Treading through empty halls, each step echoed into the walls. Its sound faded out closer to the top, and Rowan swore it constantly droned in the distance without ever disappearing.

The floors were checkered black and white, glossy with all the subtle white lamps hanging from the massive pillars at the sides, reaching up to a darkened ceiling, where one had to squint their eyes to barely make out the shape of a triangular ceiling misted by old chandeliers, untouched and unattended.

The hall split into four paths. Straightforward was the longest, but it bifurcated into two other roads, leading to more closed wooden gates in the distance.

Empty was one word to describe it, and the Beastman leading the way through, although one wouldn't have to try to get their bearings around here, immediately halted with Rowan's stop, turning around.

Alfredo, now with the sunlight barely crashing in from the middlepoint windows, showed his face from under the white robes. It resembled something bug-like, going into a typical wolf's eyes and nose. Alas, Rowan wasn't scared. Fixing their glasses, they looked back at him, with a rather calm gaze.

"It's empty." The Tributal commented.

"When there was faith, every step echoed as well," he explained. "Although, you could argue they didn't drone in as much near the top."

"What did you use to believe in?" Rowan continued. "If I've never heard of Swannes, I must assume it was built for a different purpose years ago."

"True. I wasn't even alive back then." he shook his head. "But from stories told, I recall the name One being mentioned."

"One?" Rowan asked.

"Beastmen often longed to be regarded as human as Tributals are, and believing in the same thing was to be a gateway into Mainland Errarion. We're not as unalike as you might think we are. Alas, I'll leave that to your judgment."

"What judgment?" Rowan spoke. "I can see what you mean, mister..."

"Alfredo."

"Alfredo," Rowan added. "The same features. Certain people of our race also bear animal-like characteristics. It isn't uncommon."

"Yet, something sets us apart, but neither of us is here to discuss what was and what could've been." Alfredo shook his head. "I could tell you about our history and how every person you know is indirectly connected to a Beastman. I could mention the Empty Globe, the fact that we leave Irusha Flowers upon death or that gardens we adorn are spotted with the same grass in Malikan. Although, one wouldn't care for the gardens nowadays. One wouldn't care if a Tributal or Beastmen battled, in the very end." Alfredo looked Rowan straight in the eyes. "What separates a human from a demon could also be argued about. Yet, I'm not a fighter."

"I'm just a visitor." Rowan hesitantly added.

"...and I'm the cathedral's guardian, honing on my own beliefs. Leaving a guiding hand." he blinked. "Come, I'll explain the jest of my earlier words."

The hallway led to a pair of doors at its end, marked with a golden keyhole in the middle. Alfredo took out a small key, greatly contrasting his claw-like hands, and although one would call them unnatural, Rowan didn't seem to mind.

This, in turn, reminded them of their Chicho. Ambrosia bore cat-like ears, unlike the more human ones most of the family had. Svens in general couldn't necessarily make an argument about their more Beastman origin, as they were that one family that seemed the whitest amongst greys.

Then again, a shadow is cast on only one side. To Beastmen, that animal likeness could be white, and to humans, that process could be reversed.

Tributals weren't the purest of people either. One couldn't go about comparing the two races without ever mentioning the words sacrifice.

Sin Sacrifice came from old stories of Tributals. The race was rumoured to have come from animals rapidly evolving and advancing in such a way that they'd resemble an Eran, and while the more crude ones became Beastmen, Tributals began to resemble what was now called humans.

Although, as with many things, forcing out to become who you were not meant to be came with consequences. Tributals were genderless, and blessed with some form of magic, which, as one would guess, was treated as a demonic trait amongst the Paladian or Eran brethren.

Magic back then was greatly amplified, now barely present in most Tributals, but that meant trying to conjure up certain spells through the power of self-harm. The body wasn't as perfect as the humans wanted it to be. Sin Sacrifice meant taking a jab at that power, either removing it completely or achieving something great before dying, forever combining with the One they believed in, the source of the blessing of their powers.

Tributals ascended to become more human, and if that didn't work, they'd completely go into that other side.

Alfredo opened the door, revealing a modest room, with a tinted glass window, a wooden table with different papers laid atop, a few chairs, a typical Haran bed and a carpet in place of the stone-cold floor. Alfredo took off his sandals swiftly, letting his, again, claw-like feet move freely around the red rug. Rowan did the same, taking a seat opposite to the one Alfredo took.

The door eventually shut, and the Beastman closed his eyes, hands on their knees. Rowan's eyes landed on the various white sheets, with the information marked in deep red.

Some of it was old Manjuno that while they could read, they couldn't easily decipher. At other times, it abruptly switched to the modern tongue, in a different writing style. "Perfect vessel, perfect sacrifice, perfection."

Glimpsing to the other page, a crude drawing of an open palm was revealed, with some strange symbol in the middle. Then, the world Tributal written above it permeated through Rowan's trembling eyes.

"I'd be lying if I said that Swannes was about perfection," Alfredo muttered. "The things you see written here are what I was relayed with by our leader. Sir Ton insisted he was just one of the peons. He single-handedly wrote down everything he knew before passing it on to the people of Halesdeep."

"I haven't heard."

"Someone could call it a secret, but to him, it was a blessing. I saw his smile the second he stepped into our town's gates and if it wasn't for my intervention, they'd kill the Haran." Alfredo explained, revealing a scar going down his entire torso. "There was something that intrigued me in him. My family always tried to make their way through to the real world, even if they knew it was impossible. Eighty years have passed since then and I still wouldn't get their words out of my mind."

"If there's a chance for change, take it."

"...and I did just that. I took him to the one place I knew was safe, namely, this cathedral, and he explained everything to me in great detail." Alfredo continued. "The inns and outs, the concept of perfection in itself, the way he attained this information..."

"When did that happen?"

