rogue_3

'The expedition records will be handed over to Miss Arges, who will locate a Messenger to bring them back to Rhine Lab.

'She is watching me write these last few lines. Waiting to deal with the 'contamination' I caused.'

Rhine Lab Scientific Investigation Section. The recorder is currently entering the logbook of Jon, deceased Scientific Investigation member. Much of it is covered in black liquid, and she is struggling to decipher the text.

The logbook chronicles the largest exploration of the endless icefields since the establishment of Scientific Investigation, and likely the last. More than a dozen explorers, including Director Maryam, perished in the sudden extreme weather. This diary was brought back by a Sami local. According to records, when she discovered Jon, the final survivor of the team, she only had time to watch him finish writing his suicide note.

The recorder turns another page.

'It's possible that she's not even looking at me. It's as if she's talking to the air above my head.'

After that, a large number of meaningless lines are left on the paper in ballpoint pen, crisscrossing several pages in a row.

On the next intact page, there is only one line, completely unlike the previous text:

'I'll never be able to see that future again.'

Santalla chases after the black footprints alone.

She had heard of Ursus's Royal Guard. The arrogant people of Ursus who went as far as to declare the permanent damage they inflicted upon the land their 'Dominion.' Wheresoever their absurd ambitions might extend into Sami, Santalla must deny them, put a halt to them.

It has become incredibly difficult to press forward. The footprints left by the enemy have become intermittent. Sometimes, they seem to cross a natural chasm in a single stride; sometimes, they seem to vanish into thin air. At other times, they seem to leave behind abnormal weather and dead beasts in their wake. Despite this, Santalla still catches up to the black shadow.

When she finally catches a glimpse of its appearance, she finally understands her own fate as well.

That corrupted monster could no longer be killed, only stopped at best. And the shaman, just like the resolute ice, would have her footsteps frozen here forever.

The expedition is proceeding smoothly. Before the team embarked, the Cyclops had predicted with unparalleled accuracy the various troubles they would encounter. The only thing left for them to do was figure out how to carefully circumvent, or, as inexperienced amateurs, how to resolve the foreseen crises. In their opinion, this isn't particularly difficult.

The squad successfully arrives at the hillside where the black hornbeast dwells, and sends the Messenger accompanying them back to report on the expedition's status.

As the prophecy said, there is no day here, only starry nights. Everyone feels their heads spinning, either due to nerves or excitement. Perhaps the unique gemstone deposits she had foreseen are nearby.

'When I set out, the people trying to stop me said she can't actually see the future at all.' To lighten the atmosphere, one of the squad members jeered loudly, 'If you ask me, those cowards were probably just afraid that she went crazy and got a bit TOO accurate.'

Hearing their voices, another expedition team emerges from the darkness of the valley.

The explorers who had just arrived cheer even louder. They rush forward to embrace the first living people they've seen on their journey.

But their laughter stops abruptly.

Because what they face beneath those thick clothes are pitch-black voids.

The Messenger brings the report to Arges. Their whereabouts become a secret forever submerged in the shadows, their story becoming part of the Cyclops's prophecies.

For a long time now, the only thing that's remained in the Cyclops' eye is a singular tragedy.

All she can see is an apocalyptic ring.

Rhodes Island continues to receive signals from the research outpost.

Due to a certain decision, the landship docked near Sami half a month ago. Kal'tsit and the Doctor had already led a small team away towards the icefield. At first, the stationed operator thought it was intel sent back by the Rhodes Island team after successfully reaching the outpost. However, the intermittent signal did not match the voiceprint of any Rhodes Island operator, and the report contained a large amount of professional jargon, possibly involving confidential research results.

The signal was quickly cut off. Over the next half month, every signal sent from the research outpost was dead silence.

By the time they ceased entirely, Rhodes Island had received a total of seventy-five meaningless transmissions. A week after the signals stopped coming, the Rhodes Island team returned to the landship. Everyone kept silent about the situation in Sami and the icefield. Kal'tsit and the Doctor began dispatching Messengers to every corner of the land.

They already know one thing for certain. Rhodes Island only received the signal by chance, because the user had found the sole method of transmitting their message.

And despite the fact that research into the icefields has been suspended indefinitely, some are still encouraging outsiders to continue exploring through perilous secret passages, even delineating clear routes for these persistent explorers.

In that research station, one visitor after another had carried out their final obsession before becoming completely corrupted.

