7:00
Scapa Flow
On the ship - Morning
The journey from St. Petersburg to the English Coast is no short voyage.
Passengers sway with the swelling waves.
Necrologist: "Mr. Smith, you seem down. Haven't you found your 'gray monster' here?"
Countless ships patrol the waters, steel beasts embodying the pride of the Royal Navy, the hopes of the people, the work of thousands of hands.
Smith: "I remember now ..."
Smith: "The gray monster ... it was the greatest ship of them all."
Smith: "I tightened its bolts, painted its hull, checked its instruments ... every day, every night." His broken stone fills with surging memory, his voice fevered, like a shot of adrenaline.
Smith: "I want to see it again."
Necrologist: "Just see it?"
Necrologist: "Is there nothing else you need?"
Necrologist: "Not a farewell ritual, a chance to meet old friends ... I would have thought this meant much more to you."
Smith: "Hah ... that's for the great men to arrange."
Smith: "A ship that size won't stop for a single loose rivet. It has bigger missions."
Smith: "We never had a say."
It gestures faintly toward Mueller's silent stone. But the soldier is already at rest.
Smith: "... We were just ordinary men. Now we're just ordinary tombstones. No different from stones on the roadside."
Necrologist: "Everyone is unique."
Necrologist: "Even as tombstones, I can tell you apart."
Necrologist: "The aura you carry, the uneven edges, the size of your cracks ... they all bear your mark."
Smith: "Thank you, Ms. Necrologist ... but it doesn't matter anymore."
Smith: "If you can, place me in the lighthouse closest to the harbor."
Smith: "One day I'll see it again, setting out or returning ..." His tone brims with hope, "The Dreadnought."
He waits, forever waits, for the ship in his memory.
In silence, he sinks into eternal peace.
Necrologist: "Mr. Smith ..."
Necrologist: "I think I know what I must do."
Library - Morning
For the first time, she breaks a promise to the dead.
Behind her, the bookseller eyes her with suspicion.
Shopkeeper: "You've examined every newspaper that mentions the Dreadnought ... Miss, what exactly are you looking for?"
Shopkeeper: "You're not some enemy spy, are you?!"
Necrologist: "No need, sir. I've already found it."
Necrologist: "Seas too rough for rescue."
Necrologist: "35 officers and 512 sailors lost."
Necrologist: "Now a graveyard beneath the waves ..."
Necrologist: "German actions condemned. We vow revenge."
In the crew list, she finds Smith's name.
She gently wraps his tombstone in the old newspaper, not placing him in any lighthouse, as he had wished.