buildings at stake. The Pope wasn't willing to gamble Laterano lives on the limits of their madness.
"However, those aren't the things we should be considering now. So, tell me, child. What is your true purpose here?"
The Pope stared directly into Andoain's eyes. For a moment, Andoain felt a flicker of panic, almost forgetting that he was the one who had come to interrogate the Pope. He quickly recovered. He realized the Pope was letting him speak to give him a sense of agency—a psychological tactic to control the flow of the debate.
I can't relax for even a second...
Andoain sharpened his focus and spoke. "Then, I ask the Great Pope: can you answer me why, in Laterano, only the Sankta can receive salvation?"
As he spoke, a flame ignited in his heart. Though his expression remained calm, the fire in his pupils was unmistakable. He didn't wait for a response.
"Why is Laterano the only place that is saved? We could be the torch that lights the way for others, yet you choose to shrink back into this city, continuing this muddled, hollow existence..."
Andoain's voice was a sharp accusation directed at the pinnacle of Laterano's power. These questions had haunted him for years. He had never received an answer—not from the ancient sages, nor from the shards of the gods.
"Because we are Sankta. Because this is the paradise we built. Do you think this 'muddled existence' you see was helped along by other nations?" The Pope's reply was stern. He knew Andoain had heterodox ideas, but he hadn't realized they were this extreme.
"Become a bonfire to light the way for others? Do you know that a bonfire dies if there is no sacrifice of wood? And those watching will only complain that the fire didn't burn long enough!" The Pope looked at Andoain, knowing words might not change him, but certain things had to be said. "What has Laterano sacrificed to maintain this lighthouse of beauty? Over a thousand years, how much have we paid? What right do you have to destroy a paradise built by generations of ancestors?"
If Andoain wanted to burn himself as fuel for that flame, the Pope would respect the sacrifice. But if he intended to use the city of Laterano as kindling to bring a few sparks of light to the rest of the world, that was a thought that had to be denied. No one has the right to choose the survival method for others, no matter how noble the justification.
"So, to protect this lighthouse, you choose to cower in this city? Have you not heard the cries of agony across this land? Laterano could save them!" Andoain thought of the corpses he had seen across Terra, the darkness festering in the hearts of men.
His outcry met only a short, sharp rejection.
"Impossible!"
"Why? Simply because their faith differs from ours?" Andoain challenged the Pope's absolute denial.
"Because they are not us! They are not Sankta! They would hide, they would deceive, they would destroy everything just to gain more for themselves!"
The Pope looked at Andoain. Did he truly not understand? Did he think that if Laterano offered itself up, the nations of Terra would join them in saving the world? No. The greed of the other nations was a terrifying beast. They were monsters of desire that could never be filled, serpents that could never be satisfied.
"Why is it that for a thousand years, countless cities and nations across this land have been trapped in the fires of war, while only Laterano became a paradise?"
The Pope looked at Andoain for a long time before finally speaking.
"Because, Andoain...outside is hell."