level_act39side_st02

The sun sets. The crew shivers in the cold night of the Salt Flat.

They had to practically turn the battered ship upside down to find an old pot and some even older dried fin.

The pot begins to emit a sliver of warmth, with the help of Weedy's bionic seadragon.

It's so cold... we've used up the wood we scraped up. Leaf will have to do as a makeshift brazier for now.

It was only designed for warming hands, though. This is the best I can manage in terms of cooking.

Getting something warm to eat is more than enough!

We don't have much in the way of food or water. Enough to last us two or three days at most.

We have sacks for gathering rainwater, but... the weather on the Salt Flat is unreliable at the best of times.

Couldn't we make use of the steam outside?

It's unsafe for drinking. It carries microorganisms from deep underground.

I could distill it.

Focus on fixing the compass first.

Anyway, our priority now should be finding a way to last through the night.

Night on the Flat is no joke. We're low on food, and we've got injuries. Get too cold in your sleep, and you might never wake up.

R-Really? It could be over, just like that?

What if we run into a saltfin...?

It'll be fine! I can use my expertise to send it a message, telling it that we're here and to prepare to die!

...How can you be so absolutely awful at reading the mood?

You learn to live with it... He's the only one who could run his mouth in a situation like this...

Look out!

La Conquista runs over a bone and gives a violent jolt, sending the pot flying with the food inside.

Elysium leaps out to catch it, but screams as it burns his hands.

Isidro steps forward and thrusts his sword through the handles of the pot, saving their dinner.

The heat from the bionic seadragon has dissipated.

The heating function just broke... Give me a second. I'll fix it.

Brr... ugh... it's so cold...

Achoo!

I can synthesize something that emits heat. It shouldn't take too long.

Save the materials for the compass. I'll worry about the heat.

Achoo! Achoo!

I'm sorry, c-can I have a little more blanket? I'm really freezing...

I...

Stop worrying about whose is whose! Everybody, huddle up! Isidro, stop sulking over there and get in here!

Count your lucky stars you get to snuggle up to a once-in-a-lifetime hottie like me...

Hey! Who threw a blanket over my head?

Juana blocks the opening with her body. Teach helps Pascuala wrap herself tight, with only her face peeking out, grimacing from the cold.

Elysium and Weedy are struggling to move their stiff fingers to pick up the food and put it in their mouths.

Isidro wants to go back to the transmutation table, but realizes that his frozen fingers are of no use when he picks up the probe.

La Conquista sails aimlessly with the wind.

Brr... where are we going?

No idea. Deeper in, I suppose.

So we don't know where we're going...

We don't know when those finshit preachers will catch up to us...

And we don't even know if I'll freeze to death in my sleep, or if the ship will hit something again...

What's gotten into her?

I thought she'd be the first to find the warmest spot to lie down, maybe steal our blankets when we're asleep.

She's just a child.

*Sigh*...

She's asleep, with a bit of fever. See if she has any useful herbs in her pocket.

If I'm gonna die here... I wanna sleep in my old home... one last time...

That big house... my bed, my blankets, my bathtub...

My prettiest clothes, all lined up...

All the food I can eat... all the money I can spend... no more getting kicked out...

Getting kicked hurts so bad... rolling from one end of the street to the other... I just wanna go home...

Wanna live a better life...

Don't wanna die... not here...

...Zzz...

I'm sorry, Weedy. I didn't think it'd be so dangerous. I really shouldn't have brought you here.

Don't worry about it. I came to help.

If we make it back to Rhodes Island in one piece, I'll give you a month's worth of pay, I promise!

Heh, no need for that... Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning...

Okay...

Thorns? What're you up to?

Fixing the compass, otherwise we'll never make it out of Skeletal Reef.

The way the ship's shaking, I need to build an Arts field of sufficient complexity to stabilize the Corazonix. Otherwise, the entire compass could fall apart the moment I try to disassemble it.

And even if such a field is possible, I'll need a steady hand to carry out the rematerialization process properly...

The slightest trembling when etching the liquid Originium circuit into the Corazonix could ruin the whole material...

Plus, when tomorrow comes, I'm not sure if we could...

...Zzz...

It's no surprise he's tired. He's been learning the helm on the fly all day. He's never done anything like this before, has he?

...No, his training was in communications.

Get closer. The temperature's still dropping. It'll be warmer if we huddle up.

Perlita, do you want to...

Señora...

Yes?

...Papá said you used to sail the seas... Is it really blue?

Papá... will you take me to see it? When I grow up... I want to sail the sea...

Perlita, you...

Juana had told that story while holding young Teach in her arms, so very long ago.

She places a hand on Teach's forehead. There are wrinkles on it now.

Teach has a fever too, Isidro. Do you have any herbs left?

Let me see...

Here.

In the quiet cabin, the sound of rustling punctuates the low breathing of the sleeping. Isidro places both pot and rack on top of the repaired bionic seadragon and prepares to boil the herbs.