They had cried hopelessly and silently for Sami, through the only channel left to them.

There is no need to look back at where we came from. No matter how many warriors and explorers were buried by the snowstorm, no matter how many of their kind gave their lives to raise the veil against demonic encroachment, the Cyclopes and the outcast who ignored the order of morality had finally reached the end of the icefields.

Now, the giant ring looms in front of them, just as prophesized, its awe-inspiring beauty completely incongruous with the icefield.

It should have been a way out, a door to the future. It is the star the oracle had looked up to in her dreams countless times.

It looked... full of hope.

After countless sacrifices, after countless people apologizing and entrusting her with things in their dying breaths, she had no choice but to be hopeful about it.

The oracle reaches out to the star.

Nobody follows. Nobody cheers her feat. And no star falls to the earth.

After a period of time no longer possessing any linear meaning, only the same deep void remains, both inside and outside the door.

'I write this letter with immense guilt upon learning that you are a former rescue squad member who has left Sami. The vast majority of people are indifferent to Sami, so I can only turn to you with this request.'

While at Rhodes Island, Qanipalaat receives a letter.

The sender is a Columbian plant enthusiast. When he entered the Myrkwood to observe its ecology, he was unfortunately beset by a snowstorm. The vehicle he was driving was struck by a giant falling tree, and half the car was buried beneath the falling snow. Fortunately, a member of the rescue squad located him and blew the rock horn to call for help. Everyone worked hard to drag the injured man out of the car and transfer him to an open area nearby.

But what happened next filled him with regrets. When the rescue squad members tried to use Arts to melt the ice and snow freezing the trunk of the vehicle, heat-inducing Arts triggered an explosion of the Originium fuel inside the vehicle, causing members of the rescue squad caught in the epicenter of the accident to suffer varying degrees of burns and show signs of Oripathy infection. Furthermore, two members were left disabled due to their lack of experience in dealing with such traumas.

'We're the ones who brought these Originium machines over, yet we're unable to solve the problems they cause. If Sami's rescue team had more experience communicating with the outside, or if more disaster relief from other countries were willing to come here, we might've been better prepared to deal with these technology-related accidents.

'Maybe, that explosion would never have happened in the first place.'

No news from tranquil Sami. Čappat's intercity net is rarely updated, limited mostly to tourism inquiries from Columbian visitors. At the office Volvort Kochinski opened in this small town, two on-duty researchers are chatting about news that a newly-opened tourism route had caused the disappearance of several tour groups.

Outside the window, a passing local stops to look inside.

'Excuse me, are you looking for someone?' The researcher walks outside and greets her in broken Sami.

She shakes her head and responds in Columbian: 'There's nothing I want to see here,' before turning and walking away.

Two years later, the office left Čappat amidst a wave of departures. The work of sifting through data is coming to an end. The researcher breathes a sigh of a relief and lifts his head emotionally to look at the scenery of the desolate town street.

The window spanning from floor to ceiling reflects his own uniform-clad figure. The figure looks back at him, but he sees another pair of eyes through the reflection.

They are the lightly-colored eyes of a Sami woman.

The Cyclops had foreseen Eikthyrnir's sacrifice, but was still one step too late. She called out to the center of the battlefield, but the gravely wounded Snowpriest already lacked the strength to respond.

Through all of this, what supported the hero of Sami in his fight against demonic corruption was a figure who had already passed away.

When Eikthyrnir looked through his dimming eyes for the last time, at the land he had so fervently blessed, what kept his scarred body from being transfigured was the longing he held for his wife. However, it was not the memory of her itself, but rather the mantra he repeatedly told himself – 'I must remember her.' Remembering a soul that had been contaminated by the demons; a restless, nameless soul that became her last trace in this world.

This lingering obsession dissipated into thin air with a vague call from the aether –– he realized that he could no longer remember the voice of his beloved.

'Why did the people of the tribe give me a wooden shield instead of a staff when they announced my coming-of-age?'

'Because you'd lose the shield.'

'Why do you want to go to the icefields of the northern reaches?'

'Because I saw a door open at their end.'

'You don't make any sense. No wonder nobody wants to talk to you!'

'Once destiny reveals its course, there is no distinction between cause and effect.

'However, if some things are destined to happen, I at least hope that I can change the order in which they arrive.'

'The order?'

