act17side

Do you remember how we first met, Laurentina?

Badly injured, you lay across the rocks of that snow-like beach, as if you were some kind of sleeping beauty.

After drifting along the currents for so long, I was finally awoken by some truly rancid land-dwellers. How I wished I could have slept forever.

How could that be? If I'm remembering properly, we made quite a good first impression on each, didn't we?

That I won't deny. Otherwise, you would've ended up like Quintus, chopped into itty bitty pieces.

Speaking of, what a damn shame. Why couldn't have I felt like this back at Sal Viento? I could've 'reminisced' with him so much more vigorously.

Amaia maintains her elegant posture. The nethersea brand spreads as far as she can see.

But Laurentina does not take her seriously in the slightest.

What is she looking at?

...Your recovery seems to have gone well.

Thanks to you. What about the other one? How's he doing?

Who knows? Maybe he ended up like Quintus and perished at the hands of a Hunter.

...Which one?

'Twas just idle chatter.

Originium Arts. True, if there's anything on land that can pose a threat to a Hunter, it would probably be those so-called 'Arts.'

But you don't seem very well-versed in fighting with Arts either. Aren't you a bit TOO pathetic?

Laurentina, have you never wondered why your consciousness sometimes clears up and sometimes blurs? Or how you can even function after being injected with such a concentrated dose of refined liquid Originium?

Isn't that because I'm built different?

You've also told me about your dance lessons.

...Ah, damn it. I can't believe you told me before I got to remember it myself.

Fine, there were dance lessons. What else did I tell you about, Amaia?

Stop changing the subject, Laurentina.

Or, are you saying you know exactly how you 'woke up'?

We've done many experiments on you, my Sleeping Beauty.

For the longest time, we could only understand the ocean through the knowledge of the Islanders. And then, a perfect organism appeared right in front of us.

Our methods were primitive at best. Even if we donned the trappings of the church, we could not hide our blemishes as land-dwelling creatures—

Cases of us embracing the sea were few and far between, and the new lifeforms were seldom stable.

Do you still remember the huge ruckus you made right after waking up, and the first conversation we had after that?

I asked, 'how did the Ægir manage to do it?'

Amaia dodges Specter's attack.

She gently caresses her neck, and the glow of the golden hall seems to bleach her skin a ghostly pale.

You hold a massive amount of refined liquid Originium... right here.

If an ordinary person had had their spinal fluid replaced with such a concentration of liquified Originium, they wouldn't be merely comatose, no two ways about it.

Ah...

I really ought to thank you. After all, you allowed me to experience a completely different life.

Do you know how many Ægirs had their futures forcibly wrenched from them because of the trench-sucking scum you worship?

...And what would you originally have been then? An opera singer? A playwright?

As if. Of course not.

I wanted to be a sculptor. Even my teacher said I had the talent for it.

When I was little, the city I lived in had a massive, snow-white statue.

Did it collapse during the Seaborn's invasion?

Nah, that'd be too cliché.

I've never even seen it broken. We moved to a different city before long.

But that statue's always remained in my head, and I never forgot what it looked like. And then... thanks to you guys, I finally understand the allegory of that statue alternating between black and white amidst the shadows.

'Prayer.'

If I'd continued my studies in Ægir, I might have never learned the more nuanced meaning of that word.

You can stop stalling for time now. I know your arts are related to perception; I've seen them.

Haha, think of it this way. I've met some real weirdos aboard Rhodes Island. I might've done some rather unbecoming things, but... Never mind, I'm sure they'll forgive me.

Is that the name of a ship?

A much better ship than this one.

Anyway, your precious Sea Terrors are all dead or injured, and your nethersea brand can't do anything but eat away at this pompous hall. What's next?

Need help writing your suicide note? You don't get to see authentic Ægirian calligraphy everyday, you know.

...Haha.

Well then, Laurentina.

Amaia extends her hand to Specter. Her slender palms are covered in the nethersea brand, as if she's wearing faintly luminescent formal dress gloves.

Specter does not reject her, but grips her weapon tightly with one hand while holding Amaia's in the other. The two of them step delicately across the golden hall.

Actually, I wasn't much of a dancer when I was young. The captain taught me a few times, much later. She's a better dancer than you.

You know what keeps your Oripathy in check. You also know why it's easier to wake up from your affliction the closer you are to the sea.

The other Hunters, particularly Gladiia, must have guessed it long ago. But she's always been reluctant to admit the truth to herself. It could not be simpler, yet it is so cruel.

Isn't it because I've returned home, and am smitten by the scenery?

Haha. Laurentina, I never realized how much you loved self-deprecating humor.

But you're not wrong. Returning home. Returning to the sea.

It's all because their blood flows within you.

The Seaborn part of you is holding back the Originium. The Seaborn part of you is what wakes you up when you return to the ocean.

So, this awakened you, as you are now. Are you Seaborn, or Abyssal Hunter?

...Watch your step.

Thank you.

You aren't expecting to shake me, are you? Like how Skadi got lectured by that talking scum back in Sal Viento?

Are you not shaken? Even though you recognize that your strength, your sanity, and your soul all come from your enemies? No one can remain unperturbed in the face of this truth.

I haven't finished my story yet. Do you know why I love sculpting?

Hm?

Because, during the process of carving, chiseling, and shaping—

Specter pauses her footsteps.

Amaia is caught by surprise for a moment. Specter releases her hand as her other is already bearing her weapon down. At that moment, her expression glistens with a childlike glee.

—We give meaning to the forms of the dead, liberating them from the void of meaninglessness.

Just like my lovely destiny.

Tch, there's no end to this trash.

What do we do? How are we going to catch up to it? Where is it going?

They retreat to the ocean when hurt. We don't often hunt them on dry land.

But— Ugh!

The Sea Terrors managed to breach the hull?! But, even the cannons of high-speed battleships shouldn't be enough to damage the Stultifera Navis!

They've had years. Must've chipped through it long ago.

...They trapped the ship but didn't sink it? Why?

We can ponder this all we like, but regardless of what miracles it took, we need a plan fast or this ship really is going to sink!

A plan, huh... That I do have.

Quickly take out the enemy, and they should retreat back to their nest.

Is it really that easy?!

If not, then we make it so.

It's heading up, hurry! We can't let it reach the ocean!

But... Ugh, Sea Terrors are practically clogging the entire corridor!

...Can you still jump?

What?

The roof's been corroded by the nethersea brand and is very fragile.

We'll take a shortcut.

*hiss*...

There you are, my quarry.

...You, prey on blood relatives. Prey on kin.

You, have eaten many.

Well no shit, you think we can live off the wind?

To consume, is without fault. Food, is plenty.