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I'd understand if it had been surrounded by four or five Penal Battalion soldiers, or if it took the Flames of Castigation from an Inquisitor's lantern.

But... this poor Sea Terror has but a single wound on its body.

While I've never personally seen the rumored High Inquisitors fight, I'd imagine that if anyone in all of Iberia could pull this off, it'd be them.

Impossible! Nobody has seen an Inquisitor come to Gran Faro!

But our little town, which rarely sees any outsiders, has been welcoming visitor after visitor as of late. Surely this can't all be due to the Inquisition's negligence, right?

That...

Perhaps the marching of the Penal Battalion cannot be hidden from our ears, but what of the Inquisitors? If they changed out of their uniforms and concealed their lanterns and swords, how would we ever know?

You mean to say that an Inquisitor might already be here? Hidden among the outsiders?

I'm saying it's a possibility.

...I'm going on a little walk.

Thiago!

I'm sure even you understand that most people would rather have the Inquisitors help them get rid of the Sea Terrors.

I know. Of course I know. I wouldn't hate a beast for no reason. But I WILL hate those people. Those... Inquisitors.

*Sigh*...

Amaia gently caresses the Sea Terror's corpse. The fate left to it by death was not such a terrible one.

By human standards, it certainly appeared deformed and terrifying. But what about from other perspectives? How would the court of nature, of life itself, judge this perfect creature?

Alone in the empty pub, Amaia decides to stop pondering this question. Or at least, the pub appears empty. She and Thiago believe it is.

But the shadows begin to writhe, and something steps out from within, its simple outline etched out beneath the dim light's glow.

It is a person. An Ægir.

...Was this your doing?

(Ægirian) It has nothing to do with you.

You don't look like you're from the Penal Battalion.

(Ægirian) You cannot deceive me.

Wait, you're an Ægir? That makes you even less likely to be an Inquisitor.

(Ægirian) Silence is the most terrifying sound in the sea. We cannot tolerate it a second time. None of us can.

I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I think you should leave—

(Ægirian) The Bishop of Sal Viento is dead.

(Ægirian) I am not as patient as you might believe.

I...

(Ægirian) I never thought I'd see a living Abyssal Hunter with my own eyes.

Inquisitors? ...No, impossible. How could an Inquisitor be here?

Mr. Thiago! Just now, I—

Mr. Thiago?

Get out of this place as soon as possible. You, and the rest of your lot.

You're a nice lad, I can see that. Jordi can too. But...

There's something sleeping beneath our little town, and there's nothing normal about any of this—No, Iberia's never been normal, not since then.

...I hear you. I'll leave as soon as I can.

But I think I saw something in front of the chapel just now—

Tell me, lad. Are you from the Inquisition? Are you trying to get close to Jordi so you can take him away?

Mr. Thiago?

Go ahead and lie to me. I'll fight you to the death too, outsider.

I'm not. You know as well as I do, if I were really after the Ægir, why would I wait so long?

It's just a single Sea Terror. We're by the coast, and we've seen things like this before, decades ago.

There's nothing to get worked up over, outsider. It's none of your business.

Mayor Thiago, I'm willing to help you iron out some of the issues in town.

You? There's nothing for you to do.

Even if it means Jordi's life will be in danger?

Nobody's here? Why aren't Amaia and Thiago here...?

It's his scent!

That damn Ægir, he took Amaia away?! How dare he—

—No, that's not quite right. Amaia doesn't know how to fight. He wouldn't do anything to her.

At least our brother's remains are still here.

What do we do now?

Take it away. This rotting shack is not suitable to be its coffin.

After that... We will find it a proper home. Look at it—death is nothing more than a gentle attendant. That is something that Ægir butcher could never understand.

Let's go.

Hmm... So in other words, we're what? Insurance?

To my understanding, none of you have any desire to return to the ocean and fight those monsters.

You were born of this sea, and are very powerful. But even if you regain your original forms, you will never be able to rid yourselves of those creatures.

Oh? It's that dangerous?

More than you can imagine.

To be honest though, we've never cared too much about that. We just do what we want. Most people inhabiting this great land probably think the same thing, right?

If the Seaborn can understand language and music, then I'm sure you'll find an audience, even if disaster were to befall Terra.

In fact, they're more complete creatures than humans, and have greater resistance to all sorts of things. Give them a few hundred years and maybe they'll even adapt to Originium.

I'm aware.

Mm... So answer me this, Doctor.

Us, the Ægir, Sea Terrors, the Seaborn—and all our pitiable kin lurking in the depths of the ocean—

—How are any of us different in your eyes?

You were born much later. There are many things you do not yet understand.

When Frost awoke from a deep rock formation, her first thought was to get away from those aliens and monsters.

There's nobody to communicate with in the sea, and everyone on land eventually hides their original forms and disappears. Fortunately, music can open a crack in the loneliness.

If this situation is resolved, I'll have plenty of time to discuss the past.

I also hope that none of you actually... get involved with either Iberia's or the Ægir's plans.

Why not? I thought you were eager for us to lend a helping hand.

It's been too long since I've been in touch with the Ægir. The tides are crying out, and a lack of information hampers my predictions.

We do not yet know the true origins of this calamity, nor are we able to infer any possibilities.

Worst-case scenario, even you won't have any way to— *sigh*... It seems we have uninvited guests.

...Huh?

They already have the nerve to show themselves openly in town?

Someone's knocking at the door.

Without a word, Kal'tsit turns her eyes to the chapel's doors. The thick wooden slabs had endured an unfathomable amount of turmoil over the years, each mark upon them a chronicle of the past.

She knows there is something outside them, and what it is. What she cannot imagine, however, is that the Church of the Deep's followers would already dare to be so brazen.

Or perhaps...

Outsiders. A grotesque scent, belonging to those strange Ægir.

The two cultists step into the chapel. This Lateran edifice, once wrapped in the cloth of faith, now drapes these two faceless figures.

In their arms, they hold their 'brother,' a Sea Terror—or perhaps just a being stripped of all other names, now nothing more than an expired lifeform.

Look what they're holding in their arms...

A Sea Terror. They don't intend to fight.

The cultist carrying his brother's body passes by Kal'tsit without turning his head, as if he does not even see the two standing in his path.

It is as if he has come all the way from the doors of the chapel to step into the depths of martyrdom.

(Broken Ægirian) My brother, o brother. Hear me out.

(Broken Ægirian) It is our incompetence that led to your untimely fate. It is our cowardice that prevented you from returning to the sea.

(Broken Ægirian) Forgive me, my brother. I can yet hear your voice.

(Broken Ægirian) The people of this world all believe death to be the terminus of all life, but we understand that once our individual forms are transcended, even death itself is powerless.

He lays his brother's remains upon the ground and draws a deep breath. He falls to his knees, his eyes filled with sorrow.

(Broken Ægirian) Until we return to the ocean, I shall be your coffin. I will take you back to the deeps.

(Broken Ægirian) Come, my brother. May you slumber eternally. We shall become one.

The oral ingestion of protein is an act of feeding, yet he did not intend to consume his brother.

He was simply forced to use a more primordial method of bringing the two together as one.

'Chimera.'