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The sea is black.

I was four or five at the time. Old Thiago, the mayor of Gran Faro, took an armed company of adults down to the coast.

I still remember what the weather was like back then. It was hazy and turbulent, and colder than most evenings despite still being afternoon. Its coldness was not a temperature, but rather a color. One that had lost its warmth.

I found out only later that that was the last time Gran Faro did maintenance work on the Eye of Iberia. Or rather, tried to.

The Penal Battalion quickly brought back news. There was dejection in the adults' faces, but I didn't fully understand what had happened. I simply stared at the junction between sea and sky in a daze.

The sea is black.

It perfectly suits this land devoid of hope.

Mayor Thiago is here!

So what old Pedri said was true, Amaia.

Even if I wished to deny it, I'd be quickly silenced by the reality in front of our eyes.

But, what kind of person could slay a monster, then off-handedly toss it here?

I hope you'll let me handle this.

That...

If we don't dispose of it properly, I'm afraid it could become a danger down the road. Besides, is this not a rare opportunity to study a Sea Terror?

...Very well. But I'll be coming with you.

None of us know exactly what this thing is just yet, and we certainly can't rule out the possibility that its blood might attract more of its kind.

No objections here.

With me, lads. Move aside, so I can wrap up this body—

...Well, it's not as heavy as it looks. So where to, Amaia?

Follow me.

Don't just stand there gaping. Hurry on home now, people.

Are we really not going to report this to the Inquisition? What do we do if more monsters show up?

There's no need to get them involved.

But—

I said, we don't need 'em!

Ugh...

Thiago.

This town doesn't need the Penal Battalion interfering just yet. We'll handle things our own way.

If the Inquisition sent its people here and saw this thing, you'd never see another peaceful day in Gran Faro. Do you really not understand that?

But— Never mind, forget it.

Let's go, Amaia.

We're really just going to listen to him?

Old Thiago's hatred for the Inquisition goes back more than a day or two, but if something really were to happen without the Penal Battalion here, who's gonna fight the monsters? Us?

Plus, there've been more and more outsiders lately. It's like Thiago doesn't even see them. If they were to blend in with the outsiders...

I knew it, we really should send someone to the Inquisition! How are we supposed to explain all this if someone from the Penal Battalion does show up? I don't want to get branded a heretic!

Miss Amaia... and what's with that author over there...?

Let's touch base with the other members of AUS first. I feel like we can't just ignore all this.

Is the chapel normally this deserted? What happened to your God and your faith?

Not every Iberian is a practicing Lateran. Miss Alty, the town has become quite dangerous, and I need to ensure your safety until Dr. Kal'tsit arrives.

Might as well put on a show here then. Some music would help calm everyone's nerves.

Haha, that's not what I meant.

Then calm down. Let me take a stab at what I think happened.

Uhh...

Hmm... I saw... some kind of sea creature. Right, you guys called it a Sea Terror. Whether the Iberians or Kal'tsit were first to call it that doesn't really matter to me.

A Sea Terror beneath a cruelly dry sky, its observant and analytical scales with nowhere to belong. It knows very well that this is not its home. It lives, back home.

I've got it! That Sea Terror was probably hung high up on that sculpture, and it was singing the latest wave of rock-'n'-roll. Right?

...It wasn't hung up there. Nor was it singing. But you got like eighty or ninety percent of it down.

You've surprised me again, Miss Alty. Was that your Arts?

Who's to say that death itself isn't just another kind of song? That's what it taught me. And it's a real travesty of nature that the beauty of it can't be appreciated across species.

What do you think?

Fortunately, such an artform is not required by all organisms.

D-Dr. Kal'tsit! How come I couldn't get a hold of you this whole time...?

Long story short, I'm under the surveillance of the Iberian Inquisition in exchange for their trust.

We don't have much time, but the task before us is grave. Operator Elysium, go keep an eye on the two who took the Sea Terror's body away. I need to speak with Alty alone.

...Understood.

Here's a communicator. You should already be familiar with my Originium Arts, so you can also, uh, pass it on to your colleagues.

Will do.

I know you prefer to keep handovers quick and efficient, but let me say this: I'm so relieved that you're safe and sound.

If I discover anything, I'll report back right away. Heading out.

Mm. Appreciate it.

Long time no see, Doctor.

Miss Alty.

Sorry for making you come all this way. I understand this involves putting yourselves at risk to some extent.

So why are you under surveillance? You couldn't just cut a deal with them?

Time is short, and Iberia's paranoia masquerading as piety prevents me from meeting with the Inquisition's upper echelons.

Hmm... Are you in a hurry?

The other countries still do not understand what we are dealing with. They are unable to comprehend how a vast, mighty land in its Golden Age disappeared into the Silence.

And I... may as well have witnessed it with my own eyes.

Fair enough.

Where are the others?

We rarely get to go on a tour, so let them enjoy some free time. What you want is right here.

I came to you for the same reason as last time.

That said, I have little love for the sea these days. Especially after hearing what you had to say about it.

Hopefully you've had enough time to make up your mind.

