rogue_3

'Observer, explorer, or survivor... this is our best chance.'

Typhon strokes the piece of fabric she had stashed in her quiver. People brought back this piece of clothing left behind by Valarqvin at that great ring, and since then she has habitually carried it within her quiver and on her person, just as she used to do with the little pieces of snow back when Amma was still around.

Things in Sami have improved. A number of researchers from the megastructure back then had invited her to see the land beyond Sami, to 'see how beautiful the new metal trees made from brand-new materials are.' Typhon did not know if Valarqvin had a hand in this, but she agreed anyway out of nostalgia.

A few years ago, Valarqvin had lost her life in an experiment to activate the megastructure. Just as she prophesized, she walked through the ring into the deep darkness and never returned. The researchers told Typhon, who had not present been present for it, that soon after she entered the megastructure, a Collapsal appeared from the ring, accompanied by a large-scale spatial tear. Most likely, Valarqvin was attacked by it on the other side of the gateway.

––What they failed to mention was the more likely hypothesis. Based current theories, the high-threat Collapsal that the research team was forced to eliminate was most likely Valarqvin herself, whose state of being had changed after passing through the megastructure.

'The failure of that experiment was a great tragedy for us all.' On a vehicle approaching the city, a scholar told Typhon about the research that had been kept under wraps for years, due to pressure from all sides. A maelstrom of conflicting feelings raged through her. 'But, she did bring us extremely valuable observation data, which helped us verify a core hypothesis concerning the megastructure. Everyone respected her as our guide and prophet, which is why we believed she should take the first step in the experiment, on behalf of all of us. We probably should've erected a statue of her somewhere using the new alloy we got from studying the megastructure, but...'

'She doesn't need one.' Typhon finishes the sentence calmly, her eyes fixed on the nomadic city not far away.

'Yeah, that's right. That's what she would've said.'

'After all, the technological prosperity we enjoy now, and more importantly, humanity's lasting peace, are all thanks to her.'

After the incident with the first activation, scholars from every field and intellectuals representing every culture gathered at a conference table at the newly re-secured icefield research base. Though the meeting could not be widely disseminated due to the nature of the Collapsals, it would nevertheless quietly change the fate of mankind.

That was not the first large-scale Collapsal incident to erupt during the restoration of the megastructure, and for the first time, voices calling for an end to the project gained the upper hand. On one side, experts from various fields insisted that people had been making the best use of the mysterious structure, analyzing each and every material within it and exploring the history behind every trace. On the other, their hypothesis had already been verified, the observation results completely lined up with their expectations, and they already understood how this megastructure caused the Collapsal entity to penetrate into reality. From this and other clues, one could conclude that it was the 'gateway' through which the demons launched their initial onslaught on reality, and that the manmade structure and its spatial-stabilizing devices were the culmination of previous confrontations with the demons. While there remain some holes in this line of speculation, it has come to be widely accepted by researchers.

Because there is no longer any more opportunity for debate.

The most important consensus to come from that meeting was that it was potentially possible to safely dismantle the megastructure without exacerbating the spatial rift.

That would be an ideal ultimate solution. Sami had been fighting this enemy of Terra for thousands of years, and it was high time to end the war once and for all.

In the years that followed, the Collapsal incidents reported by the Sami expedition team gradually decreased, which is why Typhon agreed to temporarily leave the country. However, it was not until today that she learned that the expedition team had withdrawn completely from endless icefields, and that the ring at its terminus was dismantled long ago.

That didn't sit well with her.

'This is not the fate that Arges foresaw. She, as well as Amma, did not sacrifice themselves so that we could shut our eyes from our perilous fate.'

'We did see it, which is why we chose to challenge it, to deny it.'

'But our fate is also our future. Arges always said that the gate is also an eye, from which people will be able to see even further––'

Before she finishes speaking, Typhon raises her head.

In front of her eyes, the metallic forests of the Southerners glimmer with silvery light, yet she feels her bow become heavy.

––Nothing is forever, and her weapon recognizes its prey.

'Now, we're trapped here.'

The agent turns the dial, and cacophonous voices pour from the headset.

'...We've already made breakthroughs following the scientific expedition team's report, and the next order of business may be to inform the military. Which is exactly what I was talking about: our collaboration deserves a suitable witness...'

He is currently listening in on a cocktail party held in a sky garden on top of a high-rise a few miles away. In that warm Columbian city, above the party, the participants surrounded by lush greenery are all talking about the icefields of the far north.

The job he must do for his employer—a representative of a tech group attending the party—is to promptly report information to help the other party identify potential partners for collaboration and maximize their benefits from the icefield scientific expedition.

