It was a beautifully sunny afternoon years past, when the old man pushed a box before the still-young Liberi girl. She hadn't even had time to wipe the soot off her face. She'd never had the finest control over firearms, though the Sankta her age used guns as naturally as their own limbs. 'Fia. I'm not going to say 'it's just a racial gulf' or whatever to try to comfort you, and I'm not going to proclaim that wielding guns is a Sankta-exclusive glory, like SOME cardinals. Practice will yield results, and you've as good as brushed shoulders with those results, even if it's not gone how you'd want.' 'But there's still a different way, or maybe you could say a different TOOL that could help you move forward. This box holds something one of my mechanics tutors left to me. He's not coming back to Laterano, ever. He violated the law.' 'But, child, law is not our everything. Now don't look at me like that—yes, you might go 'big whoop,' but nobody would say our everything ends at food and water either, right? They're just things we're forced to rely on to survive. There's always something that transcends the law, sits beyond it, and everyone has a different idea of what it is. Some call it righteousness, some call it sensibility, and some call it a vague hope.' 'Don't panic, and don't worry. There will be times when wanting to do something will make you unstoppable.' ...... The Liberi is no longer a girl; she's been more places than can be imagined, and seen more sights than can be believed, but afternoons in Laterano will never change. The sun is as fine and beautiful as ever. These two weapons have been by her side for longer than can be described; they have ensured her safety through danger, and mercilessly shot down the absurd aspirations of others. She carefully cleans the grime from her old friends, oils them, inspects the pressure in every last piece of ammo, and affirms again and again their ordering by type. She'll soon face her pursuer, her enemy of eight years, and there's no such thing as being overly prepared. There is always something that transcends the law. There's no vengeance in her heart, and no pity either. Only this: what must be settled will be settled, and those who must bear the cost will pay the price. She understands—this is an obsession, nothing more. She slots the final shell into her magazine.