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Ugh... What happened?

You're awake!

I'm begging you man, at least holler the next time something like this happens, alright? Pull another stunt like that, and I won't be able to save you!

Hmph.

How's the situation? That woman's monsters... Have they all been burned away yet?

I can't say for sure, but probably. I mean, I've only seen the full extent of Mon3tr's firepower in tactical records before.

...Burn it. Burn it all.

Gran Faro is already a thing of the past. Just burn it all down.

Mr. Thiago, you—

Ahh, traitor! And you, Iberian! I've caught your scents. This is where you're hiding!

You came at just the right time. Yes, yes, just the right time—!

—What are you?!

Hmph. Already blind and beyond recognition. Serves him right for pleasuring himself with that monster!

Serves you right! You hear me?!

Serves me right? Hah, it sure does, Thiago. For choosing to trust a man blinded by hatred, for ever having delusions that people like you could be saved. Serves me right, indeed.

But now, everything... is... different. (Bones grind and crunch together)

–-Sea Terrors? But when?!

Thiago, don't get too close! Something's wrong with this guy!

Iberia must be destroyed! We will annihilate this country. This land will become the ocean's cradle. The waves shall swallow the clouds, and scores of mountains will dissolve without a sound—

We shall— all— become— one!!

Watch out! Thiago!

Guh?! *cough*—!

Thiago! Tch, he's already transforming into a monster! Just like in the reports from Sal Viento!

I'll start with you, traitor.

For the perpetuation of life eternal, Iberia... is... meaningless!

Meaningless, you say?

Are you calling for me by name, heretic?

...High Inquisitor, you made it just in time.

Go ahead and pray. We will prove to you that your god is meaningless too. You will watch as Iberia sinks into the abyss.

That will never happen.

...What?

My name is... Carmen I Iberia. When the nine saints gave themselves this false title, they abandoned their own names—and with it, their beliefs.

We are immolated by lies. Nobody knows this better than us. God never offered salvation to Iberia. We must become our own gods.

On behalf of the Inquisition, I hereby read your sentence, heretic.

What is this heaviness I feel?

My body has already been accepted by my kin. My life has already received sublimation.

So why? Why am I unable to take my eyes off his lantern?

Self-preservation? Yes, all Inquisitors are quite powerful, so I am on guard.

You may kill me, but you cannot kill our kind. Kill our kind, and the sea will die. When the sea dies, the land will die with it.

You will all eventually drown in the rising tide of evolution. You will not live to see this land's future! This era is bloated and discordant, and we are all but livestock trapped in cages!

I will put you and your Inquisition—

...What...?

He looks at his body in disbelief. A beautiful cross-section.

Since their invasion of Gran Faro began, the old Inquisitor who sat at the town's chapel has never lifted his hand even once.

He never wielded his sword, or drew his handcannon. He used only his lantern and his Arts, befitting someone as ancient as him.

Yes, ancient. He is very old. A span of time far too great for the ordinary life to endure.

Land-crawling... livestock... How did you...?

At least I was... able to... buy...

You've accomplished nothing.

A brand new lifeform, yet unable to take the life of even this old Iberian. What do you have to be proud of?

Look at me, heretic.

You... *cough*, *cough*... Damn you!

You were once human too. But you narrow-mindedly misjudged the potential of your own race.

For tens of thousands of years, this is how we have won our wars. Nature selects, life adapts.

You, and your pathetic ideas, will be buried in Iberia. Before your last breath, be sure to pass on our thunderous roar to your kin.

'The sea faces an ancient enemy called civilization, one you stand no chance of overcoming.'

You... Gurk... You... you understand nothing...

How's he doing?

I've been trying everything I could this whole time! But the wound's too deep!

If only Dr. Kal'tsit were here. He needs medical attention immediately, sir! Where is she?

Waiting in the chapel.

I should make this clear, member of Rhodes Island. His treason is indefensible, and he must answer for his crimes.

