"It seems you have discovered a way to resolve this catastrophe?"
Pope Yvangelista looked at Jeanne as she snapped back to reality, his voice calm and unhurried.
His eyes carefully studied the small horn resting in her palm—a mysterious relic she had retrieved from Laterano's secret vault, an object whose exact mechanism and purpose remained unknown even to him.
Yet he knew that what was hailed as the Horn of Ruin carried a power beyond measure. Records left by generations of Lateran Saints—documents thick as sea foam—noted that anyone who had ever held the artifact felt an instinctual rejection from it. The relic was clearly awaiting its true master.
This was divine will; this was revelation. It was the sole reason the Pope had remained so remarkably composed when news of Iberia's crisis first broke. To him, Jeanne was the linchpin of this entire calamity—the one soul capable of turning the tide.
"Well... while I can't be one hundred percent certain just yet, I suppose saying so isn't entirely wrong," Jeanne replied, scratching her head in thought. "It feels as though I really can put an end to this disaster, but as for how that will actually unfold... I still don't have a clear picture."
The artifact hadn't offered her a single hint about what would happen when the time came. Asking a tiny horn for a detailed explanation felt a bit ridiculous, but her real fear ran deeper: what if sounding it unleashed an indiscriminate wave of destruction? If what descended upon Terra was a true apocalyptic disaster that spared no one, it would end in nothing more than mutual ruin.
"I see..." The Pope nodded, a look of profound satisfaction settling on his face as he watched her ponder.
He now knew that even in the absolute worst scenario, Terra still retained a ray of hope. With that assurance in place, he could afford to push his grand plan forward, steering events closer to the future he envisioned.
"Jeanne, there is something I wish to discuss with you," the Pope said, his tone turning serious, though a faint gleam of nervous anticipation sparked in his eyes. What he was about to propose was not merely for Laterano or the realm, but a quiet hope he had carried in his own heart for decades.
"I want to use this crisis as an opportunity to establish a lasting framework—a forum where the nations of Terra can sit down and negotiate in good faith. Though it may sound idealistic, a continent-spanning disaster is also the finest moment to unite everyone."
The Pope had weighed the possibilities carefully. The timing was unrivaled. Thanks to Jeanne, they already shared a tenuous connection with Ursus; and with the Seaborn surging along the coast, the Yan Empire was more likely than ever to join such a summit.
He refused to believe the Seaborn were mere beasts that only preyed on the weak. The leaders of Great Yan had undoubtedly noticed the strange shift in the deep. It was a golden opportunity—one that might never come again.
"So... you want me to hold off on sounding the horn?" Jeanne saw through his plan immediately. "You want me to wait until this alliance of yours is roughly in place, and only then intervene to turn the tide and end the threat?"
She shook her head, clearly doubtful. "I don't believe an alliance formed this way can last. The moment the threat vanishes, the whole union will crumble like a castle built on sand."
Though she doubted the plan's long-term success, she was still willing to go along with it if the Pope truly wished to try.
"Yes, I share your doubts," the Pope admitted with a heavy, wistful sigh. "Yet some path must be walked before we know where it leads, wouldn't you agree? Even if we fail, simply trying—simply planting the seed—makes it worthwhile."
He sounded deeply moved. Even he knew how fragile the dream was, yet the opportunity was simply too golden to let slip away after all those years of waiting.
Listening to his passionate explanation, a troubling thought suddenly crossed Jeanne's mind: this entire grand scheme hinged on one critical assumption—that Terra's united line would not break, and that she truly possessed the power to turn the tide at the last second.
If her intuition proved even slightly flawed, she shuddered to imagine the outcome. A single miscalculation meant dragging the whole world down into ruin alongside them.
Instantly, the full weight of Terra's future seemed to press down on her shoulders. Every word she spoke suddenly felt incredibly heavy, demanding her utmost care and deliberation.
"What if... just what if my power isn't as reliable as we hope?" Jeanne asked softly, her chest tightening. "What if the destruction it brings spreads far beyond what we anticipate? What do we do then?"
The pressure was mounting. A single misstep on her part could transform this gamble into a nightmare of unimaginable proportions. It was no joking matter.
"I have considered that possibility as well," the Pope replied gently, gazing at her. "If that day comes, it simply means our strength was never meant to hold back the storm. We shall face the end with composure."
He had envisioned that grim outcome before. But if the united strength of all nations still proved insufficient to survive the storm, whether Jeanne succeeded or failed would hardly matter anymore.
"You need not carry the burden of responsibility for the whole world," the Pope assured her softly. "You need only do what lies within your power, and leave the rest to our collective effort. That is the best path forward, is it not?"
Jeanne remained silent, feeling an overwhelming weight settle over her spirit.
She knew the old man's logic was sound, and she knew he was trying to spare her from feeling accountable. Yet her own heart refused to grant her that escape—it demanded that she carry her share of the burden.
She felt utterly suffocated by the choice. All she had to do was nod her head, find a quiet spot when the time came, and blow the horn. Whatever happened afterward would theoretically have nothing to do with her.
Yet facing a catastrophe of this scale, she couldn't simply wash her hands of it. The pressure pressing down on her wasn't coming from the Pope—it was rising from deep within her own soul.
What if it fails? We could save countless lives right now, yet we're choosing a gamble filled with unknown variables. Can a tiny horn really solve all of this?
In her moments of doubt, Jeanne had always turned to her divine revelations for guidance. But this time, her faith offered no visions, no quiet whispers, no answers to her silent pleas.
The silence made one thing painfully clear: this time, the choice rested entirely in her hands. Whatever future she chose, she would have to walk toward it on her own strength.
Torn between paths, she fell into deep hesitation. She didn't disagree with the Pope's vision, but she desperately wanted to end the disaster early—before more lives were lost to unexpected twists of fate.
Seeing the distress in her eyes, the Pope felt a pang of sympathy. He watched in silence as Jeanne turned and walked out, heading toward the quiet, freshly swept chapel. Taking a deep breath of fresh air outside, the old Pope felt his own chest tighten—laying such a massive burden on a young girl's shoulders felt undeniably cruel, even if she had the strength to carry it.
Outside the main doors, only a few small groups remained scattered about, chatting in quiet tones. Lemuen, Exusiai, and Mostima were standing nearby with Fafnir, passing the time while waiting for Jeanne to emerge.
Stepping inside the quiet, immaculate chapel, Jeanne walked up to the altar and sat before the holy cross. Holding her own silver crucifix tightly, she closed her eyes, letting silent prayer wash over her mind to restore her inner peace.
And amid that serene silence, she began to weigh the heavy choice before her.