rogue_2

Until this question has been answered, he cannot escape from this place.

The Ægir never thought of himself as someone who could hallucinate. But as soon as the pure white silence ends, a sharp pain begins to scream out, the shadows of lifeforms about to teem forth emerge from the distant ocean, and at the far end of his fragmented vision—

He sees a figure that should not be there.

Though its body has transformed into that of a pure Seaborn, an uncanny intuition helps Thorns recognize that he is looking at his former mentor.

Not so much by its physical form, but rather by a flash of enlightenment across the membrane of cognition the moment his eyes make contact with the monster.

In that instant, what once seemed like layers upon layers of contradictions in the past all unravel, answered.

The Iberian priest who had imparted him invaluable knowledge had, since the very beginning, been part of the Deep.

The priest from the Deep stands upon the broken shore, bringing with it not terror, but rather peace. The Sea Terrors circle it, emitting soft whispers of joy; the Seaborn shake their slender wrist-appendages, swaying in the tide. Pure and clean are they among we many, swaying gently in the tide. The evening sun sets behind the priest's back, its grey shadow gently reflected by the ocean's surface in scattered polka-dots. The priest stands there, looking at him.

'What a joyous reunion, my child.'

From within the ubiquitous whispers comes an emotion. One that we many should not possess, one that belonged to an individual.

'You yearn for the ocean you have never met, yet also worry about your ancestral lands.'

'Is that the reason you remain here, unwilling to retreat?'

'Within your blood still flows the gift I left for you. It should not have meant anything, but you've already spent too long with we many...'

'You seem to still be hesitating, wandering, searching for something?'

'Did you find what you were looking for here?'

'The will of we many will subsume that of the individual, though there will always be exceptions.'

'It may not be the most optimal of paths, but my extensive thoughts have brought me here.'

'As for you, do you have your answer?'

The priest holds out his hand.

The brood begins to blossom, the offspring of the sea extending their tendrils towards him.

'You must think for yourself, and make your own decision.'

'You must make a choice.'

'How I wish you could embark upon the path most suited for you, my child.'

The Seaborn's voice brushes across the surface of the sea like ripples stirred by the wind, diffusing outward layer by layer.

Thorns can understand this voice.

All this time, the person he is facing has always taught him to maintain his independent thought.

If all previous approaches to verification have failed, and new hypotheses are established, then...

Will the option in front of him help him find the answer he seeks?

At the terminus of his life, will this option in front of him be the answer he sought?

The sun sets within Thorns's eyes.

We Many do not immediately march upon the land, but instead gradually retreat.

The sacred mural is scattered and broken.

Silver and gold pour onto the ocean's surface.

The Ægir raises his sword and points its tip at the priest.

For how long has this city held?

A few days? A week? Or a month?

Desperation continues to grow, but the people continue to dwindle.

The team that went out for reconnaissance was unable to return. The communication equipment they used was brought back by a dying inquisitor, their last report stored within the broken-down machine. At the end of the recording is a brief and peaceful farewell.

His companions had drawn their last breath fighting against the Seaborn. The soldiers fell into a swarm of Sea Terrors. The medic exhausted the last bit of his energy staining a tool for healing with the blood of his enemies.

The guards responsible for holding the line boldly erected barriers so the people could retreat, barely holding back the Sea Terrors and Seaborn until the town could stand no longer, their still-running equipment buzzing defiantly until it too finally ceased.

But Thorns still remains here, striding forward as everything else recedes, cutting through the lines of people evacuating inland like a countercurrent rushing out to sea.

The Ægir stands alone on the coast, a fluorescent reagent resting in his hand.

When he made this potion, he knew he would have to use it one day.

As for where its raw ingredients came from and how they were processed, only Thorns, who had cut through the overgrown body of his transfigured mentor, knows.

Is it green? Or is it blue?

Who can say for sure what the color of the sea is? Thorns cannot, but he knows one thing well – he will come to embrace it.

He is the sole human here. Countless progeny of the sea surround him, but do not attack. They considerately allow him a moment to himself.

No matter if right and wrong have been turned inside-out, no matter how the truth is interpreted, Thorns has made up his mind.

He must come to understand what has always been calling out to him. He needs to know that which can no longer be hidden.

He needs to know: when he becomes one with them, will he still be able to wound the sea itself?

This is a quandary that has never ceased to plague his thoughts. Every day in which he still does not understand is a day he will spend continuing his search.

Thorns has always been searching for this answer.

He is confident in himself, and believes that even if his consciousness is washed away, he will still remain clear-minded.

He has also considered the possibility that even if he loses this gamble... the Doctor knows exactly what his weaknesses are. As long as the Doctor exists, everything can still be resolved.

There is nothing holding him back anymore.

At this moment, all he needs to do is follow through on his own thoughts and decisions.

The self-aware Ægir presses down on the far end of the potion.

And slowly pushes his homeland into his body.

'A soldier and an Ægir. Two things you'd hardly ever see together back in the old days.'

Someone steps out from the shadows. Her whole body is clad in black, but the sword in her hand shines with a silver glow.

The intruders did not expect anyone else to be in this cave. They had withdrawn from their post on the cliff. The fourth tsunami had leveled most of their defenses overlooking the tidal zone, and also cut off their communications with the main force. Their whole way here, the endless ocean and its Sea Terrors had clung to their heels. The only two survivors are a soldier and a watchtower worker. They are both wounded, fatigued, hungry, and full of apprehension about the road both ahead of and behind them.

