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Tch... the further in we go, the more Sea Terrors there are.

It's getting dangerous...

Maestro... how do I become like them...?

Gkh...

Seaborn?!

(It's the same one we saw on the deck. The Hunter's attacks didn't do any damage?!)

(How will it come at me? With its limbs? Its fangs?)

(My handcannon... I need to create distance—)

Wait.

Wait a second! What's that on your belt?!

Why would you... could you be...?!

Graaaahhhh!!

Argh! *Cough*

(What strength! I barely managed to block it!)

...I...

Do you have something to say, monster?

I can't go down here... I won't!

I'm an Inquisitor of Iberia!

*Cough*...

It has taken too long to burn away the nethersea brand.

The situation's not looking good.

(Numerous slithering sounds)

(I can see what's going on down there from here.)

How many hours have passed? How much longer can he hang on?

I... if I... no, don't think about it, Jordi. Focus!

The Inquisition... Hurry...

Is that all?

Grr...

Listen to your friends wail. The flower of Sal Viento at least had its beauty, but what about you?

As my first dance lesson after waking up, I must say you're underwhelming.

Gkh!

It's getting away!

I'll go after it. You go find the little Iberian bird.

How are you feeling?

Better than ever. My memories are tumbling down like a waterfall from the heavens. It'll take a while for the full picture to emerge, though.

And some of my more recent memories are rather embarrassing.

I'll go. Your mind is still unstable.

Oh? Trying to steal my prey?

It'll try to escape to the sea.

Of course it will. But it wasn't running just because it couldn't win.

What did it find?

We don't have time—

*cough* I'll never get used to handcannons.

Hey, where are you—

Huh? The Abyssal Hunters?

Hello, Irene. I see you've brought us more prey.

Did you just call me Irene? Have you... have you regained your memories?

Not entirely, but I know I'm in a great mood right now.

This is not the time.

That's the one from the deck. It's fast enough to dodge the captain's lunge.

I really must tip my hat to you, Irene. For chasing it all the way here without taking a scratch.

I can't take credit for it. It hardly even attacked. Look, it's still not, even now.

I see... I thought it wouldn't be able to resist if we chatted like this and showed it an opening.

Your friend just left, you know. It's not too late to go after them.

Or are you a pacifist too?

(Kazimierz, a landlocked country where Skadi stayed for a time. A place of sprawling grasslands and forests, the Land of Knights.)

(Knights...)

Is it a coincidence? Or did something draw him there?

This ship, Breogan. What did you intend to leave behind for your homeland? Where have you hidden the answer?

...Hmm.

(Sea Terror carcasses? And not only that...)

(The wounds are clean and precise. They show no signs of resistance. Scents mingle in the air. The air here is stale.)

(What else is there on this ship?)

Your belt and pocket watch are undoubtedly human in origin, and even in the Iberian style!

What are you?

It's stalling for time.

This will get complicated if the other one gets back to the ocean.

Still not attacking? What a passive dance partner.

I'll take the lead, Skadi.

Right.

—Guh!

Guh... grrrr... gah...

Come on, fight back already. I'm starting to feel like the bad guy.

...No!

It's not stalling for time!

Who defiles my Iberia? Heathens...

The sound of bells?! What?

(Sharp screech)

Bells echo through the empty hall.

The lights in the hall flash. The Seaborn lands in the direction of the throne while the three are distracted.

Yes, the throne.

There is a throne on this Iberian ship. A symbol of pride, power, arrogance, and deceit.

It's like...

Specter trails off, knowing what she was about to say was far too absurd.

It wears a crown, and drapes itself in the same colors as the curtains. It kneels by the side of the throne, the two inextricably bonded with one another.

It resembles the queens and ministers of old, serving the golden sun of Iberia.

A silhouette emerges from behind the throne.

Irene raises her lantern over her head, trying to illuminate the shadowy figure.

Why do you set foot on my ship?

*cough* *cough* Pah.

Who would ignore a question from the great Alfonso? Why are you here?

Why have you broken the silence, and come for MY Iberia, which had lain forgotten for decades?

I will start with you. Answer me, child of Old Iberia.

Irene could not believe her eyes.

She'd seen the Seaborn's face before. She had devoted much time of her time during her Inquisitor training to the study of history, immersing herself in doctrines and creeds.

How dare this Seaborn claim to be Alfonso?

How dare it claim to be Iberia's greatest ship captain?

—You, you can't possibly be the captain of this ship, monster!

Alfonso was almost fifty years-old sixty years ago, but you look even younger than the great hero was back then!

