The man's questioning spurred others around him who shared his sentiments to speak up. A noblewoman joined in, saying:
"Lady Furina, we haven't seen your plan or witnessed your actions! All we've seen is you enjoying opera and desserts day after day, and... and making those meaningless platitudes!"
Her words were like another massive boulder thrown into the lake, creating even greater ripples of unrest.
"Yes! Hydro Archon, what exactly are you doing?"
"The prophecy is real! My neighbor already received a warning letter!"
"We need protection! We need to see the power of a god!"
"You can't just stand by and watch us drown!"
-
Voices of questioning rose from every corner, initially a scattered few, but quickly coalescing into a surging wave of panic and discontent.
The crowd no longer gazed reverently at the divine, but instead fixed their suspicious, scrutinizing gazes on Furina.
Furina's body trembled almost imperceptibly. She instinctively gripped the ornate, carved armrest, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip.
Her eyes, like those of a startled fawn, darted across the sea of anxious, angry, and expectant faces below, searching desperately for a safe place to land.
"I... I..."
Furina's voice, usually clear and confident, had grown thin, even stuttering slightly.
"You... you dare question the will of a God? The prophecy... the prophecy... naturally stems from the Hydro Archon's profound and far-reaching considerations..."
"What considerations?"
The man who had spoken first persisted relentlessly, his voice rising with agitation.
"The consideration of watching Fontaine sink? Lady Furina, please forgive our impertinence, but our lives, our homeland, are on the brink of destruction! We demand an explanation! We demand action that will reassure us! Not... not to see you here enjoying the opera!"
His final words were practically a roar, filled with desperate accusation.
"Enjoying the opera?"
The word seemed to sting Furina like a sharp blow. Her voice rose sharply, carrying a tone of wounded misunderstanding and frantic defense:
"You understand nothing! This... this is my action! Art... art is the soul of Fontaine! It's... it's the lighthouse against the impending disaster! I'm here precisely to safeguard this light of the soul!"
Her tone grew increasingly frantic, bordering on forced justification. Yet her eyes flickered nervously, avoiding sustained eye contact with anyone in the crowd below.
Her words rang hollow, lacking conviction, even she seemed to sense their emptiness.
"Can this 'light of the soul' stop the seawater from dissolving us?" someone in the crowd shouted bitterly.
"Lady Furina, do you truly have a solution? Or... are you just as helpless as we are?" A sharp question pierced to the core.
Furina's face drained of color instantly. The word "helpless" stabbed her like an icy dagger, striking precisely at her deepest fear and secret.
She looked imploringly at the stage, at the empty orchestra pit, at the ornate set pieces—everything familiar to her offered no refuge, no prepared lines to recite.
The figure who had always unconditionally believed in and stood by her side was no longer behind her.
The Opera House's grand hall now felt like a massive, suffocating cage.
Furina's voice, barely louder than a mosquito's buzz, trembled almost imperceptibly:
"Of course I have... I have my plan... a grand... plan... It's just... the time hasn't come yet..."
Her voice dwindled to a near-whisper, almost as if she were speaking to herself. Avoiding the accusatory gazes, she turned slightly, leaving behind a figure that seemed particularly fragile and vulnerable under the immense pressure.
"The time? The Prophecy is upon us, Lady Furina!"
The questioning didn't cease; instead, it grew more relentless, fueled by her evasive and unconvincing response.
Furina offered no further reply. She stood frozen, her magnificent gown enveloping her trembling frame like a beautiful yet fragile porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.
The carefully maintained facade of divinity she had cultivated crumbled utterly under the sudden barrage of public questioning, born from their deepest fears.
Leaving behind only a bewildered and helpless Furina, uncertain of what to do next.
"Lady Furina, we demand an explanation!"
"You must speak clearly today, or... or we won't let you leave!"
"Yes, we need answers today!"
