level_act17side_st10

You wasted your chance.

What?

If I were you, when I caught that talking Seaborn in Sal Viento, I would've forced it to spill everything it knew about Ægir.

You've been walking the land for years. You've never heard Ægir's messages. But the ocean is different. The ocean has never been disconnected.

Yet you simply allowed it to die without creating any value. An unproductive decision, Gladiia.

I don't need to hear messages from trash. The only answers our prey can provide are the grunts of lowly beasts.

Seems you've found some assistants on land. And put quite a bit of trust in them.

(Howls) The cosmos... cemetery...

You're showing mercy. Why does he still stand?

...I'm not.

He's just a little sturdier than anticipated.

The knight does not fight back. He suddenly freezes in place and throws his head back. He staggers, spins around, and looks up.

Gladiia had planned to seize this moment to put an end to the chase, but right as she is about to, she has a faint premonition.

The Seaborn's scent. It's changed.

You're already sensitive enough to notice such changes then?

That's right, Gladiia.

No matter how much you try to console yourself or others, this is a problem we'll have to deal with, sooner or later, ourselves.

Garcia!

(Sobbing howl)

Good... Good... You hurt it real bad! We'll track it down in no time by following these blood trails.

Wait, what are these burn marks? What did it do to my ship?!

The monster can't have left these marks behind.

That's right. It must be the masterwork of our lovely little Iberian bird. Aw, they grow up so fast.

So who's scarier? The Seaborn or her people?

...You mean the Iberian from before? Her? Impossible. Any of this ship's battle-hardened sailors would've been stronger than her. How could SHE do this?

(Nibbles on the captain's sleeves)

...I understand.

No matter. Regardless of what that Iberian did, we have to hurry.

Time to put an end to this months-long hunt.

You seem to be in a pretty good mood, Mister Captain.

Good mood? Hah!

Who wouldn't be happy to bring an end to such a long hunt?

You keep chasing. I'll go a different way. It won't cut through these walls, it'll try to get closer to the sea.

Garcia... Your wounds aren't life-threatening. Just hang in there, and we'll be right back!

The injured chief mate still needs more time to recover. It looks at its captain's face in silence.

Joy. A hard-to-disguise excitement. A vigor it has not felt in a long time.

It takes a peaceful nap, focusing its energy on rejuvenating its injured parts. All to help its lover continue the hunt.

A brief, light dream. Short, trance-like, and extremely rare since its body underwent such profound changes.

In its dream, it stands upon Iberia's shores. The sky booms with fireworks and hums with the din of whistles. A high-spirited Alfonso stands at its side, asking it a question.

Garcia.

See those kids along the shore? We all like children.

Children are the future of Iberia. Our glory, our feats, and our skills all die with us.

But children. New lives. Ones that all of Iberia will come together to nurture. And they'll inherit it all.

Garcia.

Who do you think he should take after?

(How can it still move so fast with those injuries? I can't keep up!)

(And... holding back from firing my handcannon is...)

Ugh!

The nethersea brand has spread to the ship? But how?! It wasn't this bad a little while ago!

The fluorescing nethersea brand has devoured the golden Iberian hall.

The intricate dome reflects a ghastly blue light. And amidst the glow stands a lone, out-of-place woman.

Her two hands are crossed in front of her as she silently and carefully sizes up the throne in front of her. The nethersea brand spreads from beneath her feet, sapping the very color from the golden floor.

She turns her head. Her eyes hold nothing but compassion and expectation.

...Good evening, Irene.

(A Church of the Deep cultist!)

Did I miss...?! No, there's no way!

Originium Arts?!

That's right, Irene. If Dario could see you now, I'm sure he'd be so proud.

—How do you know our names? Who are you?!

I am a translator.

You think a lie like that will do you any good?

I never lie, Irene. I've translated a great many works. Perhaps one of novels full of Gaulish critical realism on your shelves contains my touch? Have you ever even noted the name of the translator?

Look at your feet! You're the one who brought the nethersea brand?!

That's a somewhat biased statement. I did not bring the brand. Rather, I established a bond with the fluorescent sea.

Truly, it is an honor to be a part of it.

How did you get to this ship?

That doesn't matter, Irene.

Nor does it matter whether you can defeat the Seaborn, whether I die here, or whether this ship will be key to reconnecting with Ægir. None of that matters.

And yes... The sacrifices of Dario and the Penal Battalion, Gran Faro's collapse, the Eye of Iberia. The long, long time that has passed...

In the vast process of evolutionary transformation, all of these are but drops of water in the sea of life.

My respect comes from the fact that we are all but a part of the Cycle. Compared to the whole, we are all insignificant.

—Wait. You mentioned the High Inquisitor. What happened to him...?

Alas, poor Irene. Look, I know the feeling of having questions and needing answers, but is this really the time? When your enemy stands right before you?

What happened to him?!

His sacrifice was in vain, Irene.

The sea breeze brought me news of his death. You have my condolences.

Impossible... It can't be...

Nothing is impossible, Irene.

