act34side

Speaking of the sea, why did Dr. Kal'tsit call you over so urgently?

I don't remember you having anything to do with the ocean.

I wouldn't recall even if I did.;But it doesn't feel unfamiliar, at least.

Not much of an answer.

Right, I forgot about your condition. No wonder you gave such an answer.

Oh well. I'm sure she had her reasons.

Let's go. It'll be dark soon.

I would take a step back if I were you. I need to shake myself dry.

Hey there, Dr. Kal'tsit. Not many people can track us Abyssal Hunters. Did Swordfish tell you we'd be coming ashore here in advance?

Elysium deployed a data collector in these waters. It's had a direct connection to the Eye of Iberia's central control system ever since its calibration.

And it can already track underwater targets? That Liberi's not half-bad.

Am I to understand then that Rhodes Island and the Inquisition have deepened their ties?

One week ago, the undersea city contacted Iberia via a special comms frequency, informing them that Ægir would be establishing a 'Waterway' between the Ægir home territories and dry land.

In the face of such a grand project, Iberia could only gather intelligence through the great lighthouse's positioning system.

Evidently, your position as Chief Designer of Warfare did not afford you any knowledge of this.

Tell Kal'tsit what we discovered, Shark.

The captain and I have swum out to where the Stultifera sank three times now. Our last dive was only ten days ago.

The first time, we could still see the exploded wreckage on the sea floor. Under what little light filtered through from the surface, the gilded interior was more like a smudge of paint.

But this time around, the entire thing had completely disappeared, replaced by a cluster of coral, thrumming with life.

I may be accustomed to dreaming, but that felt unreal even to me.

That monument to a lost civilization and its history stood for but a brief time.

The Stultifera Navis has been completely claimed by the sea.

Or to be precise, it's become part of a Seaborn nest.

Their environmental assimilation is accelerating.

At a frightening pace.

But there was something even more noteworthy. We found traces of battle. Recent ones.

A completely barren patch of sea, lacking even marine snow. A warped and shattered stretch of sea floor, clearly pockmarked by micro-singularities.

Only the fleets of Ægir's Legions could be behind that.

As a landwalker, Kal'tsit, the knowledge of and interest you hold towards Ægir are nothing less than extraordinary.

Though separated by the boundless seas, Ægir has always been a part of Terra.

Regardless, Gladiia and I have decided to head to that city.

A risky decision, no doubt.

Perhaps a tad.

Considerably.

As such, we Hunters have been observing it for a while.

Before our final operation, I attended a military conference between the Academy of Science and the Academy of Technology, as the Abyssal Hunters' Chief Designer of Warfare.

Among the battle plans they drew up together, I do not recall anyone calling for a military stronghold to approach dry land with, nor any project involving 'Waterways.'

Ægir has, without a doubt, undergone great changes.

Our contact with the home territories was completely severed after we slew Ishar'mla. It is difficult to determine the truth of the matter from the information we possess.

Yet still hardly reason enough for you to return to Ægir. I don't believe I'm the first to try to dissuade you, either. Didn't your colleague already do so?

Do you mean... Ulpianus?

He would understand that the land holds no answers for us. We must return to the sea.

If his strategy is to maintain a distance from Ægir, then all the more reason for us to return in an official capacity.

...Ever since I awoke from my dream, the waves would tell me, time and again, that the lost should return home.

The Abyssal Hunters <i>must</i> return.

Very well, I understand.

Then I'll go with you, Gladiia.

That would indeed be a rare opportunity for you.

I will be representing more than myself on this visit. More than Rhodes Island, even.

Iberia as well? Even with all that you already bear, they would give you another burden?

It was also my decision.

Rhodes Island's cooperation with the Iberian Inquisition has only just begun. Much like our own.

Kal'tsit stares at Gladiia. The Hunter's face remains devoid of expression, even the blowing sea wind failed to crease it.

After a short moment of silence, Gladiia nods her head.

How many days has it been since we were contacted by Ægir, Irene?

Eight, Su Santidad.

And outside of the necessary deployments, meetings, and to rest, you've spent those eight days here, watching the sea.

They haven't given us a concrete time frame for their next contact. I understand you don't wish to miss their next move, but...

Look at the sea before you, Irene.

The colors of the deep sea bubble up, nearly indistinguishable from one another. Against the vastness of the ocean surface, the sky seems gloomy.

The water crash against the reef, whipping up waves several meters tall, their roars dashing against this small corner of the land.

By Iberian standards, an ocean without a hint of Sea Terror flesh is a gentle one, no matter how noisy it may be.

An old friend of mine was once the most talented bard of the port.

But after that grand port sank into Silence, he fled north, past the starving masses to the Iberian interior, to the small town that would one day become the capital.

I saw him kneeling by the broken town gates, weeping uncontrollably. From his weeping, the town obtained its new name: Perdonidora. 'Forgiveness has left us.'

However, what people needed at the time was not mourning, but consolation. Many prefer to use the shortened form, Perdoni. 'Forgiveness.'

And now, the last Eye of Iberia, the final legacy of the Golden Age, shines bright once more. What do you think that signals, Irene?

Hope and determination.

'Hope and determination.' Of course.

Ah, youth. The determination in your eyes is brighter than Dario's when he was your age. Good, good.

But those words, as inspiring as they are, are often not the fully correct answer.

After half a century of being pushed back, our front is finally advancing. Soon, this will become the new center of the Inquisition.

But at the same time, we must necessarily bare everything to the ocean. To Seaborn and Ægir alike.

Iberia is stretched thin. This country can no longer hide its exhaustion and sickness. It is a simple fact, plain for all to see.

And there is another fact to consider. We can retreat no further.

Maestro—Ah, it's been a while, Doña Irene.

Indeed it has.

Those clothes suit you.

Th-Thank you.

Ah, right, there's been an emergency. The lighthouse just picked up signals of unknown origin.

They seem to be coming from not the sea, but the sky.

Jordi. I think we can already seen them...

Carmen and Irene are fixated on the distant sky. The young clerk follows suit.

He freezes on the spot.

They see a school of fins soaring through the sky.

What are they?

Bionic drones. The Islanders brought similar creations to land, all those years ago.

The matrix of drones crosses the sea in the blink of an eye, matching the height of the towering lighthouse. One separates itself from the formation and slowly hovers before the three.

Its wings open and close like fins, like a speck of light dancing in the void, and soon after an amiable and charismatic female voice resounds from it.

(Iberian) People of Iberia. Do not be alarmed.

Ægir greets you.

I am Clementia, a technology consul of our Institute of Societal and Administrative Supervision.

Carmen holds his lantern aloft, looking serenely at the drone before him.

Two completely different forms of light face each other, as though in a dialogue between two different civilizations—or a confrontation.

Saint Carmen I Iberia, of the Iberian Inquisition.

I believe this is the first official communication between our nations.

Indeed.

You speak our tongue as well as any Iberian.

I installed an Iberian language module before leaving the home territories. I hope you'll forgive me if I ever use the wrong expression.

Moreover, forgive me for having to contact you in this form, Sir... Iberia.