act17side

That's why I said you don't understand, Quintus.

What I want to deconstruct, to witness, to caress, to break... has never been those cities. On land or in water, it's all the same.

I want to hear about their lives. About the wonderful lives they once had, about how they built their society, about how they defended their home.

About how they cannibalized each other. About how they met their destruction, just like us.

Like us?

The people who defile Ægir are Ægirs like you. The people who defile Iberia are Iberians like me.

Heh... The results of the experiment are already plain as day. If we still need more comparisons, she'll go mad and hate us.

She'll hate us, and to be honest, I hate them too. Self-destructive soldiers. A self-righteous country. Falling into a self-inflicted trap.

But sometimes... You have to admit that we're more like them, more like humans, than we are like Seaborn.

We'll probably be fighting forever.

—It worked!

Hey, Captain Alfonso, are you alright?!

...Compared to my ship, not half bad.

Are you really dead, Amaia? It can't be that easy, can it?

(Limbs twitch)

Don't waste your breath on it.

(Convulsing) Lauren...

I'm here. I'm right here.

Seems like our positions are reversed now, Amaia.

Too bad for you, I've never... been one for science experiments. Not in the slightest.

(Quivers with torn muscles)

Go ahead and die, you inferior, evolution-crazed creature.

And be forgotten.

...That should settle things.

No.

Seaborn. Even more Seaborn are nearby. They're approaching.

And this ship's about to go down.

Even when my consciousness was hazy, I was still aware of how much effort it took for us to get here. Seems like we'll be running up against another wall.

Did you get what you came for, Swordfish?

Ulpianus took it.

It's our fault that we failed to preserve the prototype technology on this ship, but...

That doesn't mean we came here in vain.

Captain.

Hmph.

It doesn't matter. Garcia already said that today's the last day of our voyage.

...For a long, long time, our will to survival has been slowly eaten away.

At first, our greatest enemies were anxiety, suspicion, uncertainty, and fear. But later...

Our emotions started drifting away from us. A longing for the ocean gnawed at our nerves, and one after another one, we forgot the glory of being a crewmember of the Stultifera Navis.

I watched them jump into the sea one by one, or I beheaded them before they could. I admit... that was a bit extreme.

This long nightmare of survival has finally come to an end.

Seawater is pouring into the ship. This whole place is being eaten by the nethersea brand.

Inquisitor, this technology here, these Originium boiler techniques, will they be useful to the current Iberia?

Everything on the Stultifera is a precious national treasure. Ever since the Profound Silence, Iberia has had a large amount of Islander technology that cannot be reproduced.

And it's not just because we lost our fleet and our cities. Because of the judgment we passed on the Ægir, we lost so much of our talent too.

It was... necessary. Even now, I don't think that a soft-hearted strategy full of kindness could have combatted the Church of the Deep.

If, today, we are forced to lose Stultifera Navis—the Ship of Fools—then I think... it would be a heavy blow, but it's something that was doomed to happen from the start.

Hmph, hogwash. The state religion's always been like this.

Ægirs.

Take care of the Iberian. She can't swim back.

...That I can promise you.

The explosions are getting worse—this side's leaning!

We need to go, Skadi. Cut off a bit of the rafters above you!

Hurry! Irene!

I, I know! But what about Alfonso?!

How far will the currents take us? Or are we going to go around in circles? Isn't this place on top of their nest?

Regardless, looks like we're going to have to swim back.

W-What?!

...Go. Get the hell off of my ship, like I told you from the start.

Just go. I'll stay here. This is my Iberia, and the captain goes down with the ship.

Alfonso slowly lowers himself into the throne. He closes his eyes.

The warmth of the bright Iberian sun as it splashes at an angle across the deck.

The aroma of a winery. The melody of his hometown.

A damp and empty room. Freshly burgeoning petri dishes.

The ocean's waves.

The ocean he once knew. The warmth of Garcia's hand. Breogan's lonely countenance. Carmen's smile. His comrades' roars resonating through the sky.

He opens his eyes, and lets out a hearty laugh as everything is consumed by the flames.

His laughter crosses through time, until it reaches a small town of pomegranate flowers, where one can smell the sea upon the breeze, and mingles with the first cries of a newborn child.

Alfonso. That is what the people call him.

He lifts his old, rusty blade, and places it against his neck. He prays. He laughs.

Hah. What a joke! Remember this well, Irene! Return to land and sing the praises of Alfonso's feats!

The last monster that Alfonso slew... was himself!

The ship breaks apart.

The glow of the flame blankets a sea that had been silent for nearly a hundred years.

An era comes to an end.

A legend passes into history.

In the distance, the sun rises.

Here sinks the Stultifera, and with it, the long-cherished wishes of Iberia, nay, of all civilization.

All succumbing to calamity.

What's the matter?

I think I heard... a voice.

No, it must be my old age. These things happen.

Lord Carmen...

You're crying?

Water?

Right...

The Stultifera... sank.

I'm in the ocean? The ocean... is a dangerous place.

It's dangerous, yes.

I have to return to Iberia!

Glub—! Gurgle—!

Stop trying to breathe like that. Underwater breathing is beyond you. Most Ægirs can't either.

I want to say something in return. But of course, I am underwater, and cannot.

Despite trying to contain my instincts, I can't help but clutch at her clothes like a helpless child.

But, I can see it.

The light reflected in her pupils.

It comes from the bottom of the sea.

Specter does not say anything, but I can feel her arms trembling slightly around me.

Maybe because of the battle we just fought? Maybe? Or, something to do with the light?

I'll bring you back up. Hang on tight.

—Glub!