level_act17side_st01

'Terra', 'the land', 'these lands', the nations 'across the world'.

These terms and the language around them flow in widespread use only because of how narrow they actually are.

Has there ever been some majestic language of the ancient past that could describe everything between heaven and earth? Where we put into words the 'everything' we might encounter in our day-to-day lives?

A grandiose term encompassing the earth, the sky, and even the seas of which the landbound nations know so little? A single word to narrate millennia of life's progress?

Where among the collective mind of mankind is such a word, Kal'tsit?

I'm sure you know the answer yourself.

I know quite a bit myself, yet still I find myself asking, day after day. No man may truly escape the unknown, and the unknown will forever torment mankind.

(Ancient Sarkaz language) 'Alma.' 'World.'

Hm. And here I thought you would go with the Sargonian word 'Alam'. The same idea, I think.

Yours was a Sarkaz language?

It was.

Strange. You're a Feline who calls herself a doctor, yet your first instinct is to use the devils' tongue.

Your identity is like the ever-changing clouds above the sea. Never content to remain the same.

Language will not change its essence for such trifles.

Language, hmm... Now look here, Kal'tsit. A well.

Do you know how to draw water from it? Do you know how the Iberians used these blue cornerstones to build their houses?

If the Iberian nobility hadn't let their pride go to their heads, the ocean would surely have made the nation an impenetrable fortress.

The well is deep, and we're very close to the shore.

Look. It hasn't yet dried up. There is a false sun inside.

We should be on our way, sir.

The elderly man does not answer her. He simply picks up a small rock in silence.

The rock could not be more commonplace, with no particular reason to fiddle with. Yet, as though absorbed in the sensation of the sea breeze on his skin, he continues to gaze at the bottom of the well.

Kal'tsit doesn't push the issue. She silently waits for the man in front of her to answer. She sees that the clouds are moving. The winds are strong.

There is no rush, Kal'tsit. There is no rush. We have ample time for rest... no matter the arrangements you've made.

If I dropped this rock into the well, how long would it take for us to hear the splash?

About five to six seconds.

Even the most simple Iberian knows how to make use of the sea. Knowledge that went into this deep coastal well.

And yet, a Victorian farmer or Columbian worker might not even know what the vast sea looks like.

Hmm... Kal'tsit, how many questions have I asked you on our journey so far?

The old man holds his arm out, the rock still in his palm. Then he lets go, sending it tumbling downward.

Despite its rapid descent, the two of them lock their eyes onto it. Yet without adequate sunlight, they soon find themselves unable to follow its trek into the depths.

It has been two, perhaps three seconds. Nothing but silence shrouds the two of them. Even the wind has come to a halt.

How quiet, Kal'tsit thinks to herself. How quiet indeed.

*Plop*

The quiet sound echoes through the well's walls, as though reminding them that, in that brief moment lasting but a few seconds, all the lands are still.

One hundred twenty-three. Quite a bewitching number.

One hundred twenty-three questions, over one hundred twenty-three years. The Inquisition boasts not a single Inquisitor older than me.

Most have died in battle, a few of old age, and even fewer gave in to cowardice during their endless ordeal. It did not end very well for them.

I've experienced all there is of Iberia. I've seen its fleets setting sail, and heard the Victorian envoys quivering.

It was a rude awakening when the Profound Silence destroyed our nation. My countrymen are still drowning in their hatred for the disaster, and confused over the loss of their dream.

Liberi don't live long lives. Even the Liberi Elders, the oldest and healthiest of them, are unable to shoulder Iberia's present calamity.

Your age is a miracle. One forged by the Inquisition, and which also grants you an unprecedented sense of devotion.

In that era, when both glory and ideology began to crumble, you and the earliest Inquisition members were revered as 'Saints.'

'Saints.' A title for those who once served as a guiding beacon for mankind. But just like firewood, it's become nothing but ashes.

I've watched the seasons cycle by a full hundred and twenty-three times, yet it seems only the cold winters have left their mark on me. I've seen so many truths with my own eyes, yet can never recall the sight of spring.

Kal'tsit...

Yes?

The look in the old man's eyes changes.

Faith is a language, and prayers can pave roads. At this very moment, the nation of Iberia, or perhaps an existence beyond that, is caressing its chin, examining the wind speed.