The crowd was relentless, with a few agitators stoking the flames from below, their words growing increasingly extreme and threatening to erupt into a full-blown riot.
People began surging forward from their seats. The Maison Gardiennage moved to block them, but several young men broke through the line and charged toward Furina.
At that moment, a voice that had haunted Furina's dreams lately—a voice that filled her with an indescribable excitement—reverberated throughout the Opera House:
"All of you—shut your mouths!"
The icy, murderous roar, brimming with boundless fury, crashed like thunder beneath the Opera House's dome.
Every gaze, including Furina's, who was on the verge of collapse, snapped toward the source of this sudden, overwhelming presence.
From the side of the stage, a figure slowly emerged.
Her entire body shimmered with an otherworldly luster, as if she were made of still-solidifying water or draped in flowing moonlight.
Water droplets slid down her dark, form-fitting uniform, leaving dark, spreading stains on the carpet.
Her face was cold and severe, her eyes sharp as daggers as they swept across the crowd, radiating undisguised contempt and overwhelming fury.
The figure was none other than Fidelle, who had been dissolved by the Primordial Sea water!
The moment Furina heard that voice, she sprinted to the railing. When she saw the figure she had yearned for day and night, her eyes welled up with tears.
Furina clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
She hadn't cried when facing Neuvillette's interrogation, nor when confronted by the wrath of the Fontaine folk. But seeing Fidelle reappear before her, she could no longer hold back her tears.
Fidelle's gaze met Furina's high above. A pang of tenderness flickered across her face before she swiftly turned her attention to the figures blocking her path.
With a single kick each, Fidelle sent several young men who had broken through the Maison Gardiennage ranks sprawling to the ground. Clutching their stomachs, the fallen youths writhed in pain, groaning and wailing.
Fidelle had deliberately restrained her strength. Her patience and gentleness were reserved solely for Lady Furina; everyone else—especially these insolent upstarts who dared to defy their superiors—fell outside that scope.
"A bunch of utterly foolish and short-sighted fools!"
Fidelle's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to every corner of the opera house, possessing a cold, metallic quality like the grating of steel against steel. Each word fell like a shattering icicle:
"What gives you the audacity to question and pressure your God in this place?!"
The entire opera house fell into deathly silence.
Fidelle stepped forward, her gaze sweeping down condescendingly:
"You saw only the Prophecy, only the rising sea, and were terrified out of your wits, flailing about like headless flies! Did you ever use your meager brains to consider why Lady Furina is here?!"
She abruptly pointed at Furina behind her, her voice rising sharply:
"What you call 'inaction' and 'enjoying the opera' is precisely Lady Furina's most crucial and magnificent strategy against the calamity! What do you think art is? A pastime? Entertainment? Foolish! It is the lifeblood of Fontaine, the final and most unyielding barrier against the Primordial Sea's encroachment! Lady Furina anchors herself here, ceaselessly gathering, channeling, and purifying Fontaine's Indemnitium day and night, maintaining the nation's undying soul flame against the torrent of the Prophecy!"
Her words struck each person's heart like a heavy hammer.
Though seemingly esoteric, her resolute, unwavering tone, combined with her formidable presence, compelled everyone to instinctively hold their breath.
Fidelle's icy gaze swept across those who had been the most vocal in their clamoring earlier:
"You only panic and complain in the face of disaster, demanding answers from your protectors! Yet you never consider that it is your current folly, doubt, and wavering that pose the greatest interference and blasphemy against Lady Furina's grand undertaking! Every ignorant question you voice weakens Fontaine's protective barrier!"
Her voice suddenly turned even more frigid:
"Were it not for Lady Furina's compassion, her unwillingness to see her people drown in ignorance... for your audacity today alone, I would have sufficient cause to purge you all—these morale-draining fools—"
She paused slightly, and a palpable, bone-chilling killing intent surged forth, plunging the front ranks into a glacial abyss, their teeth involuntarily chattering.
"—entirely!"