story_glady_1_1

glady

5:18 P.M. \ Overcast

Primavera City, Iberia, in a certain chapel

Oh! How long has someone been at the pews?

Ma'am, have you been sitting here this whole time?

I passed by just a moment ago, and I didn't see you...

You were focused on this... instrument made of some type of plant tissue, you were using it to polish the floor.

Er, do you mean my broom? Yes, I'm sweeping the floor right now.

Please excuse me; I did not intend to disturb your work. After all, it seems you'll be busy for quite some time.

No, it's okay, haha. This doesn't really count as work. I'm just a layman, and I sometimes come help clean the chapel.

I've never seen you before. Are you an Ægir too?

...Ægir?

Your use of 'too' may not be so accurate.

I—I'm sorry! That's my misunderstanding, then, I didn't mean to regard you as one of us...

Physiologically, you're not mistaken.

Oh... do you come from another city, then?

You might say so. I only arrived a few months ago.

Your journey can't have been easy. It never is for us Ægir.

It has definitely been exhausting.

If you have any questions, just feel free to ask...

Good. Since you are still willing to call yourself Ægir, I do find something very curious—

The nation you once belonged to had relentless cleaning devices. Not a speck of dust was allowed to settle on the streets.

May I ask why you endure such a filthy, inefficient life now?

*Sigh*. None of us want to. The disaster fifty years ago changed Iberia.

Iberia?

No, I was not referring to this dry country.

Then you mean... all the Ægir settlements from before?

I've only ever heard my grandpa mentioning them—*cough*. Ma'am, those underwater cities are all abandoned now. They say they're incredibly dangerous, whether to us islanders, or to Iberia.

You listened to the birds.

Though it only scratches the surface, you still carry a portion of Ægir knowledge and technology.

Why would you consider yourself yet inferior to the barbarians of dry land?

It's... not to say we're inferior, but... ma'am, it's best the Penal Battalion doesn't overhear this. It hasn't been easy for us to stay in this city, so near the blockade line...

Cowardice, and misgiving.

In Ægir, with a child that posed such problems, the parents would be stripped by law of the chance to raise progeny.

Ah... that sounds a little frightening.

Is it frightening? It seems you've completely forgotten your own originating way of life. The dwellers of land have already assimilated you, whole.

Living here in Iberia, acting too unlike everyone else is a very risky thing.

I comprehend your choice.

Ma'am... you seem disappointed, in a way.

Disappointment requires a hope before it.

Perhaps this was not all you brought ashore, but clearly, searching will still require more time.

Ma'am, I don't think I understand even half of what you're saying.

I am not too familiar with this manner of communication yet.

Your wording is also... very strange. It reminds me a little of those revues that people liked decades ago...

Are those works of art no longer popular?

How regrettable. I quite appreciated them.

So you only intone like this because you like it...

And you would not achieve rapid grasp of an unfamiliar language by way of audiovisual storage discs?

We really couldn't.

Understandable.

And, generally speaking, it's not because we're too stupid...

Of course there can be other explanations.

*Sigh*... Ma'am, if I offend you again, I apologize... You seem like you aren't well. Are you ill?

Dry-land pathogens would be hard-pressed to cause any harm to my bodily functions.

As for emotional ailment, perhaps. After all, it's too dry here.

I've only ever heard complaints that this season in Iberia is too moist.

In any case, as long as you aren't sick. Of course, if you feel unwell at all, you can seek help from the priests.

Faith.

You do not harbor faith in science nor technology, nor the nation itself, but invest your ideals in an... impurity that lacks reliability.

Of course, I've recently come to realize, it's also an effective means to accomplish a mutual deception on the power of an informational asymmetry.

It's possible you've misunderstood. I don't feel that illness can be cured just by thumbing through a holy book or listening to a sermon...

You exceed expectations.

Ha... haha... Ma'am, you really do have a special sense of humor.

What I wanted to say was, the people of the Church are very giving, and they've even recently extended shelter to some Ori... er, some sick. They and the sick are all Ægir alike.

Apart from chatting with 'Ægir' such as you, the conduct of the Church you speak of also constitutes my reason for coming here.

Is that so? You came looking for someone ill?

Supposing who I thought to seek really was here, then...

Antonio, why does the window on the west have a big hole in it?

A hole? It was broken about ten minutes ago, all in a flash. I'd guessed it was the Penal Battalion arresting someone...

May I suggest to you something?

Ma'am, what is it you want to say?

Leave, now.

A—An armband? A Battalion armband? Y—You're from the Battalion? It's no wonder you're so peculiar... I never even realized!

Officer, th—thank you for letting me free! I'll leave right away!

Remember to close the door.

Not bad. The military organizations of dry land may appear ineffective, the soldiers' technology feeble and pitiful, but to those even weaker, deterrent power is still expressible.

Moreover, I am very glad to see none of you have left.

This will save me some minor time.

The scent...

Please come closer.

*sniff*... *sniff* *sniff*... You're not the Penal Battalion... What do you want?

I had thought you would be capable of more kindly language.

After all, when I saw how the technology you use was more complete than those runaways', I'd had a shred of hope for you.

Technology...? We do not understand what you speak of.

Originium. This special energy source, both dangerous and with potential, does not exist on the seafloor.

Curiosity in energy sources is not at all strange.

No one on dry land has been able to reproduce Ægir's original form, and due to this, I have seen in this nation of Iberia a vast array of technologies composited with no concern for beauty whatsoever.

