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Damn you, Ægir! Accursed Ægir! He actually went and slaughtered one of our kin!

Ugh, my wound...

You're...

Jordi?

You know me? Who are you?

I... You don't need to know, nor do you know me. But I know you, if only because you are an Ægir.

Y-You're hurt!

Yes, and will you bandage me up? Aren't you the chapel's caregiver?

I...

I can help you, but you have to tell me how this happened.

...Very well.

Take a seat.

Just bear with it.

Nngh...

Stop moving! Luckily, you don't have any broken bones or ruptured organs... Is this a laceration wound? There's even sawdust stuck beneath the skin. How did this happen?

An Ægir killed my kin. I was involved, but managed to escape.

M-Murder?! In a small town like this? You'll have to bring this up with Uncle Thiago right away—

Hah... Haha. Mayor Thiago can't control the Ægir. How ironic. Only the Inquisition can punish him now.

B-But, he killed someone in your family.

We are always being hunted. Out of ignorance, fear, anger... the latter lingering from that disaster. Thank you, I already feel much better.

Wait, are you... Mr. Juan?

So you still remember my face, Jordi. Have you ever wanted... to gaze into the sea?

Gaze... into the sea? Uncle Thiago has taken me to the coast before, but...

The sea was dark. The wind tugged at his hair, and the waves roared.

The meaning of a 'hometown' varies from person to person. It might be the aroma of wheat, the angle of the shadow cast across an alley, or the sound of wheels rolling over mud and snow.

But at that moment, Jordi knew that his life in Gran Faro had already been paid for in advance, with his hometown.

The land has already forgotten the ocean's true form, but sooner or later we shall all return to the sea.

(Broken Ægirian) Thank you, Jordi. Thank you for your kindness. May infinite altruism fill the void of existence one day.

(Broken Ægirian) If you are still Ægir, Jordi, then leave us be. Turn back and return to your life. It is better that way.

(Broken Ægirian) Perhaps you too, like your parents before you, will go in search of that lighthouse.

Wh-What did you say? I didn't catch that!

(Broken Ægirian) My kindred refugees have come for me. But do not worry. Gran Faro has always been a stepping stone. Our destination is the deep sea.

(Soft slithering sound)

Jordi, Jordi. Ægir.

We shall meet again.

The sea is black.

I was four or five at the time. Old Thiago, the mayor of Gran Faro, took an armed company of adults down to the coast.

I still remember what the weather was like back then. It was hazy and turbulent, and colder than most evenings despite still being afternoon. Its coldness was not a temperature, but rather a color. One that had lost its warmth.

I found out only later that that was the last time Gran Faro did maintenance work on the Eye of Iberia. Or rather, tried to.

The Penal Battalion quickly brought back news. There was dejection in the adults' faces, but I didn't fully understand what had happened. I simply stared at the junction between sea and sky in a daze.

The sea is black.

It perfectly suits this land devoid of hope.

Mayor Thiago is here!

So what old Pedri said was true, Amaia.

Even if I wished to deny it, I'd be quickly silenced by the reality in front of our eyes.

But, what kind of person could slay a monster, then off-handedly toss it here?

I hope you'll let me handle this.

That...

If we don't dispose of it properly, I'm afraid it could become a danger down the road. Besides, is this not a rare opportunity to study a Sea Terror?

...Very well. But I'll be coming with you.

None of us know exactly what this thing is just yet, and we certainly can't rule out the possibility that its blood might attract more of its kind.

No objections here.

With me, lads. Move aside, so I can wrap up this body—

...Well, it's not as heavy as it looks. So where to, Amaia?

Follow me.

Don't just stand there gaping. Hurry on home now, people.

Are we really not going to report this to the Inquisition? What do we do if more monsters show up?

There's no need to get them involved.

But—

I said, we don't need 'em!

Ugh...

Thiago.

This town doesn't need the Penal Battalion interfering just yet. We'll handle things our own way.

If the Inquisition sent its people here and saw this thing, you'd never see another peaceful day in Gran Faro. Do you really not understand that?

But— Never mind, forget it.

Let's go, Amaia.

We're really just going to listen to him?

Old Thiago's hatred for the Inquisition goes back more than a day or two, but if something really were to happen without the Penal Battalion here, who's gonna fight the monsters? Us?

Plus, there've been more and more outsiders lately. It's like Thiago doesn't even see them. If they were to blend in with the outsiders...

I knew it, we really should send someone to the Inquisition! How are we supposed to explain all this if someone from the Penal Battalion does show up? I don't want to get branded a heretic!

Miss Amaia... and what's with that author over there...?

Let's touch base with the other members of AUS first. I feel like we can't just ignore all this.

Is the chapel normally this deserted? What happened to your God and your faith?

Not every Iberian is a practicing Lateran. Miss Alty, the town has become quite dangerous, and I need to ensure your safety until Dr. Kal'tsit arrives.

Might as well put on a show here then. Some music would help calm everyone's nerves.

Haha, that's not what I meant.

Then calm down. Let me take a stab at what I think happened.

Uhh...

Hmm... I saw... some kind of sea creature. Right, you guys called it a Sea Terror. Whether the Iberians or Kal'tsit were first to call it that doesn't really matter to me.

A Sea Terror beneath a cruelly dry sky, its observant and analytical scales with nowhere to belong. It knows very well that this is not its home. It lives, back home.

I've got it! That Sea Terror was probably hung high up on that sculpture, and it was singing the latest wave of rock-'n'-roll. Right?

...It wasn't hung up there. Nor was it singing. But you got like eighty or ninety percent of it down.

You've surprised me again, Miss Alty. Was that your Arts?

Who's to say that death itself isn't just another kind of song? That's what it taught me. And it's a real travesty of nature that the beauty of it can't be appreciated across species.

What do you think?

Fortunately, such an artform is not required by all organisms.

D-Dr. Kal'tsit! How come I couldn't get a hold of you this whole time...?

Long story short, I'm under the surveillance of the Iberian Inquisition in exchange for their trust.

We don't have much time, but the task before us is grave. Operator Elysium, go keep an eye on the two who took the Sea Terror's body away. I need to speak with Alty alone.

...Understood.

Here's a communicator. You should already be familiar with my Originium Arts, so you can also, uh, pass it on to your colleagues.

Will do.

I know you prefer to keep handovers quick and efficient, but let me say this: I'm so relieved that you're safe and sound.

If I discover anything, I'll report back right away. Heading out.

Mm. Appreciate it.

Long time no see, Doctor.

Miss Alty.

Sorry for making you come all this way. I understand this involves putting yourselves at risk to some extent.

So why are you under surveillance? You couldn't just cut a deal with them?

Time is short, and Iberia's paranoia masquerading as piety prevents me from meeting with the Inquisition's upper echelons.