act17side

You wasted your chance.

What?

If I were you, when I caught that talking Seaborn in Sal Viento, I would've forced it to spill everything it knew about Ægir.

You've been walking the land for years. You've never heard Ægir's messages. But the ocean is different. The ocean has never been disconnected.

Yet you simply allowed it to die without creating any value. An unproductive decision, Gladiia.

I don't need to hear messages from trash. The only answers our prey can provide are the grunts of lowly beasts.

Seems you've found some assistants on land. And put quite a bit of trust in them.

(Howls) The cosmos... cemetery...

You're showing mercy. Why does he still stand?

...I'm not.

He's just a little sturdier than anticipated.

The knight does not fight back. He suddenly freezes in place and throws his head back. He staggers, spins around, and looks up.

Gladiia had planned to seize this moment to put an end to the chase, but right as she is about to, she has a faint premonition.

The Seaborn's scent. It's changed.

You're already sensitive enough to notice such changes then?

That's right, Gladiia.

No matter how much you try to console yourself or others, this is a problem we'll have to deal with, sooner or later, ourselves.

Garcia!

(Sobbing howl)

Good... Good... You hurt it real bad! We'll track it down in no time by following these blood trails.

Wait, what are these burn marks? What did it do to my ship?!

The monster can't have left these marks behind.

That's right. It must be the masterwork of our lovely little Iberian bird. Aw, they grow up so fast.

So who's scarier? The Seaborn or her people?

...You mean the Iberian from before? Her? Impossible. Any of this ship's battle-hardened sailors would've been stronger than her. How could SHE do this?

(Nibbles on the captain's sleeves)

...I understand.

No matter. Regardless of what that Iberian did, we have to hurry.

Time to put an end to this months-long hunt.

You seem to be in a pretty good mood, Mister Captain.

Good mood? Hah!

Who wouldn't be happy to bring an end to such a long hunt?

You keep chasing. I'll go a different way. It won't cut through these walls, it'll try to get closer to the sea.

Garcia... Your wounds aren't life-threatening. Just hang in there, and we'll be right back!

The injured chief mate still needs more time to recover. It looks at its captain's face in silence.

Joy. A hard-to-disguise excitement. A vigor it has not felt in a long time.

It takes a peaceful nap, focusing its energy on rejuvenating its injured parts. All to help its lover continue the hunt.

A brief, light dream. Short, trance-like, and extremely rare since its body underwent such profound changes.

In its dream, it stands upon Iberia's shores. The sky booms with fireworks and hums with the din of whistles. A high-spirited Alfonso stands at its side, asking it a question.

Garcia.

See those kids along the shore? We all like children.

Children are the future of Iberia. Our glory, our feats, and our skills all die with us.

But children. New lives. Ones that all of Iberia will come together to nurture. And they'll inherit it all.

Garcia.

Who do you think he should take after?

(How can it still move so fast with those injuries? I can't keep up!)

(And... holding back from firing my handcannon is...)

Ugh!

The nethersea brand has spread to the ship? But how?! It wasn't this bad a little while ago!

The fluorescing nethersea brand has devoured the golden Iberian hall.

The intricate dome reflects a ghastly blue light. And amidst the glow stands a lone, out-of-place woman.

Her two hands are crossed in front of her as she silently and carefully sizes up the throne in front of her. The nethersea brand spreads from beneath her feet, sapping the very color from the golden floor.

She turns her head. Her eyes hold nothing but compassion and expectation.

...Good evening, Irene.

(A Church of the Deep cultist!)

Did I miss...?! No, there's no way!

Originium Arts?!

That's right, Irene. If Dario could see you now, I'm sure he'd be so proud.

—How do you know our names? Who are you?!

I am a translator.

You think a lie like that will do you any good?

I never lie, Irene. I've translated a great many works. Perhaps one of novels full of Gaulish critical realism on your shelves contains my touch? Have you ever even noted the name of the translator?

Look at your feet! You're the one who brought the nethersea brand?!

That's a somewhat biased statement. I did not bring the brand. Rather, I established a bond with the fluorescent sea.

Truly, it is an honor to be a part of it.

How did you get to this ship?

That doesn't matter, Irene.

Nor does it matter whether you can defeat the Seaborn, whether I die here, or whether this ship will be key to reconnecting with Ægir. None of that matters.

And yes... The sacrifices of Dario and the Penal Battalion, Gran Faro's collapse, the Eye of Iberia. The long, long time that has passed...

In the vast process of evolutionary transformation, all of these are but drops of water in the sea of life.

My respect comes from the fact that we are all but a part of the Cycle. Compared to the whole, we are all insignificant.

—Wait. You mentioned the High Inquisitor. What happened to him...?

Alas, poor Irene. Look, I know the feeling of having questions and needing answers, but is this really the time? When your enemy stands right before you?

What happened to him?!

His sacrifice was in vain, Irene.

The sea breeze brought me news of his death. You have my condolences.

Impossible... It can't be...

Nothing is impossible, Irene.

When the oracle descended, all the futures of this land were set in stone.

We are bugs crawling along the ground. We ought to follow the ordained path. What's wrong with choosing a life without barriers, without separation, without country and without form?

If you choose to cease resisting, all the better. If not—

—If none of this really matters, Amaia, then why are you buying time for our wounded little prey?

...Oh?

You've woken up, Laurentina.

Not completely, but I can at least remember your name. Hope I'm not coming across as rude.

Irene!

What did you do to her?

Nothing. We were only making small talk.

Skadi, continue the chase.

Wasn't it your prey?

And who was it that let me run into such a nostalgic figure?

...Alright, be careful.

Irene?

...You're lying.

The breath of the sea does not lie.

No, like I said, that's impossible.

The High Inquisitor's death must have had a purpose. The Inquisition never makes sacrifices in vain.

If you don't believe that, cultist, then... I'll just have to become that purpose.

So be it. What a resilient child you are.

Ugh!