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Eugh... What is this—disgusting floor? What's happening?

Is it the Sea Terrors?

Thiago.

...Amaia.

What's going on? Didn't you say those Church of the Deep cultists wouldn't show up? They've made a complete mess of the place.

Thiago, I came to say goodbye.

What?

It's about time for me to, and the opportunity is hard to come by now. That's all it is.

I don't understand.

Thiago.

The Inquisitors are here. A whole three of them.

Jordi's in their hands.

Gah—!

Don't, Thiago. Jordi came back by his own will. And what can you do against three Inquisitors?

Does he know what it means to be found by the Inquisition?!

You've told him so many times that I'd be shocked if he didn't.

But that's how people are. Reason might tell us to take every advantage and avoid the opposite, but people are so complicated, and you can't judge that so easily. I wouldn't call Jordi a fool for his choice.

Now's not the time to argue over morality—!

This is his nature we're talking about. Character, not morality, Mayor Thiago.

There's a certain beauty in human nature. Even time can't deny that.

What are you getting at?

Do you hate the Inquisition?

I...

The Sea Terrors have blanketed this town, but remember, Thiago, remember.

Remember that rainy night, when the Penal Battalion charged into town, breaking down doors. The unending screams drowned out the pitter-patter of the rain.

No, stop...

And now?

The sea's brand is spreading across town—have you heard any screams? Have you seen anyone being senselessly slaughtered, or hunted down?

You haven't.

Right now, all that remains in Gran Faro—

—is stillness.

I never knew... that the ocean was so vast.

The sea breeze blows past.

Jordi cannot believe what's before his eyes. He had always thought the sea's horizon was the sky's end.

Not until witnessing this boundless expanse of waves for himself does Jordi—the Ægir—have a sudden question.

Why has humanity never desired to explore this?

...How could we ever determine our position out here? It's not as if the moons are signal beacons, or the stars could be read like a map.

Um, why can't we read the stars like a map?

Ask a professional astronomer and find out.

Then... if Ægir really is under the water, then how big is it? Bigger than Iberia?

There's a handful of genuine Ægir over there. How about you ask them?

They seem like they have their own worries, though. They're all so solemn.

Shark, what are you listening to?

...The wind.

There's an offering of kin mingled with the sea breeze. It puts me... much at ease.

She gets more like this the closer we are to the sea.

Even though in Sal Viento, she was so...

Do you know why?

I could guess, but it would only disturb your judgment. We have a battle before us.

Did you ever attempt to return to the sea, after your narrow escape to shore?

Of course. I failed.

There was no end to them. They surrounded me. I ran out of strength before I could even swim far.

I tried so, so many times.

But you're still alive.

We are all well aware of the changes in our bodies, Skadi. You included.

Shark may have suffered some injury, but none of my Hunters are so fragile.

And she's the same as us.

'Specter.' Once a victim of the Church of the Deep. Originium, absent in the ocean, has affected her in a whole host of ways.

Why bring along such an uncertain element?

We are going home. It does not concern you.

Home? But circumstances in Ægir can hardly be better than in Iberia.

Raise your lantern, Inquisitor. Let's prepare to greet our first enemies.

Oh. They've come.

One final question.

Are there really only three Abyssal Hunters?

If there were others, I would have long since found them.

...What compels you to ask?

(Ominous slithering sounds)

Is this ship's course true?

Undoubtedly.

...Then the Sea Terrors are becoming more explicitly hostile as we approach the Eye of Iberia.

Perhaps it is already their nest. Fighting them aboard this ship would waste far too much time.

Skadi, Shark, defend this vessel. Keep an eye on the primitive signal navigation facilities while you're at it.

I will enter the sea.

I'll go with you.

You are stronger in the sea, but so are they. And we cannot bleed down there; the risk is too high.

Wh-What's wrong?! Are there monsters attacking again?

No, I can't see any! We don't know what's happening under the water, but—

That muffled booming! What's going on down there? Is she fighting below?

No.

She's just... moving. She's faster in the water.

...How can anyone move faster through water than air?

Habit, I guess. Or maybe it's a skill.

The Sea Terrors are following her. She's opened up a passage.

Irene, take Breogan's descendant and continue to steer.

Pick up speed before the enemy surrounds us.

They've left. The seas won't be peaceful.

If you worry for them, we'd best hurry and finish up our business.

Gran Faro is only an outpost to recapture the lighthouse. Retaking it is all that matters.

I'm surprised that Iberia can already exploit Ægir technology to resist the encroaching nethersea brand.

Regardless, the rate of its evolution is faster than any one scientist's genius. If we seek victory, we must use whatever we can.

Even an army, I see.

...This is an plain, unremarkable town.

Perhaps there are more strategic locations waiting for the Inquisition to recapture them, one by one. More favorable battlefields, grander walls and fortifications.

But, sometimes, it's fine to start with what's at hand.

However many Iberians are willing to fight to the death against the waves, that is how many soldiers we can field.

Let us begin the cleanup.

(Unabated slithering sounds)

Hey... Are we still not there yet?!

A-According to the nautical map, we should be able to at least see it by now...

High Inquisitor! We have to head deeper in, or else—

No.

Look up.

What? It's nothing but black overhead, I can't see—

No... that's not... that's not the sky...

They've made it their nest by now. Very close to the shore; no wonder their numbers are so great.