So far, I've lived one hundred twenty-three years. I've asked you one hundred twenty-three questions, based on my personal experiences.

Nonetheless, you answered each and every one. You know everything that I know.

Man is making progress, and new secrets will forever emerge, yet our knowledge will never be able to overcome that wall we call 'the known.'

Regardless, the enemy we face belongs to the other side of that wall, in the dark forest that lies beyond.

And you, Kal'tsit. Do you belong to our side of the wall... or to the depths of that forest?

That is up to you.

Hoh... You might even know the number of leaves on its trees. What a terrifying woman.

Make no mistake, the saints of Iberia remain the pinnacle that humanity can reach. Yet you've exceeded that, marking you as inhuman.

Perhaps you've extended your life with special Arts, perhaps you've inherited some kind of ancient identity, or perhaps you possess a soul that had great ambitions.

Even if our faith is only a lie built atop ideology, we nevertheless once held onto it firmly. What is truly saddening, though, is that when old age finally bests us all, we will have not yet managed to solve our problems.

While those of us who have bested old age—via Originium Arts or other means—will only come to fear endless suffering at the hands of our enemies.

When did Ægir become such an unknown terror to Iberia?

How could an unarmed child so easily accept the help of a stranger brandishing a weapon?

What if that child were about to drown?

Then we would still require proof. Is Ægir's current situation really as you say? Can the Seaborn and their source truly be defeated?

If you cannot back up these claims, then Iberia will not trust you. I will not trust you.

Before I die, you... you must all prove it to Iberia.

Otherwise, the seawater will quench the flame of civilization. Before the other nations can prepare, they will swarm past Iberia... and tear this 'world' apart.

Perhaps this too—the refutation of Terran civilization—is itself a part of their survival-of-the-fittest mindset.

Or perhaps there is nothing inherently different between us and them.

A seaside town, huh? Relaxed, but gloomy. Quiet, but bustling. A lively place, but with danger and mystery around every corner.

Just the place to get us in that creative groove!

What do you girls say?

(Riffs lightheartedly)

The shore's got an unsettling vibe. I can already smell all that stuff I'd rather not.

I really don't think we should be visiting the waterfront so carelessly.

Does it matter, if we can find inspiration? C'mon, look how fired up about it Dan is.

(Riffs depressingly)

Time to find our muse!

Right... It's a good chance.

I can't believe we're actually looking to that messed up ocean for inspiration now.

Yeah, which is exactly why it's a fresh new vibe!

Took the words outta my mouth.

(Riffs in agreement)

Well, should we split up, then? I can take our luggage to the hotel on my own.

Alright! I'll be checking stuff out over there.

All by yourself?

I'm glad SOMEONE's worrying. Just don't forget we're playing with fire here.

So where's the hotel?

That reminds me, how did a small town like this get itself a hotel anyway? Do people even come here?

They need to make a living somehow.

Right. No living, no music.

(Riffs)

The sea...

We're back.

Excuse me... can I get past?

Oh, sure, no problem.

Have you been sitting in the chapel again, Mr... uhh...?

Elysium.

Sorry... We've even run into each other several times already.

Don't worry about it. The name 'Elysium' isn't very common here.

Actually, someone as smoking hot as me has gotta be a rare sight in Iberia to begin with, right?

Uhh...

I don't know about that... but someone as confident as you, maybe.

Right...

It took spending some time here to realize that the place that I always called home doesn't really feel like home.

Are you still waiting for someone here, Mr. Elysium? It's already been several days, hasn't it?

Haha, not like I have a choice. That's just how things are in my line of work. Besides, I'd rather hang out in comfort here than that in primeval forest infested with bugs and Originium.

You're from outside then?

Oh, you can tell? Is it because of the vibe I give off?

Actually... uh... I guess you could say that?

What do you mean?

Like... the way you dress?

You know your stuff.

Gran Faro doesn't see a lot of visitors... There's not a lot of folks here, so everyone in town knows everyone else.

Besides... What with how close to the sea we are, not a lot of Liberi are willing to talk to Ægir these days.

Especially after the Inquisition started showing up more often.

Right...

I get you. I've been through similar stuff plenty of times.

Does this happen in other Iberian cities, too? Like in those prosperous ones I hear about in the rumors?

