Nautika: That's odd.
Nautika looks down at her map, then up at the surrounding snow slopes and peaks. She repeats this several times, searching for familiar landmarks.
Sonetto: Are we lost?
Nautika: My team reached the outer perimeter of the ruins twice. The entrance should be right around here.
She rubs her gloved hands together, the fabric rustling softly.
Nautika: S-Sorry, Vertin. The terrain here is nothing like I remember.
Ms. Radio: Just so you know, I've lost all radio reception from the Foundation.
Sonetto: No signal, no landmarks, no working compass, and the terrain doesn't match what's on the map.
Sonetto: What should we do now, Timekeeper?
Vertin: ...
Their energetic sled dogs, after only a brief rest in the snow, start chasing each other's tails.
Nautika: Hey! Hey! My watch is not for dogs! Give me that! Shoo, shoo!
Nautika wipes the drool off her antique watch before storing it safely in her pack.
The dogs play in an Ouroboros-like circle, happy whimpers filling the air.
Vertin: I have an idea. In fact, the answer's right in front of us.
Nautika: ...?
Vertin: Shh. Watch.
Sonetto: Dr. Dores's stethoscope?
Sonetto: Ah. You're right. It's been staring us right in the face.
Sonetto: The sled dogs are canines after all. They should have a sensitive sense of smell.
Vertin: Yes, if we give them a moment to smell the stethoscope, they may be able to track down the scent left on it. Let's hope it works.
The lead dog releases its companion's soggy tail and lowers its snout to sniff the stethoscope.
Sled Dog: Woof! Woof woof!
Nautika: They—They smelled something!
Vertin: Hop on their backs.
The daylight that shines on this hinterland stretches into eternity.
Movement across the icy wastes seems meaningless without reference points, just as none could say how long the sled dogs run before their sudden halt.
Nautika: We made it. This is where my team went before.
She pulls the harness, and the sled dogs obey in a steady and contented stop.
Ear Worm Máhtu: "The guide appears, then fades from human sight; If the devoted journey, let their songs unite."
Nautika: Máhtu was right. The Mother Spirit was right. It was the right decision to join you.
The companions pat the dogs as they dismount.
Sonetto: Where are we? A labyrinth in a valley?
Nautika: Friele believed that these were the only outskirts of the site. She said that if we passed through the valley, we might even find the real ruins of a temple, or a city even.
Nautika: Look at this stone wall. There are excavation marks on it.
Nautika: We ran into an abnormal whiteout last time. It was too dense. We couldn't make out any details.
She sprints to the nearest rock face, crouches, strips off a glove, and presses her warm palm against the frozen stone.
Sonetto: I've never seen this kind of rock before. Is it some kind of fossil?
Nautika: It's tholeiitic basalt. It forms at mid-ocean ridges, down at the bottom of the sea. Look at the geometric pores and the golden mineral veins.
Nautika: If Friele were here, she'd call it a miracle. A once-in-a-425-million-year occurrence.
Nautika: Friele ... heh. She would have been so excited to see this, even if it is only the size of my palm. That's why she joined the expedition.
Head bowed, she warms the rock before slipping it into her pocket,
as if cradling some cherished lifeform.
Vertin: ...!
After a faint tremor, the arcane fluctuation dissolves into flying snow pellets.
Instinct carries her two steps forward before freezing.
Vertin: ...
Sonetto: Timekeeper?
Her sight has locked onto an anomalous snow mound at the base of the opposite rock face.
Vertin: Not an illusion.
Crouching, she brushes away the accumulated powder.
A portable vintage typewriter.
Sonetto: I read about this typewriter in the file. Ms. White Rum and Nala also mentioned it.
In this era, it typed terse medical records for the drowning girl, recorded São Paulo's raucous nights, and bore witness to Ushuaia's poetry society.
Vertin: That's right. This is Dr. Dores's typewriter.
Sonetto: Another one of her belongings. Is it too coincidental to be mere chance?
Sonetto: cough What's this all over it? Scale powder?
Vertin: ...!
Sonetto: Blood. It's dry.
Penguins, seals, or the fallen at the research station.
The bloodstains could belong to anyone, including Doctor Dores.
Vertin: Whether these were left intentionally or not, this proves that we're heading in the right direction.
Sonetto: So much blood. She may be injured. We need to find her as soon as possible.
Everyone crowds around, including Ms. Radio, who had been lying on one of the dogs.
Barren mountains flank them on both sides, a stone labyrinth of basalt standing sentinel at the pass, its end shrouded in mist.
Sled Dog: ...
The lead dog approaches, then raises its head, alerted to some unseen threat.
Sled Dog: Woof! Woof woof!
Ms. Radio: Wait!
Ms. Radio: Holy—! Where are you taking me?
Nautika: Stop! Whoa!
Nautika presses two fingers to her lips and issues sharp whistle commands.
Sled Dog: Woof! Woof—
Their paws churn the soft snow, drowning out the whistle commands meant for the loyal friends.
The excited sled dogs charge into the labyrinth, carrying the helpless Ms. Radio with them, and soon disappear from view.
Nautika: They're gone. W-What do we do now?
Vertin: Think positively. Perhaps they'll just get there before us. Let's go after them.
Their movement triggers something hidden, causing the snowfield around them to shake.
Sonetto: Wait, there are critters hiding out nearby.
Sonetto: There they are. Timekeeper, watch out!
