[It's a lot to take in, but Gilgamesh hasn't changed his mind.
He turns away from those final moments. He looks to the true Archer, to his Archer, with insistent eyes. He's trying to ground himself, stabilize his shaky reality with his own words. With a surprising resolve for a man who just watched his own destruction, he tells him:]
It was the "you" from another time. Isn't that what you meant? It was this boy, instead, who did not yet understand, who could not understand...
[In truth, they are just desperate excuses. He's trying, looking for reasons not to immediately turn on this man. It is almost admirable that he would even make the attempt. He is holding onto something, some piece of perceived loyalty, some shard of time spent together in contrast to this nightmare. He's honoring his promise, he's holding firm to it, I forgive you, I forgive you everything...
But then he hears it. He turns and looks over his shoulder; and this is the end. Not when they met last, in his room, but here and now. This is the end, as Gilgamesh watches the arrow zoom past, and he gasps—Archer!—along with his reflection that actually did. This is the end. This is what shatters him. Archer had not spoken false. Ultimately, it was his shot that claimed his life. Archer did it, it was him, it was him...
The world disappears, transitioning from memory to reality. Gilgamesh stares, into the nothingness. Silence prevails, but it is the calm before the storm. Within, he rages.]
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He turns away from those final moments. He looks to the true Archer, to his Archer, with insistent eyes. He's trying to ground himself, stabilize his shaky reality with his own words. With a surprising resolve for a man who just watched his own destruction, he tells him:]
It was the "you" from another time. Isn't that what you meant? It was this boy, instead, who did not yet understand, who could not understand...
[In truth, they are just desperate excuses. He's trying, looking for reasons not to immediately turn on this man. It is almost admirable that he would even make the attempt. He is holding onto something, some piece of perceived loyalty, some shard of time spent together in contrast to this nightmare. He's honoring his promise, he's holding firm to it, I forgive you, I forgive you everything...
But then he hears it. He turns and looks over his shoulder; and this is the end. Not when they met last, in his room, but here and now. This is the end, as Gilgamesh watches the arrow zoom past, and he gasps—Archer!—along with his reflection that actually did. This is the end. This is what shatters him. Archer had not spoken false. Ultimately, it was his shot that claimed his life. Archer did it, it was him, it was him...
The world disappears, transitioning from memory to reality. Gilgamesh stares, into the nothingness. Silence prevails, but it is the calm before the storm. Within, he rages.]