The agent jots down key information, then turns the dial.

'...Nature does not deal in the business of war, Mr. Cliff.'

'As such, leave geopolitical affairs to the experts, lest your expeditioners provoke any further conflict...'

A few more scrawled lines. Another turn of the dial.

A melodious piece of music sounds in the headset, the audiomonitor returning a portion of the noise signal due to a resonance induced by the particular nature of its Originium Arts.

'If these terms suffice to trade for your research results in the enigmatic field of these Collapsals, I would be most honored. Of course, you have plenty of time to think it over. Leithanian hospitality demands that we don't trouble our guests to leave their rooms in the spire.'

The agent compiles the shorthand notes into a brief message, forwards it to his employer, then continues his search at the reception.

He recognizes another familiar voice. This one is usually accompanied by strong footsteps; on previous occasions, people would occasionally hear the tapping of his uniquely-constructed cane against the floor throughout the course of the conversation.

'Thank you. I'm finding myself perfectly at home here.

'A cocktail party attended by the ambitious is but one of many customs shared across the lands.'

'Haha, you're such a kidder, Mr. Maryam... Out of curiosity, does your presence here imply that Rhine Lab has slowed down the pace of its icefield exploration?'

'I'm not the head of that project at Rhine. I'm simply here to slightly reduce the number of people in the way.'

'Haha. In that case, why don't you tell us about that student of yours. What was her name again? Vien–...'

The transmission suddenly experiences severe interference. The agent frowns and tries to adjust the equipment.

But for the rest of the night, there is nothing but the monotonous sound of static in his headset.

'I am seriously wondering if there's any meaning to what we're doing, Raidian.'

A young Rhodes Island operator squats in the corner of the building, carefully handling the weapons he just retrieved from the assassin.

'This whole conspiracy's spreading as fast as Originium crystals after a Catastrophe. Even if we nab a few assassins here and a few agents there, there are still countless eyes out there fixated on what comes of this expedition. To be honest, after all the stories my grandparents told me about the horrors of the battlefield, I find it hard to believe that all these forces are so willing to put aside their vendettas just to explore the icefields together.'

'But explorers will always keep pressing forward,' responds the elite operator next to him.

'All we can do is slightly reduce the number of people in the way. Oh, right, has our channel been secured yet? We should start handing out the invitations.'

The people involved in the megastructure restoration project gaze at the nightscape across the other end of the icefield from the basecamp. The last round of power supply testing had just ended, and all is well. Kal'tsit has arranged for each engineering team to rest for twelve hours.

After the twelve hours, the basecamp will activate the megastructure for the first time.

But few are able to sleep soundly right now, especially the scientific expedition team members who will be first to pass through the megastructure; only Typhon was able to slip into her sleeping bag on the spot, and even she was woken up by Magallan.

On the other side of those gigantic doors may lie some brand new dimension, but it is more likely than not to be some boring, rocky desert expanse, a dead end with no return, or a failed experiment gone up in a ball of flames. Expeditioners have long been accustomed to walking alongside the unknown, but it is precisely because of that persistent apprehension and anticipation that they still resolve to explore.

Beyond the potential discoveries that the megastructure might bring about, Magallan can see further. To minimize certain conflicts, the first batch of expedition members were carefully selected to balance a wide gamut of factors, but the subsequent competition over various interests—if there even <i>are</i> any benefits to be reaped—is inevitable.

When she first stepped out into the icefield, these thoughts wouldn't have crossed her mind.

Now, as she looks at the friends who have assisted her on her excursions into the icefields over the years, she decides that, for the time being, it is not the time for explorers to be carrying that weight.

Typhon will serve as the primary combatant along with two Snowpriests to protect against anomalous Collapsal threats after passing through the megastructure. Santalla chose to stay behind in this cold, familiar land to witness the end of the Samifjod's struggle against calamity—or perhaps a new beginning. No matter what sort of data the megastructure reveals, it will all be carried upon the wind and snow, passing through the solid ice that has entombed countless souls.

The Cyclops continues to stare at the megastructure. Her people have spanned thousands of years, finally coming into contact with their own prophecy. 'Fate does not end here.' Valarqvin says nothing more than this. She simply continues to repeat it, and Magallan has no way to tell if she has gazed across to the other side of the megastructure.

In the command center, a lone figure stands before the observation window.

Perhaps this was an extremely rare moment for the Doctor to relax and be alone in the basecamp, but Magallan does not overthink things as she steps forward to their side.

Rhodes Island clearly had its expectations for this megastructure. 'But Doctor, what are <i>you</i> hoping for?' Magallan asks.

