Chapter 129: A Performance Five Centuries in the Making
At last, a smile graced the Hydro Archon's lips as she bid them all a final, poignant farewell.
"Neuvillette… and my new friends… goodbye."
With those words, she turned, facing the grand, looming instrument of her own execution. She took her place upon the stage and began her final dance.
Neuvillette closed his eyes, his expression a mask of stoic composure. When he opened them again, he said nothing more, simply bearing witness.
The others, especially the children, were overcome with a deep grief, yet they instinctively understood the sanctity of the moment. They remained silent, their gazes fixed on the stage, quietly appreciating the Hydro Archon's last, beautiful performance.
As the haunting melody gradually faded and the dancer poised for her final bow, a familiar, ethereal blue light swelled from the heart of the stage, enveloping everyone once more.
Ran, Haibara, and the others were momentarily blinded by the intense radiance. When the light finally dimmed, they found themselves in a different space, the grand opera house gone from sight. Standing before them were the three who had vanished moments before: Conan, a small boy named Moroboshi, and Natsume.
Ran and the children rushed to their side, a flurry of questions and reassurances tumbling out. They quickly exchanged what had happened, only then learning that while they had been communicating with the true Hydro Archon, Conan's group had been pulled into an entirely separate dimension.
A little earlier, on the other side, within the inner world of the divine.
After a disorienting moment of complete darkness, Conan found himself standing in another place. The light was dim, the air heavy with silence. He could just barely make out the vague shapes of tiered seating, and a prickle of familiarity ran down his spine. This place felt… known.
"We're still in the Opera Epiclese," Natsume stated, her vision far sharper than that of the two children beside her. She had already taken in their surroundings with an easy, practiced scan. "But this probably isn't the real one. The layout is the same, but the details are wrong—that chasm from before is gone, and it's too quiet. Utterly silent. I can't hear a single sound in this entire opera house besides our own breathing."
Conan trusted her judgment implicitly. If this was a pocket dimension mirroring the Opera House, then what had brought them here?
He retraced their last steps. They had been rushing toward the stage, trying to stop the Oratrice Mécanique d'Analyse Cardinale from executing the Hydro Archon, Focalors. So, was the Oratrice the cause? Or was it Focalors herself?
And why only the three of them? He couldn't help but worry about Ran and the others. Were they safe?
Suddenly, a sharp click echoed through the cavernous space. Three spotlights flared to life, their beams converging on the very center of the stage.
Instinctively, all three of them turned their gaze toward the light.
There, seated on an ornate chair, was Focalors. She rested her head on one hand, her posture one of thoughtful repose, a stark contrast to the shattered despondency she had shown after the trial's verdict.
"Focalors?" Moroboshi whispered, his eyes wide. "She's here, too. Does that mean she's the one who brought us to this strange place?"
"It's possible," Natsume replied, her expression calm and analytical. "Let's go up and ask. Even a sliver of information would be worth it."
Conan had no objections.
Having reached a consensus, the trio made their way toward the stage. It was only when they stood at its base that they realized the sheer scale of it. The stage was impossibly high, its edge looming far above the head of Natsume, the only adult present.
They never would have imagined that their first obstacle would be something so mundane: they couldn't get onto the stage.
Conan and Moroboshi stood before it, staring blankly up at the distant ledge.
"Sister Natsume," Conan began, his voice flat with disbelief, "can you… get up there?"
"I could," a voice replied, but it came from a short distance away. "But why would I climb up from the front? There are stairs right over here. Can't we just take those?"
Conan glanced to the side. The figure that had been standing beside him and Moroboshi was gone. Natsume had already walked to the edge of the stage and was now ascending a set of side stairs.
He and Moroboshi quickly scurried to catch up. As he ran, Conan couldn't help but complain internally. Seriously, could Sister Natsume not make her footsteps a little louder? If you weren't paying attention, she moved in complete silence. Anyone more timid would have been scared out of their wits.
Hearing their footsteps pattering behind her, Natsume turned, a hint of concern in her voice. "What were you two doing just now? Why did you suddenly look like you wanted to climb the stage wall?"
Conan waved his hands dismissively. "Nothing! We were just curious, that's all." Heh, I can't exactly admit I didn't notice the stairs at all.
Moroboshi nodded vigorously beside him. "Yeah, yeah, haha."
They walked up the steps and onto the stage, approaching the seated figure. They found her still sitting motionless, her gaze distant, as if she hadn't seen them arrive at all.
Natsume and the others exchanged puzzled glances. Finally, Natsume took a step forward. "Focalors?"
At the sound of her name, the deity seemed to finally notice their presence. She shifted her posture, a hint of theatrical haughtiness coloring her expression. "And who gave you permission to come onto this stage without authorization? As the deity Focalors, I can understand your admiration for me, but you must not break the rules."
Hearing her response, the expressions of the three visitors grew uncertain.
Natsume tried again. "Focalors, do you still recognize us?"
Focalors didn't even look at her. Her eyes seemed to be staring into the void, fixed on some unseen point in the distance. "I do not know who you are, nor is there any need for you to tell me," she replied, her tone unchangingly imperious. "Now, if there is nothing else, leave quickly. Do not disturb my performance."
Conan watched the exchange, a deep sense of confusion washing over him. Strange… Focalors's attitude has completely reverted to how she was when we first met. It's as if she has no memory of what just transpired in the Opera House.
And then a single word she used snagged his attention—performance.
He had felt it before, that her words and actions were often exaggerated, almost theatrical. Now, considering she had been pretending to be the Hydro Archon all this time, could it be that she had always viewed her entire existence as a performance?
If it was a performance, there had to be an audience. And who was the audience? It could only have been the entire nation of Fontaine. At every moment of every day, countless eyes were watching her, judging her.
Only then did Conan begin to grasp the immense, crushing pressure Focalors—or rather, the human girl Furina—had been under while playing the role of a god. She had to maintain that elegant, noble, and flawless facade at all times, never daring to disappoint the people who worshipped her.
She had lived for five hundred years. That meant she had sustained this single, unbroken performance for five long centuries. In all that time, no one had ever doubted her identity. Not even Neuvillette, the man who stood by her side, had realized she wasn't the true Hydro Archon.
At that moment, Conan's mind reeled. Awe, pity, and a deep, humbling respect churned within him. For a long while, he found he didn't know what to say.
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