'Are you an Inquisitor?' asks the Ægir cautiously. The sharp blade pointed at them easily brings back old memories.

'You should recognize my sword and lantern.' The speaker is now clear of the shadows. She is not holding the flames of castigation, but her lantern rests on the rock behind her.

The soldier hesitates to lower his weapon. 'How could there be an Inquisitor around here? The defense line has collapsed. They've all either died, or retreated inland.'

'My duties are not yet complete. The last watchtower still stands, and the people are still standing their ground upon that cliff. Similarly, the ones who've returned to the sea will not give up trying to contact us.'

The person beneath the black cloak looks back towards the shoreline.

'If you want to make it inland from this cave, you won't get far without light. Ægir, pick up the lantern and follow me.'

The lantern's faint light spills across the cave's slippery walls, and the shadows of the three figures grow lengthy.

'You must be familiar with the rumors too.' The soldier whispers in a hushed voice. 'The Seaborn disguise themselves as humans. First, they infiltrated the church, then the army. Finally, ordinary towns as well. That's how the last outpost fell.'

They have no way of knowing if the person in front of them is actually an Inquisitor. But the Ægir knows they have no other choice.

The Ægir knows the soldier is telling the truth. Before the war began, people from the Inquisition taught them how to recognize sea monsters in human skin. Whether Sea Terror or Seaborn, they could only imitate a human's walking posture, but actually had to rely on pushing their chitinous exoskeletons or tentacles against the ground. These would be revealed if they suddenly fell, or were made to move quickly.

But that was the past. Evolution is their specialty, after all. Half a month ago, a forward base received a distress signal from a nearby battle site and sent a team to rescue a group of remnants trapped by an army of Sea Terrors. That night, the forward base fell. Even its fortifications were unable to serve their purpose, because it was breached from the inside.

Nobody could say for certain whether the Sea Terrors imitated the soldiers after devouring them, or if the soldiers accepted the metamorphosis themselves out of desperation. People came to realize that the faces most familiar to them could turn into enemies at any moment. Fear and mistrust spread among the people, and the defense lines started collapsing faster and faster.

Researchers claimed that the biological nature of the Seaborn would prevent them from ever understanding what it means to conspire. Most likely, they simply smelled the 'metamorphosis' of their kin among the crowd of people, and were eager to approach them, to communicate with them in a more easily acceptable form, and to welcome them home.

But the vast majority of people scoffed at this. For humanity, this was a war. During times of war, people always use the ways they are most familiar with to understand their enemy.

'What if this is also a trap? She didn't come to save us, but to lead us into the abyss.' The soldier speaks through gritted teeth, eyes bloodshot from excessive fatigue. 'We can't sit back waiting to die. You might not have a home to return to anymore, but I do. I have to get back to Victoria.'

He raises his weapon once more, and rushes at the guide in front of him.

The shadows along the stone wall entangle, gradually deforming, elongating, expanding, splitting open, and then bursting forth. A blue-green fluid splashes across the rocks, with some bits of tissue sticking to the Ægir's face.

'A pitiful man.' The one who remains standing wipes down her rapier. 'He misunderstood where his desire to attack me came from. Until the moment of his death, he still saw himself as a Victorian soldier, waiting for the war to end so he could go back to his hometown.'

'When did he...'

'During the last battle, or maybe even before that. He probably doesn't remember himself. Maybe he accidentally bit off some of the enemy's flesh in the middle of a desperate melee, thus planting the seeds of metamorphosis.' She glances over at the surviving Ægir. 'Everyone on the battlefield wants desperately to survive, which isn't too different from the Sea Terrors.'

The eyes beneath her hood burn brightly. Without a doubt, she must be an Inquisitor. The Ægir instinctively recoils and spits a few times, fearing that the soldier's lingering cells might slip into his mouth.

The two continue walking, one in front, one in back. The stench in the cave grows stronger and stronger.

'So many Sea Terror carcasses... Did you slay them all yourself?'

'I couldn't allow them to climb onto the cliff.'

'You... How long have you been here, fighting by yourself?'

'Not long enough.' She shakes her head. 'I once... knew a captain. He called his ship the true Iberia. For his Iberia, he held out for sixty years.'

'Sixty years...'

'We probably don't have that much time left. But as long as there are people still on the coastline, Iberia will not go down that easily.' She speaks softly. 'And I won't go down that easily either.'

They come to a narrow mountain crevice. There are no more Sea Terrors here, and the air outside is faintly palpable.

'You'll have to take the road below by yourself. Take my lantern with you.'

'What about you then?'

'Me? You still haven't figured it out yet? If you're that stupid, you must be pretty lucky to still be alive.' Her voice even holds a slight trace of laughter. 'I once met another Ægir like you. Who knows, the two of you might just survive until the very end.'

Though the two clearly remain still, a shadow along the stone wall suddenly moves. Something slender slips out from beneath her cloak, and squirms a few times before shrinking back.'Shadow'

Only then does the Ægir understand why this person never carried her own lantern along the way.

It turns out, the soldier guessed correctly. But if even an Ægir can lift the lantern of an Inquisitor, does the question of identity really matter anymore?

'This lantern is the symbol of the Inquisition, given light by the will of an Inquisitor. And now it is yours, Ægir. Now, more than ever, your path... Iberia's path, is in need of light.'

The Ægir holds on tight to the Inquisitor's lantern.

'What about you? Once I reach a safe place, I'll send people back to help...' The Ægir then thinks of the hand hidden beneath the cloak, realizing that these words have probably long since lost their meaning to the person in front of him.

'At least tell me your name.'