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How tiny we seem when we stand beside the tracks of this ship.

Yes, it's a most impressive war machine.

With their bodies as barriers, the Nachzehrer halted its advance at a tremendous cost. The Banshee's shrieks, powerful enough to shatter consciousness, only managed to force the Leithanians to retreat below deck...

If not for the Catastrophe and the rough terrain in this valley—

We're so far behind, and time is running out.

Kazdel must have equally powerful weapons, if not more so.

All our previous attempts have failed...

A century ago, few believed we could build a nomadic city out of Kazdel, yet we did. If we are to catch up to them now, we cannot afford to take the conventional path.

We have word from the Damazti. The battleships on the horizon are slowing down.

Have they given up?

No, the Kurfürst's orders were to continue the pursuit, but the commander of the fleet ordered them to slow down.

They're concerned about the Catastrophes and the terrain. They've seen what happened to this ship.

At the current rate, we can expect to engage them at dusk.

We have bought enough time for Kazdel to retreat.

Theresa looks back at the two storms entwining on the wastes, trying to catch a glimpse of the city.

She sees nothing. Where is Kazdel now? Is it still moving through the storm? Are the people in the shelters safe?

The storms are converging. Our retreat has been cut off. A battle is inevitable... Theresis?

I never thought I'd see you lose focus on the battlefield.

What's that?

That's...

The storms rage, the young taunting the old.

The newborn storm slams into the dying storm to the war drums of thunder.

Roiling air currents clash and combine between the two storms...

Violence begets peace, and a passage appears where the storms converge.

Lightning flashes and thunder cracks.

A path through the storm.

The storm...

Let's go, Theresa. The storm has given us a path.

Those who survive through it will have another chance.

We'll do it together.

The Damazti Cluster passes their command to every Sarkaz present.

The warriors see their leaders walk into the storm side by side and follow with no hesitation.

The procession advances into the tempest, the strong supporting the weak, the brave encouraging the fearful.

Do you see that, Theresis?

Within the roar of the tempest, they seem to hear the voice from the snowstorm in that childhood dream.

They see—

...The prophecy.

The thin, cloaked figure turns at the sound of her voice and sees the storm-bound procession.

Theresis sees a child. Mist, gilded by the setting sun, shrouds her shoulders, rising and blending with the shrieking winds above.

He takes off his gauntlet and stretches his bare hand into the mist.

The mist dissipates, and in his bloodied hand is the stone blade that the child is holding.

(Slurring) Yew... argh! Gra... grab!

What are you doing here?

(Slurring) Hom. Yew... hom! Hom!

(Slurring) Yew! Came in! Home!

The child wrestles the blade from Theresis's hand and points it again at Theresis and the procession behind him.

There is no difference between man and beast to the child who grew up in the wastes.

You want to kill me?

(Slurring) Keel... kill you!

Nobody taught her how to speak. She simply emulates the sounds made by those who pass by.

...Theresis?

Theresis looks down silently at the thin figure.

Let me show you how to hold a knife.

(Slurring) You!

The child hesitates for a moment, before putting her knife in Theresis's outstretched hand.

(Slurring) ...Me. You! Bring, me... bring, me!

Theresis gazes into Theresa's eyes.

Prophecy.

'A sword to slay the regent king, a spear to pierce the royal ring.'

But they have never cared much for prophecy.

Very well.

Come with me. The home of the Sarkaz is not on the barrens.

'Do you have a name?'

'Name? Me.'

'From now on, you have a new name.'

'Ascalon.'

Ten days later...

The nomadic city of Kazdel, Kazdel

Look, doctor! The furnace has been relit!

Is it moving? The city's finally moving? Ouch...

Careful! Your wounds might open again...

I've got to go to the furnace. The furnace burns again, and Kazdel still sails...

The Leithanians didn't manage to kill us!

Oh, er, I didn't mean you, doctor.

Come with me to see it. You deserve the same honor as the warriors who survived.

But... I'm not Sarkaz.

You people are heroes, too.

Come watch Their Highnesses command the Goliath to support the leaning furnace! Watch the sparks fly when iron hammers beat upon the broken core!

Hear the elegy of the Banshee, and witness the final journey of fallen heroes when they enter the furnace to fuel it!

This used to be an occasion that only the Sarkaz could see.

I would love to go, but there are still a lot of wounded to treat.

Alright, tell you what, I'll bring back a couple bottles of booze and some fresh fruit, and we'll...

You're not allowed to drink! And who the heck drinks in a medic tent?

Come on, it's just a little flesh wound.

No means no! It's your Oripathy that's the problem! Not to mention you're a terrible drinker.

When did you ever see me drink? Oh, that time when I was drunk and came to you with a bunch of Oripathy bombs.

Look, that was the only time in all these years. You know I can't afford booze.

*sigh* I can't stop you... why don't you go yourself?

Won't be the same without you.

But... I'm a Leithanian...

And? Do you support those nobles who profit off war?

I ran away from home because I couldn't stand them!

There you have it. Hm? Wait a second. You say you ran away from home? Were you noble—

No!

I was kind of thinking, your equipment doesn't look like it's from Babel—

—Well, I won't speculate. It does nobody any good.

So, you can go on your own.

I doubt the soldiers on the front lines would get along with a Leithanian...

When I saw the Leithanians string my father up by a sewer entrance to humiliate him, I never imagined I could befriend a Caprinae doctor either.

Back then, the only people who showed us any kindness were poor, Infected, or both.