Before we get to that, Doctor... Doesn't it seem like you've been working on... let's call it your bedside manner?

Like, uh, an X-ray machine with a voice greeting?

Whoops. Put my foot in my mouth again. You should already be used to that though, right?

But how quaint indeed. I didn't think anything could possibly change the way you dealt with people. Or should I say, your 'personality.'

There's always something.

Alright. Maybe I'd rather not pry into your personal affairs...

...He's here. He's still here, and it's not just him. There's more. The scent of the sea. Since when were there so many Ægir in this little town?

The Inquisition planned it.

Maybe. Maybe even now, at this very moment, there are still Inquisitors, their heads addled with their ignorant laws, intent on continuing their self-righteous deeds.

When did you have the time to wrap yourself up after escaping from the enemy?

...An Ægir helped me.

A friend?

No, just... an Ægir who loves the sea.

What do we do about our brother's body?

It's currently in the hands of Amaia and Thiago. We'll have to figure something out.

We ought to prepare a funeral for it.

A funeral is a human ritual, not ours.

Amaia has said that we should live the way our hearts dictate. Pure in desire, pure in worship, just as those ignorant Inquisitors treat their own faith.

Would that not make us equally ignorant?

Ignorance is a part of our very nature we have yet to throw away. We have not yet become them.

Sophistry.

That, I can't deny. But do you wish to see the land-dwellers torment the corpse of our brother?

Long have we lived on land, with no Herald to guide us. All we can do is seek out our own way of embracing the ocean.

But before that... we should give our brother a proper burial. We ought to mourn any senseless death.

Who would be able to slay this creature with such ease? Thiago?

What?

I'd understand if it had been surrounded by four or five Penal Battalion soldiers, or if it took the Flames of Castigation from an Inquisitor's lantern.

But... this poor Sea Terror has but a single wound on its body.

While I've never personally seen the rumored High Inquisitors fight, I'd imagine that if anyone in all of Iberia could pull this off, it'd be them.

Impossible! Nobody has seen an Inquisitor come to Gran Faro!

But our little town, which rarely sees any outsiders, has been welcoming visitor after visitor as of late. Surely this can't all be due to the Inquisition's negligence, right?

That...

Perhaps the marching of the Penal Battalion cannot be hidden from our ears, but what of the Inquisitors? If they changed out of their uniforms and concealed their lanterns and swords, how would we ever know?

You mean to say that an Inquisitor might already be here? Hidden among the outsiders?

I'm saying it's a possibility.

...I'm going on a little walk.

Thiago!

I'm sure even you understand that most people would rather have the Inquisitors help them get rid of the Sea Terrors.

I know. Of course I know. I wouldn't hate a beast for no reason. But I WILL hate those people. Those... Inquisitors.

*Sigh*...

Amaia gently caresses the Sea Terror's corpse. The fate left to it by death was not such a terrible one.

By human standards, it certainly appeared deformed and terrifying. But what about from other perspectives? How would the court of nature, of life itself, judge this perfect creature?

Alone in the empty pub, Amaia decides to stop pondering this question. Or at least, the pub appears empty. She and Thiago believe it is.

But the shadows begin to writhe, and something steps out from within, its simple outline etched out beneath the dim light's glow.

It is a person. An Ægir.

...Was this your doing?

(Ægirian) It has nothing to do with you.

You don't look like you're from the Penal Battalion.

(Ægirian) You cannot deceive me.

Wait, you're an Ægir? That makes you even less likely to be an Inquisitor.

(Ægirian) Silence is the most terrifying sound in the sea. We cannot tolerate it a second time. None of us can.

I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I think you should leave—

(Ægirian) The Bishop of Sal Viento is dead.

(Ægirian) I am not as patient as you might believe.

I...

(Ægirian) I never thought I'd see a living Abyssal Hunter with my own eyes.

Inquisitors? ...No, impossible. How could an Inquisitor be here?

Mr. Thiago! Just now, I—

Mr. Thiago?

Get out of this place as soon as possible. You, and the rest of your lot.

You're a nice lad, I can see that. Jordi can too. But...

There's something sleeping beneath our little town, and there's nothing normal about any of this—No, Iberia's never been normal, not since then.

...I hear you. I'll leave as soon as I can.

But I think I saw something in front of the chapel just now—

Tell me, lad. Are you from the Inquisition? Are you trying to get close to Jordi so you can take him away?

Mr. Thiago?

Go ahead and lie to me. I'll fight you to the death too, outsider.

I'm not. You know as well as I do, if I were really after the Ægir, why would I wait so long?

It's just a single Sea Terror. We're by the coast, and we've seen things like this before, decades ago.

There's nothing to get worked up over, outsider. It's none of your business.

Mayor Thiago, I'm willing to help you iron out some of the issues in town.

You? There's nothing for you to do.

Even if it means Jordi's life will be in danger?

Nobody's here? Why aren't Amaia and Thiago here...?

It's his scent!

That damn Ægir, he took Amaia away?! How dare he—

—No, that's not quite right. Amaia doesn't know how to fight. He wouldn't do anything to her.