"Ten years ago, but I'm not sure where he's now," he uttered. "He left soon after, and while at first I just brushed it off, his words and papers kept coming back to me. I thought all of this was ridiculous, but the more I looked into his words, the more I realised that no one would go such a long way to make up a ridiculous myth,"

Alfredo unearthed th sheets hidden in the drawers, pulled one out, and passed it onto Rowan. The Tributal's eyes widened.

What was revealed before his eyes was a massive, highly detailed depiction of a fortress. A cross stood dubiously in the middle, marked with red paint. "Create it." it read.

"It dates back to the day we met," Alfredo mentioned. "467 A.F.W. He said it came to him in a dream and was sure he'd find it here. Alas, Beastmen seemed to be half the reason for spreading his idea of a good word."

Rowan went through more and more papers that were splattered all around. Two words kept appearing, "perfection" and "sacrifice" permeated the pages in red paint.

"It was maniacal, perhaps, even a bit stupid. Achieving perfection. Then again, ten years have passed, and I'm yet to understand all of his words."

"What perfection did he talk about?"

"Something where one individual can attain immortality, or better yet, become someone or something that can save others without having to worry about mortal problems. In his words, that requires great sacrifices that he was ultimately willing to make." Alfredo pointed. "I had to search long enough to unveil his meaning. Sacrifices meant stepping out of whatever made him human in the first place."

Rowan gulped, turning back to the Beastman.

"If I'm not human, why would it matter to me? It was a strange thesis to make, but I had spent seven years, on and off dipping my claws into unknown liquids. Certain prayers, words sung backwards, but nothing seemed to reach that perfection." he continued.

A part of believing in One's presence was leaving just enough room in your heart for their songs to reach you. With every word that passed, the ideas of sacrifice and all that, Rowan realised that Swannes moved in the complete opposite way of One's ideals.

One was never about reaching perfection but becoming imperfect enough. Imperfect like humans, and the Tributals which could call themselves such now.

"The more I delved in, the more it made sense to me." Alfredo shook his head. "The formula for perfection was right in front of my eyes and I couldn't see through to make it. I searched for the man but never found him again. I wanted answers, I wanted more. I wanted to test out his theory."

Rowan raised one brow.

Alfredo looked them in the eyes. "Then, he showed up."

"Who?" Rowan asked.

"A Tributal."

"He and a Tributal? That doesn't make sense." Rowan shook their head. "We don't have genders."

"It's what he wished to be called." Alfredo inched closer. "But I realised he might've been just as insane as me on that day. I found him in Gambino, and he spouted nonsense about making a pact with a demon that would finally let him breathe again. He couldn't move by himself and crawled as miserably as any pitiful creature."

Rowan clenched their fist.

"I wasn't sure if I was still looking at a Tributal, or, perhaps, at the world's biggest mistake. Then, it hit me. Maybe this was this oddity we talked about. Singing songs in reverse, doing everything that would oppose reaching perfection might've just been the answer." Alfredo breathed in. "Love requires sacrifice. I wasn't the one fighting for that perfect vessel, but him." he raised his half-visible eyebrows. "I tried my best to cure his wounds. Magic, incantations that were written down, trusting Sir Ton's words... but he knew better."

"Algae?" Alfredo asked.

"That's why it's so bitter," Tempest replied.

"He told me of a story where he was left by his loved ones. That, in turn, gave him a reason to struggle, even if only one of his hands worked. If he wasn't to leave Legion flowers behind, then the sun would shine again, perhaps elsewhere." Alfredo closed his eyes. "Years of crawling away with just one working hand led him to Gambino, and although he was blind, he swore he heard a distant voice. It reminded me of Swannes."

"Perfection could be synonymous with a blessing, then, what about being cursed, would that make you any less?" Rowan asked.

"To me, his life was a curse in itself. I would've given but he held on, claiming it's a blessing to live. So he lived, and continued living, and I wanted to make sure he could live that perfect life." Alfredo muttered.

Rowan gulped.

"That blessing was later raised into view and light with something he found in his other hand. A grim compass, just like the one you held."

Rowan glanced down at their palm. Its arrows rested calmly, but the words which kept echoing into their mind were anything but that. What Tributal could've possibly been here?

"Holding that trinket, he vowed the man tasked him to become the greatest warrior. Perhaps there you'll find the answer to your question about gender. In his words, a perfect Tributal is a divine being that doesn't have to worry about any of the world's rules. If he was already blessed from the moment he didn't die, why would I want to convince myself otherwise? Maybe that Tributal could've saved the Beastmen from oppression, it could finally return them to normal. The demon which gave him that compass must've shared a similar worldview."

"Love requires sacrifice," Rowan repeated, perhaps slightly annoyed.

They thought of everything these words imposed. Their entire life, the death of Ennyou, their parents, the burning down of Fort Apharel, the passing of Ace, Kukhi and Damien, and then, the disappearance of Ambrosia. It seemed the arrows started leading them somewhere, but they were just back into self-doubt.

The one with a curse never found rest. They furrowed their brows.

"I didn't have to convince him." Alfredo blinked. "He knew where the compass would take him, and then spouted something of the demon's words about Sin Sacrifice."

"Sin..." Rowan opened their mouth. Their eyes shrunk.

It only now came to Rowan how the ridiculousness of the Swannes' idea of perfection went along with what Tributals did hundreds of years ago.

"Why would someone want to willingly do that to themselves?" Rowan asked. "A-Ascension is inhumane!" they gulped. "Not in this day and age!"

"His words, dear Tributal, uttered only a few days ago or so." Alfredo looked up. "He's not the one who's ascending, though. They muttered another name."

Rowan clenched their other fist, angrily piercing through Alfredo's gaze. "Whose?"

"Ambrosia Sven," Alfredo muttered.