Knowingly sheltering the Church of the Deep's cultists has caused the Inquisition to lose a prime opportunity. It has also placed Dario and countless of our brothers in the Penal Battalion in grave peril.

...Tch, old fool.

How old are you anyway? A hundred? How do you... ugh... still pretend to have so much energy?

It is my duty.

So you must... *cough*, *cough*... urgh... know all sorts of things...

Tell me, Inquisitor. Tell me the truth, you wretched executioner...

Why would you... urgh... destroy a band of people... hoping to rebuild... their home?

All of you... All of you...

Don't speak, Thiago! I can't stop the bleeding!

Ha... Hah... No, I must ask.

All of you, the Inquisition! Those Ægir you took from Gran Faro... were there really any cultists among them?

Tell me... Did you really, out of... *cough*, paranoia... nothing more than a laughable paranoia... kill all those good people?

Ordinary citizens have no right to know the Inquisition's secrets.

You bastard...!

Knowing the truth will not help you cling onto your fading life, Thiago.

No, no no no... I'm begging you... I'm begging you... I'm going to die, and you still won't tell me the truth...

At least... Marin... Tell me...

The files on Gran Faro's Ægir have been sealed. I am unable to disclose anything to a civilian.

...No... *cough*, *cough*... Gah...

I... Curse you. I swear, I'll never forgive you!

Iberia... Ibe... will...

His malediction never leaves his mouth.

Old Thiago looks at the dim, damp ceiling, where a drop of water is about to fall from the wooden beams.

Drip.

He’s gone.

So, what's the truth?

I don't see how this has anything to do with you either, member of Rhodes Island.

Return to Kal'tsit. We've lost too much time, and the Eye of Iberia will likely fall.

Please. Tell me.

As a member of Rhodes Island, I also wish to cooperate with the Inquisition. But before that, I'm an Iberian.

I didn't know Thiago for very long. But I just realized... he would never curse Iberia. Because he truly saw this place as his home.

But after realizing that, that's all the more reason I can't just...

Lord Carmen, after witnessing so many tragedies in my homeland, surely you can't just... tell me to turn a blind eye to it all.

Carmen glances over at the aged laborer resting in Elysium's arms. His eyes betray a slightly different emotion.

After a moment of silence, he speaks.

Roughly a hundred thirty Ægir were taken from Gran Faro, and of them, about half had ties with the Church of the Deep. Even some members of the Penal Battalion formerly stationed in the town were revealed to be traitors.

They stole a large amount of information on Iberia's Seafaring Era, obstructed the Inquisition, and were plotting from the very beginning to turn Gran Faro into a nexus for the sea's invasion of the land.

Leading them was a female bishop, an Ægir Islander. A woman the people called 'Marin.'

Now, give him his burial.

Strong. Work together, and you are strong enough to lead our kind.

But, you do not plan to do this. This puzzles me.

Our kind, how will you treat them?

Willpower, begets all. Any chasm, can be crossed.

Our environment, complete and pure. Impurities, are not needed.

About parents, I am trying to find an answer. Yet the question, is not clear. I cannot ask yet.

(Sound of bones grinding and rubbing)

Do all of the sea's infants learn to talk as quickly as you?

What's wrong, Mister Captain? Has your loneliness finally compelled you to seek companionship with talking Seaborns?

You know, every wound on its body has been MY handiwork so far.

*Spit*.

It's still alive and kicking. We're just getting to the good part.

...Fighting, is meaningless.

Leaving, is the correct choice.

Ugh, get back here!

It tore through the wall and fled. Why did the Iberians have to make this ship so complex anyway?

I won't allow it to continue trashing my ship. Garcia!

That's cheating, you know~

How do you think we managed to keep this ship from getting riddled with holes and sinking, while surrounded by monsters for all these years? Relying solely on Breogan's technology?

We systematically kill the ones threatening enough to cause damage. Then, little by little, the survivors slowly sew up the scars they left behind.