Juana gazes at the barebones interior of the cabin with soft eyes, seemingly recalling sweet memories.

She puts the herbs into the pot. They make a soft, splashing sound, rocking along with the ship.

Have you ever seen the sea, Isidro?

Waters bluer than the sky, waves foaming white, lightning striking from the clouds that seem like they would cut you in two...

Will you sail out to sea with us, Isidro?

You'd make a good captain.

Juana's eyes glow in the darkness. Cold starlight shines in through the ship's frame.

He opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again without a sound.

There is a light in the horizon, in the direction of where they came from. It is their pursuers.

Canvas, finhide, wood, relics of the Golden Age...

But virtually no food or water. You were desperate.

It always takes such dire straits for man to understand the value of order.

...Maybe.

Subservience to order has brought you food, water, and shelter. Do not forget this.

...My mates understand parley. They'll keep to the agreement.

Very good. You will make a fine privateer.

One who answers to me.

Log the confiscated supplies. Record the names of the bandits, then bring them to the abandoned houses on the edge of the town.

Take care not to draw the townsfolks' attention.

Yes, sir.

And I want those ships of theirs that traverse the Salt Flat to be brought back without a scratch. They are the town's only hope.

Understood, Señor Silver.

Anything else?

We...

We tried looking for the Alguacil, but found only a fragment of his clothing. I left it on your desk.

Very well.

I will take it from here. Now go. I wish to be alone for a while.

Anastasio, Anastasio...

I thought you would save us all.

But you never cared for anything other than yourself, did you?

The piece of cloth leaves soot on the desk that he had kept so pristine. Silver picks it up with two fingers and stares at it.

Finally, he throws it into the fireplace, and starts wiping the desk clean.

The same way he climbs the clock tower every day, gazing upon this town that has survived calamity both natural and man-made.

You don't care about this country, this town, or these people. That's why you'll never understand.

From the most prosperous harbor to the poorest village, every settlement in Iberia that survived the sea went on to collapse in the chaos that followed.

Aarón was no exception. I am the one who devoted half my life to this place, who saved it from the tragedy of cannibalism and the terrors of tyranny...

And I am the one who will bring it salt ships that walk the land, who will liberate it from this barren soil.

All you can see, Anastasio, is your stubborn, archaic faith.

You will never belong to Aarón. You will never interfere with Aarón again.

...My Aarón.

Legs driven by wind power through a complex transmission system...

So they were never meant to be landships at all. A wind-powered walker... genius.

A shame. That Ægir woman had such talent...

A handful of new ships, plus the ones confiscated from the pirates, will be enough to carry the entire population of Aarón.

It's been decades... Finally, we will be free of this Salt Flat that feeds no one.

Where did that sudden wind come from?

...What is going on?

Is this house really that drafty? I couldn't even light a fire.

A few small tiny sparks fly out from the end of the match, only to be extinguished in an instant.

A tiny flame sways in the wind, the flickering light illuminating the darkness.

His eyes begin to adjust and take in his surroundings.

He sees a face. Skin pale as salt, punctuated by red-brown blood stains. Wet hair hanging feebly off the head like entrails.

The face of a dead man.

You... you...

No one could have survived that explosion...

How did you do it? <i>What are you?</i>

On our first meeting, I was wounded walking the Flat on foot to reach Aarón.

You asked if I needed help.

At the time, you thirsted for nothing more than to aid me.

I...

Now? When you halted the clerics coming to my aid, when you gleefully imagined my death... what was it you sought?

You were also corrupted by desire just like the others, no?

Not a word comes out of Silver. He grabs at the air as he collapses, but only manages to pull out the drawer.

Flower petals pour out, covering him in them.

Dried flowers, rotted flowers, flowers that had turned to dust. Flowers from a few years ago, from a decade ago, from decades ago.

The flowers that the townsfolk had offered to their calificador in gratitude over the years, all pour down upon him.

...Flowers?

He hears the sound of a knife being honed, before it comes to a sudden stop.

There is a commotion outside. His mother screams, screeching and beseeching, claiming that she was honing it to cut vegetables.

He had not seen vegetables in the house for a long time.

You are safe, child.

Madness has come over your mother, but we have her under control.

I... I...

By the lantern... what is that he's eating?

No! No!!!

He screams hysterically like his mother, waving his hands wildly, trying to cover his own face.

Fearing that the clerics would smell the flesh, see the scraps by his mouth.

He had been determined to end his sinful existence by death. Why, then, as he comes face to face with this kindly man of the cloth, would he strive to hide his crime?

I... I...

I have sinned... please, let me die...

No, child. I will not judge you for trying to survive.

You must live and atone for your sins.

Sinners are myriad. We have walked the land helping those who could not atone themselves, and cleansing them of their sins.

This you can do also. Only by this will you atone for your own sins.

Until one day, the purest flower will bloom at your touch.