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I am Gladiia, Technology Consul of Ægir, and the Abyssal Hunters' Chief Designer of Warfare.

For the first time, she speaks to a land-dweller as a representative of Ægir.

Her counterpart nods, sheathes his rapier, and strides over the silent carcass of the Sea Terror.

Carmen, High Inquisitor of the Iberian Inquisition. I see the legends of Ægir hold true.

You're different from the others.

I have a few more years under my belt.

Where's Kal'tsit?

She's speaking to another guest from the ocean in the chapel.

Gladiia turns to walk away when—

If you've come to speak to the doctor, I'm sure she's shared the same information with you.

...Perhaps.

What do you think of her suggestion?

We can talk after I've confirmed she's unharmed.

We have no reason to harm someone who wishes to protect Iberia from the bottom of her heart.

So you say.

I've seen more foolishness in my brief time on land than I have for half a lifetime.

If it's been such a brief time, how can you be so sure?

The worst of times brings out the worst in people. Iberia's current reality is far from gilded.

Regardless, I'm not here to debate.

If she's in the chapel behind you, then—

You'll never reach the Eye of Iberia without the Inquisition's help.

It was not destroyed in the Profound Silence. If the Stultifera remains afloat, then the Eye of Iberia is the only way to find it in the vastness of the ocean.

What Iberia can offer, I can achieve on my own with only slightly more effort.

I suppose I have something to look forward to then, Gladiia.

How many left?

Four or five, maybe. Some have departed to seek sanctuary elsewhere.

Very well. Burn these documents. We don't have time for them.

Gran Faro... I once called this place home.

You are still bound by such distractions?

No... no more. Burn them all.

The Inquisition must not find them.

We embrace this knowledge, and promote harmony through enlightenment. The Inquisition, in their ignorance and selfishness, calls it heresy.

Let's go. We will find a way to reestablish contact.

We too will embrace the ocean, someday.

(Are they gone? Is this one of their hideouts? And here I thought it was just a struggling restaurant. It's only two blocks from the chapel, for crying out loud.)

(They're burning their papers? I have to put the fire out!)

(The flames are too strong. I have to save what I can—)

Yowch, that's hot!

Whew... are these blueprints? Some sort of equipment...? The stamp of approval has been burned to ash.

Historical records of Iberia... theses on ocean currents...

What are they planning? Breo... gan? Royal shipwright?

And what's this? A drawing of that statue in the square?

Put that down, Liberi. Let it burn as it should.

You—

Elysium has always been confident in his ability to talk his way out of a situation.

In this case, however, he does not get a chance to, barely avoiding the touch of cold steel.

Hey, don't you know it's rude to strike without warning?!

Dr. Kal'tsit! Their goal is—