This one can be considered intelligent, as far they go, but it's by no means the strongest.

I'm not in the mood to play games with you anymore, so this farce ends here. Kill it now, before it does something we can't undo.

The fleeing Seaborn easily tears through the ship's walls. It can smell its kin as well as the ocean just outside this strange box.

It is hurt. It needs healing. It needs nourishment. It needs time. The scaleless kin had bought it a chance to breathe, but far from enough time.

Many preparations are yet to be completed.

What?! A Seaborn!

The Seaborn does not speak.

Because it faces something that is not its kin. Not kin that speaks. Not kin without scales.

In which case, the small, fragile creature struggling before its eyes is just an ordinary lifeform. Just another part of the Cycle.

It should be consumed.

After coming to this conclusion, the Seaborn almost immediately lashes out at Irene with tooth and claw.

(So fast! Its body is different from before?!)

It's so tough?!

(Merda— I can't dodge it this time—)

(Roars)

(Eldritch noises) Stand... up... and run...

You... You can talk?! In Iberian?

(Eldritch noises) I... save you. Don't let... him know.

(Eldritch noises) Don't let... Alfonso... know I'm... still human.

Language, you also know it.

Efficiency, relatively low. Not enough information, not enough time. If necessary, I will complete it.

Kindred, you have formed your own group. And your offspring, consume one another.

You, are incomplete.

(Eldritch noises) Alfonso... cannot... get here fast.

(Eldritch noises) You... run.

Kindred, no point in nurturing.

Flesh and blood, donate to us.

(Howling) —!

Still attempting to spit out vestiges of human speech, the chief mate is punctured by the Seaborn's fangs.

It neither underestimates its enemy nor is distracted by Irene's presence. The Seaborn's motions have clearly evolved.

You...

Alfonso... Hurry... Hurry...

(I can't even pierce its carapace!)

(At this rate, I...)

Irene. You know where this is.

Yes! It's the Inquisition's—

Underground. Where every High Inquisitor has seen the truth.

The truth...

Consider this one thing, Irene. What is the Inquisition fighting for?

For Iberia's purity and virtue, for the sanctity of our Laws and Scriptures.

But what if the concept of truth as seen by the people is only superficial? What if the Law has no reach, the Scriptures fail to prophesize, and the morality that governs all things amounts to naught? How will you pass down judgment then?

I... will judge based on my own standards.

Even if it means casting aside the distinction between good and evil that you've always adhered to?

Of course!

That is easier said than done, Irene. There's no point trying to teach from my example, and I'm not as partial towards words as you are.

Maestro...

But.

There will come a day when your enemies will force you to cast aside everything you've ever known. Your faith, your morals, your ethics. Everything will be ravaged, desecrated, rendered null and void.

When that happens, if you can manage to rebuild your inner faith, whatever it may be, then that will form the foundation to help you defeat those enemies.

Before seeing the truth, before experiencing a crueler history, everything that we do is empty, with no basis in reality.

I won't tell you how you should act going forward. But when that time comes, I want you to remember my words, Irene.

You must become Iberia's last line of defense.

No...

Survival, is not actually your goal. Perhaps, you can become something greater.

Irene raises her handcannon.

A second cavity suddenly appears in the Seaborn's adamantine body, as a torrential flow of heat melts through its sturdy, unusual walls.

The surging temperature turns the surroundings into a sea of fire. The chief mate sobs and retreats to the side, staring blankly at the scene before its eyes.

The Seaborn has never been enveloped by such Arts before. It feels a sense of being overwhelmed, but quickly adapts.

However, the Inquisitor's barrage will not cease until the flames of her lantern sputter out.

Release the chief mate, you monster. And get a good whiff of the scent of Originium.

You have not sinned in any way. The Holy Scriptures do not even mention your existence.

Right now it is only I, as an Iberian, who is handing down this verdict.

The scourge of the seas must be wiped out. You have no right to live.

In the name of Iberia.