At least our brother's remains are still here.

What do we do now?

Take it away. This rotting shack is not suitable to be its coffin.

After that... We will find it a proper home. Look at it—death is nothing more than a gentle attendant. That is something that Ægir butcher could never understand.

Let's go.

Hmm... So in other words, we're what? Insurance?

To my understanding, none of you have any desire to return to the ocean and fight those monsters.

You were born of this sea, and are very powerful. But even if you regain your original forms, you will never be able to rid yourselves of those creatures.

Oh? It's that dangerous?

More than you can imagine.

To be honest though, we've never cared too much about that. We just do what we want. Most people inhabiting this great land probably think the same thing, right?

If the Seaborn can understand language and music, then I'm sure you'll find an audience, even if disaster were to befall Terra.

In fact, they're more complete creatures than humans, and have greater resistance to all sorts of things. Give them a few hundred years and maybe they'll even adapt to Originium.

I'm aware.

Mm... So answer me this, Doctor.

Us, the Ægir, Sea Terrors, the Seaborn—and all our pitiable kin lurking in the depths of the ocean—

—How are any of us different in your eyes?

You were born much later. There are many things you do not yet understand.

When Frost awoke from a deep rock formation, her first thought was to get away from those aliens and monsters.

There's nobody to communicate with in the sea, and everyone on land eventually hides their original forms and disappears. Fortunately, music can open a crack in the loneliness.

If this situation is resolved, I'll have plenty of time to discuss the past.

I also hope that none of you actually... get involved with either Iberia's or the Ægir's plans.

Why not? I thought you were eager for us to lend a helping hand.

It's been too long since I've been in touch with the Ægir. The tides are crying out, and a lack of information hampers my predictions.

We do not yet know the true origins of this calamity, nor are we able to infer any possibilities.

Worst-case scenario, even you won't have any way to— *sigh*... It seems we have uninvited guests.

...Huh?

They already have the nerve to show themselves openly in town?

Someone's knocking at the door.

Without a word, Kal'tsit turns her eyes to the chapel's doors. The thick wooden slabs had endured an unfathomable amount of turmoil over the years, each mark upon them a chronicle of the past.

She knows there is something outside them, and what it is. What she cannot imagine, however, is that the Church of the Deep's followers would already dare to be so brazen.

Or perhaps...

Outsiders. A grotesque scent, belonging to those strange Ægir.

The two cultists step into the chapel. This Lateran edifice, once wrapped in the cloth of faith, now drapes these two faceless figures.

In their arms, they hold their 'brother,' a Sea Terror—or perhaps just a being stripped of all other names, now nothing more than an expired lifeform.

Look what they're holding in their arms...

A Sea Terror. They don't intend to fight.

The cultist carrying his brother's body passes by Kal'tsit without turning his head, as if he does not even see the two standing in his path.

It is as if he has come all the way from the doors of the chapel to step into the depths of martyrdom.

(Broken Ægirian) My brother, o brother. Hear me out.

(Broken Ægirian) It is our incompetence that led to your untimely fate. It is our cowardice that prevented you from returning to the sea.

(Broken Ægirian) Forgive me, my brother. I can yet hear your voice.

(Broken Ægirian) The people of this world all believe death to be the terminus of all life, but we understand that once our individual forms are transcended, even death itself is powerless.

He lays his brother's remains upon the ground and draws a deep breath. He falls to his knees, his eyes filled with sorrow.

(Broken Ægirian) Until we return to the ocean, I shall be your coffin. I will take you back to the deeps.

(Broken Ægirian) Come, my brother. May you slumber eternally. We shall become one.

The oral ingestion of protein is an act of feeding, yet he did not intend to consume his brother.

He was simply forced to use a more primordial method of bringing the two together as one.

'Chimera.'

Urgh... Aaahh—

What is he doing?

—Assimilation. The simplest method of forcefully penetrating his own torso with the Sea Terror's body.

Should we stop him? It's pretty gross, and totally lacking in aesthetics.

Someone will. But not us.

Juan! What are you doing!

Haah... I... It's still alive... I can feel it... What did you say?

The Inquisition is here!

You... Urgh... Graaah...

Repulsive.

Though this chapel may be deserted, it is still a sacred place to the Iberian Inquisition. And yet, you dare openly blaspheme our laws and creeds.

Someone from the Inquisition actually snuck in? But what happened to that Ægir?!

Juan!

You...! Curse you... Hrrgh... Damn Iberian!

Kill him!

Graaah!

The Sea Terror of the grim lake crests and troughs as the mountains roiling in the twilight. Carrying the scent of rotting flesh, the traitor nearly usurps the throne of his new home, screeching gleefully.

To think that you'd target such a small, inconspicuous town after Sal Viento. Even now, the Inquisition underestimates the scope of the Church of the Deep's influence. Indeed, your taint is pervasive.

Juan! The Inquisitor! You have to—!

You're even weaker than any Church of the Deep remnants I've seen. Why do you insist on staying in this unremarkable town?

Answer me.