We can just cut them all down. Like before.

...Yes, like before.

Shark?

So that is... their eye? Why does it feel so familiar?

Mm.

It has been caked in filth for too long, unable to open its lid.

I'll clear a path. Jordi, come with us.

Ah. O-Okay... I hope I can be of help...

No. There's something only you can do.

If you can't, then we'll have to change strategies and prioritize ensuring that the Inquisition's technicians can make it here safely.

And in the battle to come, we'll have no time to care for the fate of a solipsistic Ægir.

Got it!

You seem nervous.

Ægir. You don't understand what finally reaching this island again signifies for us.

And what would that be?

...Ever since the Penal Battalion discovered remnant signals from the lighthouse, we've made seventeen attempts to make landfall, eight of which succeeded in setting foot on this reef.

Hundreds of soldiers, and three Inquisitors. No one returned alive.

Don't tell me your superior Ægir ethics teach you to respect your heroes, but forsake their memory?

The High Inquisitor and I... the Iberians will hold a memorial for those who died at sea.

I did not mean to pick at your morals. All I can say is that, in the face of the ocean, we are all alone and weak.

Do as you wish, but we are pressed for time.

A foot falls on the reef.

A colossus hides in the jet-black winds. Only by tilting one's head back and gazing far up can one distinguish it from the murky sky.

The Eye of Iberia.

A final pair of eyes, sealed shut.

So tall...

The scale of that statue in town has to be wrong...

High Inquisitor.

Mm.

This is what we once...

It is... my first time seeing it as well.

The two remain silent for a moment, dead in their tracks as they look over at this vast spectacle that's survived only in documents and records.

The enduring reality of Iberia goes far beyond what she was taught, Irene thinks. Despite the Abyssal Hunters' ample disdain for them, despite the balance of the nation well and truly crumbling.

Despite it all, this lighthouse is an emblem. Of past glory and wild ambition. Of dreams and the domination of the unknown.

Whatever feelings may roil in your heart at this moment, engrave them all.

This building, these worn swords and lanterns, these reefs, this ocean.

Carve into your heart just what humanity has built in its struggle. Keep it with you forever, at all times.

If we do not venerate our sacrifices, our scales are meaningless.

Yes, sir!

Enter carefully.

Got it!

What are you doing?

Have we come home?

No, not yet.

But if we find what Kal'tsit and the Captain are looking for here, maybe we can.

Just hold on... we're almost there.

It's too quiet.

But it still stinks.

Yes. The reef is coated in remnant nethersea brand. I can see traces of man-made objects too, rotted for the most part.

Gladiia paces slowly. She looks up at the tower, standing against the tenebrous sky.

The Eye of Iberia is directed towards the heavens, as if upon this finite soil, life cranes its neck, wanting to see the future.

The nations of the land have done all they can to reproduce Breogan's remaining legacy. These so-called lighthouses are an emulation of Ægir technology through and through.

What can this lighthouse be awaiting, sat in this void and empty sea?

Does it watch the ocean, or the land, I wonder.

Captain.

I know. Within is a Sea Terror nest. The lack of an immediate attack may merely be defensive, a guarding of the den.

It is about time they come.

(Ominous slithering sounds)

There's not... too many.

The sea. The coast is already out of sight.

Sentimental?

No... I just mean, we can't bleed here. It'll be extremely dangerous.

They can't pierce our skin. So long as you do not cease your dance, these numbers are insufficient to kill us.

(The lighthouse... It really is just like the statue in town.)

(Which means, those blueprints at home really were from my mother and father. For the Eye of Iberia...)

(My parents were once... in this very place.)

Jordi looks back towards the shore.

Each and every day, his mind went back to his view of that overcast shore. A lifeless gray, a hopeless crowd.

But, ah, look at this lighthouse, he thinks.

Uncle Thiago was right. They were all heroes. They were all meant to be legends.

...The Abyssal Hunters should be regrouping not far from here. They will be joining this battle too.

Don't forget what you experienced in Sal Viento. Their blood is highly unusual, and Kal'tsit hardly told us everything.

U-Understood. So they can't be trusted.

What did you see, beneath the Inquisition?

—Erk.

'Seaborn.'

You should still remember their twistedness, their vitality, their... serenity.

In Sal Viento, the Hunters did battle such a monster, and emerged victorious.

I... I know that.

You've seen the truth, so now you must reassess your past, and Iberia.

Tear apart the old, swimming through your head! Make your own judgments.

Y-Yes, sir!

—(Rough sounds of slithering over reef)—

They're ready for us. Withdrawn to defend their nest, waiting for the chance to strike. Here to drive out the invaders.

Jordi. Report?

R-Right! It's a miracle, really. These control panels outside are still responding, but I'm not sure what theory these things are based on...

I-I'm looking though! I have all those research notes from home with me in my bag!

...Be quick about it.

I know! It's this one... No, that's not it... Eek, when did this one get wet?

High Inquisitor! They're here!

The billows rage forth.

Their arrogance surges dozens of meter high, shattering one day after another, succumbing to the reef and the three moons.

One moon is bright. One moon is dark. These are the moons spoken of throughout time, hung in the sky.

The remaining moon comes from the intervals betwixt the waves, at the peaks of every crest.

The moonlight comes from the title he once believed in.