The Doctor remains silent.

Twelve hours later, preparations are complete.

Standing at such a close distance, Magallan can no longer see the entirety of the megastructure, only the shadows constantly flowing by.

She recalls the Doctor's answer.

'Myself.'

Whatever imagination people cast into the abyss of the unknown can only ever be their own shadow.

So go forth. See with your own eyes. Turn the unknown into the known, and search for new possibilities.

Go and find yourself.

Magallan climbs up from the mushy vines.

Caught in their surprisingly sturdy lattice is the rockhorn she is still riding, along with the Sami shaman steering it. The beast had started charging wildly in its fright, the accompanying wooden doll now slumped in a forest clearing because the shaman was momentarily unable to maintain its Arts.

Magallan pushes aside the branches obscuring her view, and notices someone standing curiously in front of the massive wooden doll. After thinking for a moment, the man reaches out and carefully touches the doll's dangling arm.

As soon as he makes contact with it, the doll creakily rises up in a farcical posture and makes a gesture somewhat akin to a salute, but Magallan cannot tell what tribe's custom this is.

She assumed the shaman was simply trying to show courtesy, but when she turns her head, she finds that the shaman is even more astonished than she is. The doll is moving on its own, not by means of any Arts. When the stranger notices them, he and the doll both turn their heads in unison, as if they are mirror images of one another.

Magallan surmises that the lifesaving vines beneath her feet were also woven by this person's Originium Arts, so she reaches out to express her gratitude. However, the other responds with nothing more than a kind smile.

After a brief spell of silence, the man then looks inquisitively at Magallan and the shaman, a few syllables bubbling up from his throat.

The two exchange hesitant glances. If this is some language, then it is one that neither of them understand.

The man pauses for a moment, then seems to switch to a different language. It is as if he patiently combing through every language he knows, like some sort of probe, or a proof of the historical record's evolution over time.

Suddenly, Magallan catches on to a few relatively familiar syllables, and the shaman repeats the words back.

As if in confirmation, the man raises his hand, and guides the vines into a shape. It is one of the fodartals that Sami gives shape to upon the trees, the denotation of the Sami language from his lips.

''Arrival.' Yes, arrival.' The shaman nods in approval, expecting this to be the start of a dialogue.

But the other side simply shows a satisfied smile, and speaks no more.

Magallan comes to the sudden realization that this person was not looking for a way to communicate with them, but rather used those changing languages to determine who they were. With his question answered, his interest in them also ends.

A number of conjectures form in her mind.

'What about you?' She addresses the man. 'Who are you?'

She believes that the other side is capable of communicating in words, but he sets his sights on the wooden doll and reaches out towards it again.

—Magallan had heard from her good friend Muelsyse that the elves of Sami have been living in the embrace of the Great Tree for thousands of years. They have formed reclusive communities in a unique manner, studying their own history so long that the answers now twist into the riddle itself.

The elf begins to make the plants around her grow. Magallan thought that perhaps he would weave a manifold just like Muelsyse, as a way of expressing his self-awareness.

He ponders. The plants first form the figure of an upright human, which then bends down like a beast running on all fours. The slender stems and leaves gradually form more complex images in the air, shifting like a kaleidoscope that dazzles and bewilders both Magallan and the shaman.

The elf seems to be retracing, searching for something.

Finally, he looks over at the rockhorn saddle to the side.

The plants slowly congeal into a very irregular shape, one obviously not born from nature.

The elf bends down and almost reverently scoops up a handful of soil, sprinkling it on his plants.

'Is that something you're used to doing?' Magallan asks hesitantly. 'What is that?'

The elf does not stop to explain.

Then, the vines hold up his tiny handiwork and deliver it into the wooden doll's broad palm.

The elf wants the wooden golem to take it.

Is that his answer, or his gift? Magallan thinks as she looks at its hands.

For whatever reason, she suddenly feels as if the wooden puppet holding the little arboreal craft in its hands is like a small child holding on to a paper airplane, imagining it flying through the air.

A Sami tribe makes offerings before their clan tree.

In the beginning, Sami made a promise with Her people, and the first group of warriors followed the guidance of the cracked tree into the distant and unknown north. At the time, the Samifjod did not know how long that journey would be, and so when the warriors did not return, the shamans held ceremonies, attempting to converse with the departed warriors, asking whether they would be able to return and honor their promises to Sami.

Now, Treescar–– the tribe perennially stationed in the north, knows that the warriors who have not returned will never again answer, because their souls have been tainted by the void. Nevertheless, as part of a millennia-old tradition, the shamans continue to ask in hushed whispers: 'Can we still honor our promises to Sami?'