Not just in Iberia, kid. The way I see it, it's pretty much the same no matter where you go. Life's tough everywhere.

But I gotta say, some of the Ægirs I've met are a real handful. Just thinking about 'em gives me a headache. Wish I could beam all my common sense straight into their brains.

Which makes you pretty easy to get along with, by comparison.

Uhh...

Okay, now THAT's a face asking who'd ever want the common sense of a guy like me.

N-No it's not!

Sure, I look like an unemployed bum lazing about here 24-7, but I've actually come a loooong way and been through waaaaay too much.

So... you're an explorer, then? What's life like for the Ægir in other places?

Haha...

Not too bad.

Not too bad...

Mayor Thiago... You needn't come here every day.

I've been hearing some bad rumors lately. I'm worried about you guys, Amaia.

Bad rumors... You mean about the cultists?

But we're not just close to the sea, we're close to the Inquisition too, and the very heart of Iberia.

So how could there possibly be cultists here?

Who knows? Happens all the time in coastal towns though. Hardly peculiar at all.

Also... I heard someone saw a monster on the shore.

Did Old Pedri tell you that?

You know the kind of nonsense he goes on about when he hasn't had his drink.

You're a kind man, Thiago. I'm sure you're just worried about Jordi, the boy who works at the chapel.

I... I'm not a very sophisticated one though. Maybe you can put me at ease... help me sleep better at night.

These rumors are just rumors, right? The ghost ship, the cultists, the sea monsters?

The Inquisition hasn't let us go out to sea in a long, long time.

Right. Can't even remember how long... Eighty-four years? Eighty-five?

Try fifty or sixty. The Profound Silence happened in 1038.

Have you really been trapped on land for so long, in your memories? You aren't even that old. Have you been a prisoner of this place since before you were born?

If living in poverty counts as imprisonment, then yes, I've been a prisoner for a long, long time.

I haven't so much as looked at the sea since Marin died. I loathe it.

But you're not worried about the gossip, are you? You're worried about the Inquisition. And even more so about the Penal Battalion coming here to take away all the Ægirs.

*Sigh*, poor Thiago...

The Inquisition snuffed out the love of your life, an Ægir woman. Your anger and resentment is perfectly understandable, but be careful what you say. For everyone's sake.

...Maybe you're right.

Okay, I'll be careful. You always know more than the rest of us, anyway. So what've you been up to lately?

The same old. Doing my job as a third-rate translator in this frighteningly laidback seaside town.

That said, it's been months since a Messenger stopped by. All my drafts have been piling up, and it's giving me a headache.

*Sigh*... Translation! I've never even set foot outside this small town my whole life. Anything besides Iberian may as well be gibberish to me.

Hm, it's getting late.

Right, Jordi should be off work soon. I only hope that the Inquisition isn't gonna give the lad any trouble over that gossip, these next few days.

I'll see you later.

Be safe, Mayor Thiago.

...Cultists. Hm.

The young woman named Amaia ponders for a moment before turning her mind back to the papers, as always.

Ursine novels, Kazimierzian biographies, Leithanian poetry... even Sargonian folk tales.

All the lands of Terra lie before her as a thick pile of literature, each word waiting to be deciphered in a solemn, orderly manner.

The air is extraordinarily humid. She can't help but pinch the corner of the page.

The sensation of the sea...

'The waves continue to accelerate, and the winds are frightened. The corals line the sky, painting it a neon shade.'

'We will come to detest ourselves for not having wings.'

Are you finished with your work?

Ah, uh... yes.

As you can see, the chapel doesn't see a lot of visitors. I mostly just keep the place tidy.

Are you still waiting today?

Yeah. They should've been here by last week, but my superior did warn me that they're a weird bunch. So I guess being late is normal enough.

Still, it's hard to call that a good thing. But why would anyone choose to meet up in Gran Faro of all places?

Strange, right? I thought so, too. That's why I volunteered for the job when Misery brought it up.

Not that I expected to waste a whole month here. That's a hell of a long time to be on standby.

But... normally the Inquisition wouldn't have let outsiders like you in at all.

Because of how close it is to their command center?

Or... because it's close to the sea?

Maybe both.

I see...

So how did you make it here? I haven't traveled much, but even I can tell that Gran Faro is a backwater...