'...You're still a child, and I'd never invite you on this terribly long journey. However, are you determined to follow me anyway?'

The dying boy lies on the ground, recalling the fateful prophecy revealed to him by the Cyclops just moments ago.

'You've chosen to bring your own death forward to this moment... a moment when the calamity that will swallow all of Sami has yet to occur.

'You were unable to die a hero's death, but at the very least, you were able to see the silver icefields in this lifetime.'

Guided by the Cyclops, several forest shamans who once safeguarded the tribe are about to head north.

Due to the recent series of strange phenomena, the tribe is in disarray. The well-learned Cyclops intervened just in time to inform them of the danger that lurked in the northern icefields. Meanwhile, the Cyclops promised that through her foresight, she would do her best to bring everyone back safe and sound.

Thus, the tribe held a brief farewell ceremony for the shamans, adorning their staves with branches and leaves from the clan tree.

But what they did not know was that the oracle herself had long been unable to see the true face of fate. She had raised her hand and pointed northward, only to grope around in the darkness in search of a possible path.

Magallan rummaged through her equipment bag for quite some time, but couldn't find anything that would appeal to a Samifjod. Of course, Columbian gold certificates were right out, and so were experimental materials. And freeze-dried biscuits didn't seem to suit their tastes either. For the first time in Sami, she hadn't prepared very well.

The hunter she was attempting to trade with shakes her head in dissatisfaction. This small group of hunters from outside the tribe were willing to lend aid to people lost in the deep forest, and did not mind escorting the team, even to faraway places, but Magallan is unable to offer them suitable recompense, and therefore has to leave in frustration.

Half a day later, the hunters catch up to her. This time, they have a tall Sarkaz among them.

The hunters inform them that the Cyclops had already traded with them, and paid even for Magallan's share. As such, they now travel together with a common goal.

Magallan looks at the strange Sarkaz with astonishment. She seems to have a pair of eyes that can penetrate people's thoughts. Before Magallan can even voice her doubts, she replies.

'Because I've seen you before.' She answers tragically.

There are no roads in the icefields, only a vast silvery-white expanse with no end in sight. But this is exactly the kind of long journey that Typhon enjoys.

Arges gazes at the future, but Typhon's eyes must focus on the present – and the crisis in front of her.

So many times, Typhon could only watch on in regret as the outline of her back gradually disappeared. But now, for the first time ever, she is traveling with Arges.

Arges remains cautious and silent as usual, and does not explain her goals. But Typhon does not ask either.

She doesn't need to. Just by observing, she can tell what the Cyclops had foreseen: they avoided the demons' footsteps, found an underground cave in time to escape the blizzard, and discovered geological structures that could serve as large natural shelters. When Arges's gaze suddenly stopped on the flower blooming suddenly upon the ice, Typhon looked at her expression and thought: this is what she had been searching for. And nobody understands her better.

'Please help me send the flower back to Čappat, to a certain Columbian.' And so, Arges makes a request of her. 'Also, I need to find a group of lost southerners.'

But the scientific expedition team lost in the snowfield never returned to town, and the flower was never delivered.

Typhon's footsteps would finally cease in the course of her most beloved journey. Through the 'flower,' the demons sensed her. The shadow had caught up to her.

And this is where the collapse of all evolution begins.

Arges sits in the darkness away from the campfire, meditating alone.

To be more precise, she is just thinking. The Cyclops had not entered a meditative state for a long time. It had been replaced by real dreams and nightmares, as well as the pain caused by her gradually worsening Oripathy.

She has already accompanied Magallan into the icefields on several occasions, while also reaching out to encourage anyone and everyone to explore the icefields in search of information. Of course, she no longer saw the possibility in the Columbians she had once seen, and thus needed to seek out new possibilities to see a different outcome at the end of the icefields.

However, she never saw the ring at the end of the icefield light up again.

Contact with the outside world only brought her a clearer perception of the passage of time.

The flourishing and withering of nature, and the fate of birth and old age, sickness and death, were no longer merely drops of water falling on a rock wall.

What should she do to transplant the lifeline guided by fate? She is willing to do whatever it takes, but how?

Arges lifts her head and takes a deep breath.

For some inexplicable reason, she thinks that a certain tragedy she had foreseen is due to happen now.

So she watches the dark shadows cast over the campfire where the explorers are sitting.

She does not raise her voice to warn them, instead she simply gets up and leaves quietly.