act17side

Breogan... was the owner of that key.

During Iberia's Golden Age, he became a guest of honor to the aristocrats and nobility. He was once seen as the symbol of the budding harmony between the Ægir Islanders and Iberians.

Nobody knows what he was doing right before the disaster, or what he lacked the time to do. But he had already left behind a significant legacy. And for you, significant directions.

Regardless, he is part of the past. I have no doubt you will be the ones to make the choice, here in the present.

As for the key... The question of why Breogan's key was left in Kazimierz is one we do not need answered.

But it was found by the Hunter, Skadi. This was no coincidence, but rather an inevitability. You all have a natural sensitivity towards the sea.

...Indeed, I handed the key to that band. You will learn what they truly are. Perhaps the Ægir will need to enlist their help.

They are also searching for answers. Most of them are young, uncomfortable with the ocean's changes. After all, they cannot truly leave the place of their birth.

Yes... I hope we'll succeed. Humanity faces too many problems, and the layers upon layers of disasters can easily extinguish the light of our current civilization.

Gladiia, if you wish to act alone, I won't try to dissuade you. Skadi is just like you. Perhaps all the Hunters are.

But whatever you do, don't think you can solve all of this land's problems by yourself.

Hm? Ask away. I will answer any of your questions.

Ishar-mla...?

Where did you hear that name?

We're almost there.

But the ocean is just too vast. Even slight inaccuracies in the coordinates can lead to huge errors.

...It is also much calmer than I imagined.

More than calm. Since leaving the lighthouse, we've actually faced fewer and fewer attacks.

Not even the wind or waves are stirring.

What does it mean?

It means—

Are you nervous, my poor little bird?

Eek! Wh-When did you— Stand where I can see you!

Who are you calling nervous, anyway? It's just... very, very few people manage to make it this far out into the ocean, so I... I can't be sure that—

Nay, your eyes are drawn back to over your shoulder, not to the horizon. You fear loss, more than the unknown.

Your superior gave you this chance so you could board the Stultifera and to reach out to the Ægir, not for you to wallow indecisively.

...I know that.

Before the fight comes to us, you must— Hey. Do you smell that, Shark?

Of course. Keep this cozy little boat slightly to the right, and soon we'll be able to see the bigger boat.

It's long since become yet another nest though. Do we really intend to dive right in?

Do you need to rest, Specter?

Me? Is there something wrong with me? Why would you ask that?

Your hand is shaking.

Hm?

Specter looks down at her hand. The one not wielding a weapon is indeed trembling slightly in the sea breeze.

Her consciousness gradually clears up and plunges deep into the abyss, untouchable.

I... Ah, is this anxiety? Or... excitement?

But why?

Gladiia reaches out and gently holds Specter's hand, with Skadi following suit. The three Abyssal Hunters share a moment of silence.

Welcome home, Hunters.

Gladiia solemnly steps onto the ship's bow.

The sea breeze cleaves a path through the night, carrying upon it a familiar scent.

The quiet vessel sleeps soundly atop the ocean. It is a vassal of the sea breeze, the guest of an era.

Idealism was ubiquitous in that era, and it reflected the peoples' spirit of exploration—as well as their arrogance.

Skadi and Gladiia gaze wordlessly at the ship.

In an instant, they are inundated with a flood of thoughts. But in the end, they are invariably dragged back to the past—their youth, their home, the rhythmic swaying of the ship.

Only Specter continues to grip tightly onto the weapon in her hand, the sea breeze picking up slightly.

This breeze will carry the Hunters home.

(Slithers across a rocky surface)

Mon3tr, burn them.

(Screeches)

Lord Carmen, we can't afford to stay here much longer. The team of Hunters is in danger.

The Penal Battalion is being held back. It seems even I have underestimated the extent of the Church of the Deep's taint.

We should've cleared a temporary forward base at Gran Faro, to continue the pursuit.

We didn't have a choice.

If we have no way of securing the town, we'll be under attack from both sides.

An Iberian Tercio consists of at least ten companies, approximately three thousand people. The officers of the Penal Battalion are more than sufficient to lead them to victory.

You seem quite knowledgeable about this.

We've crossed paths more than once.

Are you suggesting we let the Penal Battalion handle Gran Faro, and head straight to the Eye of Iberia?

I wouldn't be opposed to that proposal, were we dealing with Victoria's fleet.

Otherwise, our losses will be even greater.

(Riffs)

Miss Frost? Why are you—

A warm-up workout, she said.

We come from the sea. We are the sea.

However... (Riffs dejectedly)

...If you're willing to help, that would be ideal. What can you offer?

I can make them listen. Listen to my song.

And your companions?

Apologies in advance, but Dan wants to borrow that chapel. The others are in there thinking up new songs.

Music? Your melodies are considerably different from what I used to hear in Leithanien. Are you sure they'll be interested in this sort of thing?

(Riffs tersely)

The meaning of life... is music.

I just want to clean up the venue before the show starts.

Frost slowly pulls out her guitar.

Carmen cannot help but be surprised. He can tell that the organism in front of him is truly, genuinely thinking about 'music.' Her words contained no superfluous intentions.

It is by no means a metaphor. Use the word as such, and Frost's attention will quickly wander. She only thinks about music. Only this form of art, capable of stimulating her soul, can hold her attention.

(Flinching slithering sounds)

(Riffs experimentally)

The lurking Sea Terrors circle around her. Observing, examining, judging.

They dare not wantonly approach her. They smell a familiar scent. They realize that the guitarist in front of them is a hollow vessel. Her distant connection resonates through the depths bestowed to them as their birthright.

Even on land, they instantly feel as if they have become one with the sea.

(Conflicted, confused slithering sounds)

How... miraculous.

These creatures are intimately connected with the land itself. In their eyes, are humans and Sea Terrors no different?

Frost does not answer. She is intoxicated by the melody, consumed by the passion.

Kal'tsit knows that the question was rhetorical.

Kal'tsit, was this also part of your plans? For them to sit on the coast, while the Penal Battalion delves into the sea?

If you choose to believe so, then yes.

But the Penal Battalion didn't even have time to prepare even a single ship for us.

There's already one sitting along the shore.

It's been years since the Gran Faro project was scrapped.

...First we must uproot the evil that still grips this land.

I remain an Inquisitor. I will not sit idly by and watch the corruption that's been infesting Iberia slip away, right before my eyes.

Woah!

Are you alright?

L-Let go of me! Don't just go around picking people up!

But, my fragile little bird, how will you climb up this tall deck if I don't carry you?

Th-That's not what I meant— Tch, forget it...