If you really wanna know, I could use someone to chat with. I'm dying of boredom over here.

Then if it's not too much trouble— Oh!

Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. Uncle Thiago is waiting. I should head back to make dinner.

Family?

Uh... Something like that. He's the one who raised me.

Look, you don't have to be such a doormat just because you're an Ægir. When someone's kind to you, try to be more positive.

Uh, thanks... Mr. Elysium.

Gran Faro. It means 'the great lighthouse' in an ancient Iberian tongue.

Lighthouses once shone upon ships both large and small, and served as homes for all seamen to return to.

Many souls dwelled beneath the reefs, until the ships fell in love with the ocean, accepting its embrace and facing their own destruction.

(Amaia? Where is she going... Hm?)

(Some sort of commotion up ahead? That's unusual. What's going on?)

Where are you heading?

The chapel! Peeps here shouldn't be using their hands to pray, they should learn to drum instead!

This square is the center of the town. Everything's built around it.

A sculpture of a lighthouse.

A guiding landmark to the sea... and the town.

What a lame analogy!

What a bunch of weirdos. Let's not get too close.

Didn't Old Pedri mention something like this before?

Don't get involved, lest the Inquisition take you away.

Sheesh, why are there all these outsiders lately? The Inquisition just doesn't care anymore, huh?

(I haven't seen any of them before... Look at the way they're dressed... Are they musicians?)

(Er, is she looking at me?)

H-Hello?

In the past, I wouldn't have batted an eye at seeing an Ægir near the coast, but it sure is a rare sight these days.

Do you know what's going on here?

W-What?

Oh, you wouldn't, huh? You aren't a child of the sea. You're land-born.

*Sigh*... Not that that's much of a surprise. Jeez.

Aya, over here!

Coming!

Oh, right... you... hmm...

I-Is something the matter?

Do you know what that sculpture is of? And do all the locals know?

Yes... It's a lighthouse. Apparently, they needed a lot of people to work on it way back when, and many of the workers' families ended up staying here.

Like yours?

Uh... Yes. I still keep some relics from that era back home. Like, blueprints and pictures.

Yep... lighthouses. Iberian lighthouses. In a country on the land. That's kinda funny.

Anyway, the scent doesn't seem to be coming from you. Alright, then, you be extra careful.

I've never seen those people... Are those instruments?

Maybe they're the ones Mr. Elysium has been waiting for?

Jordi.

Oh, Uncle Thiago. Sorry. I should've come back sooner—

Don't you get involved with them. I didn't see ears OR tails, and no feathers either. They might be Ægirs.

I—

Jordi, my boy. You know I don't have anything against the Ægir, but remember what everyone's been saying lately.

Don't get too involved with these outsiders. If you see an Ægir near the sea and there's no one from the Inquisition or Penal Battalion around, then they gotta be trouble.

I don't think they're bad people, but the Inquisition might not see things the same way, so... I'm sorry. I just don't want to see them take you away. Be a good boy and listen.

I get it. You don't have to apologize.

I get it...

I didn't expect you to agree so quickly.

I know of the events in Sal Viento, with the three Abyssal Hunters. Irene always writes the most detailed reports, after all.

And above all, I know that if you meant Iberia harm, you had other, much simpler options.

The Abyssal Hunters... Suppose they are as strong and swift as the report suggests. The three of them are still controllable by the Inquisition.

We retain the authority to sentence them to death. The only reason they are still allowed to walk Iberian lands is thanks to my curiosity towards your so-called truth.

I can't help but wonder if Iberia's current predicament is a result of its pride, then.

The truth is that no one knows pride better than us. Pride is like the shadow always lurking behind every man.

The two inquisitors with whom you're acquainted have already received orders. Should the need arise, they will appear before us.

It seems we have a few unidentified Ægirs in Gran Faro as well. You never mentioned them.

Who are they?

They aren't Ægir.

Iberia is rarely mentioned in the historical record, but that doesn’t mean our history is short. At the height of our prosperity, we crossed the entire continent, advancing troops to even Bolívar.

Both coin and knowledge flooded into our cities like streams pouring into a valley from a high cliff. Those glorious waterfalls roared so deafeningly loud that they could overcome even the waves of the sea.

(Sargonian) Those beings that arose... or rather, the 'Feranmut.'

