In a gray, hazy world.
Ash filled the sky, drifting down with the mist like snowflakes.
The Three Art Hour-Gods were gone, and so were the February Apostles. Only a black-clad figure stood alone amid the blurred fog.
Gilan slowly raised his head and looked toward the sky.
Within the faintly visible starry sky, a graceful figure seemed to dance without end, eternal verses shining beside her like stars, accompanied by an ethereal and sacred song.
"Dance merges with the starry sky, poetry dims with the stars, hymns fade away with the starlight..."
Gilan murmured softly, then fell silent for a moment.
He shook his head and let out a long breath.
"The Three Art Hour-Gods have taken their final curtain call forever."
Whoosh—
At that moment, a photograph slowly drifted down from the sky.
Gilan held out his palm and caught it.
Lowering his eyes, he looked at it.
In the low-saturation color photograph, the "Director," dressed in an astronaut suit, sat in the center of the front row of the audience. David and Klose sat to either side of him, while A and Hela stood behind them.
The February Apostles wore radiant smiles.
David's smile was rather composed. Klose linked her arm through the "Director's," smiling elegantly, while Hela flashed a V-sign and tilted her head as she pulled a face. As for A, the "Director's" other personality, he struck a deliberately cool pose, propping his chin on his hand with one elbow supported, the corner of his lips curled upward.
Seeing the warm and joyful photograph, Gilan could not help but be affected by it, smiling faintly.
In contrast, on the stage in the photograph stood Duvy, Cynthia, and Futis—the three Hour-Gods—staggering about with looks of horror on their faces.
It looked like a candid snapshot of