Irene knows she is shaken, but she cannot show weakness.

She reflexively raises her lantern, as her commanding officer would have.

Drop the mask, Seaborn!

The light of her lantern flickers. The tiny speck in the Inquisitor's hand seems to fit the word 'lost' better than the lights of this golden hall.

The Golden Age.

The 'Seaborn' briefly lays its eyes on Irene before turning away dismissively, rubbing 'Alfonso's' inhuman arm.

A short silence surrounds the hero.

'Seaborn'? I don't like that name.

Tell me your name, child of Old Iberia.

I am Irene, Inquisitor of Iberia.

And 'Old Iberia'? You dare defile the name of—

And you dare talk to me like that?!

(A screech interrupts the exchange)

Agh!

Where were you when we burned Victoria's ships and sunk the Lion King's honor to the bottom of the lake?

Where were you when I paved the streets of Sal Viento with pure gold, brought back in my ships?

Where were you when the Tercios darkened Leithanien's dawn like a black cloud?

You—

(Violent coughing) *cough* *cough* Pah.

I am Alfonso, Duke of Old Iberia, Admiral of the Armada, Captain of the Stultifera, and King of my own kingdom. You, a mere Inquisitor, dare question me?

...(Shakes head impatiently)

So the church's fools have crossed the ocean to find me. What did you expect, a pat on the back?

Go back. No matter how you got here, the Stultifera Navis does not welcome you. Garcia, my chief mate... no need be so bothered by them.

They will repay the sea a thousand fold for the blood they made you spill.

Ah... (Nods)

Mocking the Inquisition is a serious crime in Iberia.

Did you not understand what I just said? Leave. There is not a single living soul on this ship, child of Old Iberia.

We've sacrificed so much to—!

—I'm not here to ask for your permission!

Such impertinence. This is why I never liked the church.

A crime? Against a church too helpless to stand against even the feeble royal house?

If you're really from Old Iberia, then tell me. Who is the incumbent pope? Carmen?

...You know Saint Carmen's name?

Saint? A saint? Ha...

Haha... A saint... Hahaha.

What are you laughing at?!

He didn't even have the mettle to become pope? Does he not feel ashamed when he sees himself in the mirror?

No wonder it took you sixty years to find this place. It seems disaster has made Iberia weak.

But no matter. Before the ship's doctor joined the corals, we discussed what might have become of Iberia. This is not unexpected.

The floor that you stand on, this immaculate golden hall—THIS is the motherland I know.

THIS is Iberia, not the backwater you speak of, half of which you refuse to see or understand.

How far has the once-great empire fallen? Is it really so pathetic that it took you sixty years to find me?

Alfonso descends from the podium.

Irene takes a step back. Her lantern flickers.

Now then, why are there two Ægir with you? There is no place for the Ægir in my Iberia.

We meant no offense, Captain. We were merely chasing some ugly monsters, and mistook your chief mate for one of them.

...How did you survive so long here?

That's the question, ain't it, you Ægir fools? It's been so, so many years since I took up hunting, as a hobby. Either today or tomorrow should've been the day of reckoning.

But you chased away my quarry. Now we must once again rely on those—

—No. Wait... no!

You... you are not Ægir! You're more than Ægir! Both of you!

What's your name?

...Skadi.

No, no. No no no, Ægir. Don't try to deceive me. We may have been trapped on this ship for decades, but we are no fools.

They call you Ishar-mla.

Did you hear the bells, Ulpianus?

It's a miracle that anything works on this ship at all.

Here, the bells signal the start of the hunt.

But who's the hunter, and who's the prey?

The children of the ocean don't care. If they consider Alfonso to be their kin—albeit weakened—they're willing to offer their own flesh and blood, all to ensure the survival of the strong.

A Hunter approaches.

Gladiia. She's too sharp. The skills I learned on land will only work for so long. She'll detect me soon.

What will you do?

What will YOU do?

Answering a question with a question? I... I'm interested in your choice, Ulpianus.

I never expected to become interested in the Abyssal Hunters again, but Laurentina fascinates me. I see so much possibility in her.

And you, you've made your choice of your own accord, while retaining your sanity. Have you noticed? More and more, you're becoming like one of us.

Can you reach the truth? Cast aside revelation, lay open the body of god, and learn the truth of the gods of the sea?

The answer you're seeking is tantalizing. Heh, look at me, showing curiosity. Perhaps there's something human in me yet.

The revelation is imprinted upon the instincts of god's children. Our ways of thinking couldn't be more different.

Oh my.

You sound even more like a Seaborn than I do.