When the oracle descended, all the futures of this land were set in stone.

We are bugs crawling along the ground. We ought to follow the ordained path. What's wrong with choosing a life without barriers, without separation, without country and without form?

If you choose to cease resisting, all the better. If not—

—If none of this really matters, Amaia, then why are you buying time for our wounded little prey?

...Oh?

You've woken up, Laurentina.

Not completely, but I can at least remember your name. Hope I'm not coming across as rude.

Irene!

What did you do to her?

Nothing. We were only making small talk.

Skadi, continue the chase.

Wasn't it your prey?

And who was it that let me run into such a nostalgic figure?

...Alright, be careful.

Irene?

...You're lying.

The breath of the sea does not lie.

No, like I said, that's impossible.

The High Inquisitor's death must have had a purpose. The Inquisition never makes sacrifices in vain.

If you don't believe that, cultist, then... I'll just have to become that purpose.

So be it. What a resilient child you are.

Ugh!

Hunter, let's go!

Oh, my dear little Irene, you've only just learned to control the power of an Inquisition handcannon, and this is how you display it?

If you continue trying to burn the nethersea brand in such a crude manner, Captain Alfonso will be furious, no?

Well... no matter.

You're going to just let them walk away?

Alas, unlike Quintus, I am not in such a hurry. Why would I want to face two Hunters at once and cut my life even shorter?

Is there a difference between a moment and an instant?

There isn't, but seeing you revert to your old temperament sure brings me back, Laurentina. After all, you were in a coma until the first experiment began.

How have you been since you left us?

Specter's lips curl into a subtle smile.

It is the most beautiful smile she's shown tonight.

It's getting faster!

I've already... *pant*... put two more holes in it. Just how much blood can it have in there?!

Two? How did you...?

I'll tell you later. I don't think my stamina is going to last much longer—

—It's been cannibalizing its own kind this whole time! No wonder!

Watch out, it's coming at us!

—Urgh!

Ishar-mla, where is He?

Answer. I wish to know.

You monster!

Before Irene can fire her handcannon, the Seaborn lurches forward.

As the wall cracks audibly, Skadi leaps back with tremendous force, before closing the gap between her and the Seaborn almost instantly.

Her lethal strikes once again bite down on thin air.

What...?

(None of her hits landed?!)

...Insufficient.

Nutrients. Time. All insufficient.

Ishar-mla, we require answers. But, I can feel His presence.

With words, we shall implore.

Ishar-mla, even if He does not answer, it does not mean, He is not there.

Even if He is not there, it does not mean, that our kind, has lost its way.

Our kind, has found its way. We will, seize our own fate.

Survival, the primary goal.

Do all of you love rambling on while trying to kill us?

Don't overthink this, and don't plan on returning to the ocean either!

—Insufficient, far from enough.

But, soon.

Ugh—! Cover your ears! Irene!

Huh? Ah!

(Screeching howl) —!

(Rasping murmur) —Roci—nante—

(Brays)

The waves are coming. We wait for them. We will wait outside. With weapons, we tear them— Let us go!

(Echoing braying)

The Seaborn's murmurs can be heard from afar. Gladiia frowns slightly.

For an ordinary land-walker to recklessly make contact with the ocean and win eternal madness is certainly conceivable.

But what of the other Seaborn that obeyed him?

But Gladiia does not think about it too deeply. Because a nauseating premonition is gnawing at her nerves—

—It makes her neck itch.

What's happening up there?

This ship has been adrift at sea for more than sixty years.

If they'd wanted to do away with it, or even simply treated it and its crew as enemies, the Stultifera Navis would've sunk long ago.

...So instead, they're assimilating it.

They've treated the ship as a part of their environment. For whatever reason, they must've allowed it to survive in their waters.

But now, the situation has changed.

You mean...

Hmm.

The nethersea brand? Since when? And how did it spread this quickly?

This ship will most certainly sink.

Gladiia.

Have you ever considered why an Ægir as talented as Breogan chose, in his final hour, to design the key the way he did?

It should've unlocked the secrets Ægir has long dreamed of. It is the quintessence of his life's work.

So why is just anyone's blood enough to activate it? Why would he let it fall into the hands of a frail knight?

We did silence that thing. But they probably don't need any gods at all. Only humanity, in their impotence and hypocrisy, would fold their hands together and pray to the ocean, finding far too much solace within it.

We need to make use of what little time we have, Gladiia.

You're still thinking about the incident with Thiago.

Mm, not quite. Of all the tragedies I've endured, his is hardly worth mentioning. Nothing more than a grain of sand on the beach.

But how much sand does this beach require?

This ship wasn't brought by the Penal Battalion. Most of the town's vessels were brought under their supervision, and the few that weren't were... forgotten, stranded along the shore.

Then we've saved quite a bit of time thanks to someone's carelessness.

I can't help but think of how much more will be forgotten, what else will be stranded.

Kal'tsit, if the land of Terra were a ship, what kind of vessel do you think it would be?

We're almost at the Eye of Iberia.

...That we are.