However, you are unlike those runaways who forced themselves to integrate into this dry country. You use Ægir technology to purify Originium, and undoubtedly harbor further plans.

We... help...

Help through giving? Only the naive would believe it.

They know not where all those sick ultimately disappear to, and I have found traces of Ægir technology on the bodies of those unfortunate experiments.

You... found them?

It was in no way difficult.

You aim to transform each and every body. Such technology requires dozens of procedures. And how far have your doings progressed? Perhaps the first procedure, or the second?

The runaways who fled ashore prior to that first contact could not have grasped these procedures.

As for they, they have occupied the channel between the ocean and the land. If even I have no way to return, none of you could possibly emerge by normal means either.

How have you, long used to walking on dry land, managed to sustain contact with the ocean?

Or could it be... some have brought the filthiest trash of the sea ashore with them?

Who are you?

I'm fed up with this game of mutual identification. Such a cliché oughtn't be present in dry land's theater.

Gladiia weightlessly brandishes her lance. An alloy not known to land strikes stone brick at a speed the naked eye cannot perceive. With her at the center, the chapel's entire floor roars as it subsides.

As I expected.

Did you deliberately construct such an inferior experimentation site below a masquerade of a building, simply to trick the landwalkers' gaze?

Moreover, I'm astonished these petty tricks could actually win such outstanding results.

I once again must reassess the grade of these land nations' organizations.

*cough*... *cough* *cough*! This weapon of yours! And your strength... is this Originium Arts?

Heh, Originium Arts.

It—It couldn't be... you... you're...

If... you're the one the bishops spoke of... then you should've been gravely wounded months ago!

You know of what occurred three months ago on the seafloor?

No.

You've met someone else on the shore.

Who was it—that you met?

This speed... *wheeze*... *wheeze*... Why were you unmoving before?

I am tired of moving on dry land.

If standing still will dispose of you shameful ambling trash, why should I waste the further energy?

I... I do not know... We only guard... You may not destroy this place...

Quite right. You are inferior, and there are limits to the faith you grasp.

Then I can only change to a different topic.

How many more individuals do you keep on dry land?

How many more plots do you plot against Ægir?

And—why—do you research artificial integration of Originium with Ægir bodies?

*wheeze*... *sniff*... *sniff*... The scent...

Don't waste the energy.

Turning into Sea Terrors will only hasten your deaths.

It... It couldn't... aaarghhhh—!

Perfect. (Ægirian) I wanted you to die a little faster, anyhow.

So frail that a single sweep destroys you all.

Urgh—

This... gripe in my stomach... is back again. Ever since I came ashore, it hasn't ceased.

These morons that couldn't even turn fully into Sea Terrors... I see I'm suited only to slaughtering such prey here!

And these... Ægir who came ashore, they've all become indistinguishable from land-dwellers.

How long does it take, from leaving the seawater, to the last hint of moisture evaporating from the body?

Whether this end, or another, no matter which...

No... I cannot...!

(Vomits)

But...

...are there others who truly yet live?

If there are, how much time must I spend before I can rescue them?

Gladiia senses her internal temperature still rapidly rising, just as it does on the surface of her body.

Do not stop, you waste.

Though I cannot return to Ægir... no, precisely because I cannot return for now, I must do this.

Retrieve my hunter. Continue to fulfill my duty.

Fight on without rest or pause.

—For Ægir.

...Who is it?

(Shriek)

I suggest you halt your attack.

Though your strength is uncommon, I'm afraid no one can force me to halt.

Once more, and this chapel will collapse.

You don't pay mind to the Penal Battalion, but I guarantee you, not even you would want to catch the eye of Iberia's Inquisitors.

Land bird...

This meaningless clashing will only slow your search for your comrades.

(Ægirian) Perhaps the nation of the seafloor can still wait.

(Ægirian) For the stranded hunters, there is no such guarantee.

You... You know of Ægir?! You even know our...

Three months oh-seven days ago, fierce oceanbound visions once again manifested in the seas south of Iberia. This information was rapidly curtailed by Iberia's government, but I had my own means to learn of it.

You sought me intentionally. And perhaps you found this place too, like I did?

You can so much as fully understand. I've been waiting for you, and waiting for a very long time.

You've been sent ashore by an exceptional current. It may be extremely painful for you, but for us and Ægir, it is a chance.

You are not hostile. Or else, your revealing this information would have sufficed for me to take your life.

You could do so, but—there is no need for it.

You have amply sensed that I and the sea have no connection. But in reality, between dry land and the ocean, no distance separates.

The ocean in its pride may rarely notice the land, but the land cannot stand by as it sees disaster unfolding in the ocean.

Since my coming here... you are the first to instill awe in me.

You are very well aware, this is not a place for conversation.

Moreover, with how you've dragged your badly injured body to an unfamiliar environment, you cannot hold out for much longer.

Long enough for me to find and cut this trash to pieces.

You know this battle will continue for a very long time.

If they weren't so good at hiding, would Ægir have allowed them to last this long?

What they are and do does not amount to a threat against Ægir.

You think to draw a distinction between them and they, but I'm afraid that's not how they themselves think.

Will you remain here, continuing to charge me with lance in hand, or shall you leave, together with me, so we can discuss a possible collaboration—

The choice is yours.

Ægir's fate, and that of your comrades, Iberia and even this great land... all rest in your hands.

Before we initiate discussion as to specific matters of cooperation, would you first tell me your name?

Of course.