Perhaps it is them that I should keep an eye on. They show no signs of hostility, yet they keep me on edge... Maybe they once belonged to the sea.

Kal'tsit, you are the doctor here. Could you do the Inquisition a favor?

...Ask away.

The Inquisition's command center is very close to the coastline. We are prepared to face destruction at any moment.

But I need you, an outsider, to be our eyes, gazing forward.

Seeing as we're in the same boat, I have no reason to refuse.

Please, Doctor, spare me the mysteriousness your long life has earned you. Show us where the evil that lurks within us sleeps.

I'll take that as a compliment... and it would be my honor.

Gladiia.

Our brief time together has you addressing me differently. On that point alone, you are quite different from before.

Captain, I have a question.

We've already shared all the information we have, in the time since we left that reeking coast.

Not all of it.

We alone are more than enough. I don't understand why we must also bring—

Look at her now. This is how she once was.

I looked into all her treatment records at Rhodes Island... You've never seen her this quiet before either, have you?

Don't you want to help her?

And this will help?

Perhaps.

She alone can defeat her illusions. She is her own key. She can break through the results of those filthy experiments. She's Laurentina, after all.

But until then, we need to prepare a warm bed for her.

It was only for a short while, but she woke up... Even so, I stared at her like that.

Don't be so sentimental. We aren't her. If she doesn't mind the way she is, we have no right to meddle in it.

You trust Dr. Kal'tsit more than I thought you would.

Maybe. She willingly stayed in Iberia and created this opportunity for us. I was surprised. And I have to thank her.

I can only hope it all goes well for her.

Look at the time.

Guess it's not happening today either. And here I thought I'd get to see them sooner or later just by waiting in the most conspicuous building in town.

This really is such an uneventful place, though. If I'd known it'd be so boring here, I would've brought along a few more books from Rhodes Island—

—A Lateran chapel! And in such a great shape, even right next to the sea! Unbelievable! This place's style really has a different vibe, though.

I mean, as long as there are Laterans in chapels, we can jam whenever, but this place just feels so gloomy... Hm?

Ahh—

—Alty?!

You'd best stay away from the sea, Jordi. The chapel is clean and safe. Just stay there.

Don't worry about anything else. Not a lot of the young ones came back this year. Most who left looked for ways to move to the big cities. And now we rely on the Inquisition's handouts to get by.

You should think about what I said and leave this place. The folks here are the families of the workmen who gathered here to maintain the lighthouse in the past, but times have changed. This place will be abandoned sooner or later.

Jordi?

I'm listening, Uncle.

It's just... where can an Ægir go?

Amaia told me that there are places outside, in other parts of Iberia, where they aren't so harsh on the Ægir.

But I'll need to find a home for myself eventually. I need resources, connections. I... can't make a decision that easily.

I... I'm not ready yet.

...If you say so.

Right, Amaia gave me another book, one she translated herself. Not like I'd understand it anyway, though. Take it with you to kill time over in the chapel.

Okay.

Jordi walks down the street quietly.

Seeing the old man in front of him hunching over more and more, he can't help but think back to how he looked just last year.

As if to prove how time slowly overtakes us all, senility is always silent. From the moment you wake up to when you fall asleep, every second is like a gasp for air.

But Jordi never complained. He's used to this life, after all.

Uncle...

Hmm?

I'm pretty happy with my life right now. I get to help out at the chapel. Sometimes I help take care of the children, and sometimes I help patch up the injured workmen.

I even got to know that Liberi who came from out of town the other day. He's so different from everyone else. He said his name is Elysium. You don't have to worry about me.

It's been a long time since the Inquisition came to town. We don't always have to be so nervous.

That's not a chapel, lad. It's a sentry post. The Inquisition set it up to keep their eyes on us, back when we were still trying to repair the lighthouse.

But now that the coastline is peaceful and the work on the Eye of Iberia is shelved, of course the Inquisition doesn't give a toss about us anymore.

Still, to be fair, the Inquisition isn't completely useless. Only they can stop those...

Those...?

Nothing, lad. Just a few rumors going around among the workmen.

Rumors, hm...

Lad?

H-Here...?

What exactly is that...? Should I let Uncle Thiago know...?

Something bothering you, lad?

No, it's nothing.

Uncle... Just what is there out at sea?