In a place as silent as a tomb, even the slightest motion can feel like a crashing wave.
???: The gate has opened once again.
Admiral Igor: Then it's time you made good on your word, Preacher.
The Preacher withdraws her gaze from the distance. Fingers hang over the idol at her chest as she turns.
Sophia the Preacher: The stage is set. Apostle Animus is ready to preside over the ritual.
Sophia the Preacher: But the mist has only just begun to rise, Admiral.
Sophia the Preacher: The Foundation's fleet is still threatening our coastline. I'd expected you to be busying yourself with wartime affairs.
Admiral Igor: ...
The admiral stands in the shadow, his eyes blazing.
Admiral Igor: I am exactly where I must be. You know the reason.
Admiral Igor: My men have fought from the tropics to the tundra in service of our pact. They have endured enough. It ends today.
Sophia the Preacher: That is a cost you should have anticipated when you entered the pact.
Admiral Igor: Anticipation is not the same as endurance.
He remains still.
Admiral Igor: Now the final piece has fallen into place, and we have done all THEY asked of us.
Admiral Igor: It's time that you fulfilled your promise—the "boon" for my army.
The Preacher studies him, as if weighing his contribution. After a moment, she nods.
Sophia the Preacher: Very well.
Sophia the Preacher: As we agreed—
Sophia the Preacher: —An army for a "boon."
Admiral Igor: ...
Admiral Igor: Flamo Flicker.
The moment her fingers touch the box's surface, arcane energy vanishes into void, leaving not a single mark behind.
Admiral Igor: ...
Admiral Igor: If only we had claimed it sooner ...
Admiral Igor: If only we had held it in our hands in 1999 ...
The Preacher shakes her head, then presses her hand against the box.
Sophia the Preacher: The fruit is not yet ripened, Admiral. To pluck it too soon is to bring ruin.
Sophia the Preacher: The "boon" will grant precisely what you asked, but not without a price. Take heed of my words: some doors are better left unopened.
She shifts her vision up to the admiral's chest, where his silver insignia glints under the cold sun. Awarded for surviving multiple "Storms," it remains polished, like new.
Sophia the Preacher: I trust you laid down your past when you chose to stand with us.
Admiral Igor: My path is set, Preacher.
Sophia the Preacher: Then do not stray, Admiral.
The admiral brushes her hand aside, tucking the "boon" into his coat. He leaves the frozen den without so much as a backward glance.
The communicator crackles to life.
Moldir: Admiral.
Admiral Igor: The pact is concluded.
Moldir: Understood. What are your orders?
Admiral Igor: Proceed to the next stage.
Moldir: Yes, sir.
The one on the other end of the line breathes evenly.
Moldir: But may I first request permission to attend to a personal matter?
Admiral Igor: A personal matter?
He lets out a soft chuckle.
Admiral Igor: chuckle Permission granted. Do as you see fit.
Moldir: Thank you, Father.
The call ends.
The admiral looks down, rubbing his calloused palm—every bump and scab familiar.
As familiar as each of his children.
Moldir takes a deep breath, the icy air forcing every fiber of her body awake.
Moldir: Standby is lifted. We are clear to proceed. Sergeant White Gloves?
Sergeant White Gloves: Lieutenant! Did you just ...
The sergeant watches his superior. The gleam in her eyes holds the same unyielding resolve that once belonged to her father.
Moldir: You heard me. Eliminate the Manus spies. Prepare for immediate evacuation.
Moldir: Comms, block all intercepting Manus signals and get Ptolemy on the line.
Moldir: Where is Captain Danilov?
Aircraft Captain: Here, Lieutenant. And I have good news.
Aircraft Captain: Your arcane skill did the trick. The helicopter is now fully operational.
Moldir: Very good, Captain.
Returning the captain's salute, Moldir marches through the snow toward the helicopter.
Moldir: This is the path we have chosen. There will be no straying from it.
Moldir: Time to find out whether we're the "idiots" or the ones to leave victorious.
The black lava wall looms, its ancient terror undisguised.
The tunnel is as quiet as a tomb; even a dropping pin would send waves of echoes between the walls. The unwanted visitors lower their voices.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, Ms. Stranger and Ms. Radio have settled down in the suitcase.
Vertin: Thank you, Sonetto. It's the safest place for them to stay now that we're getting deeper into the volcano.
She snaps the clasps shut and picks up the suitcase.
She forces herself forward, away from the terrifying gate at her back.
Vertin: The sanctuary is just ahead. Manus Vindictae should be holding the ritual there.
Vertin: Should the worst happen, you know what to do.
Sonetto: Yes, Timekeeper.
Sonetto: Oh, and, I'd like you to have this.
The crumpled hand-drawn map bears deep red markings, old records now interlaced with fresh annotations.
This map, soaked with Nautika's sweat and tears, has at last found the promised land.
But in a way no one had ever hoped.
Vertin: ...
She takes the map without a word, her unspoken feelings driving her every step.
The oppressive silence makes every scattered brush of boot on stone unbearably loud.
Someone's pace quickens until a loose stone trips her.
Sonetto: Urgh!
Vertin: Careful, Sonetto. Are you alright?
Vertin: Are you ... shaking?
Sonetto: ...
Sonetto: Don't mind me, Timekeeper. It must be the cold air.
She straightens her body, though her arm remains stiff and held at an unnatural angle.
Sonetto: Even the warming incantation is failing.
She pauses. A wavering hint of pain creeps into her voice.
Sonetto: Is this how Ms. Amundsen felt when she passed through the gate?
Vertin: Sonetto ...
Sonetto: She was so brave. Braver than I could ever be. I wish I had the same courage to pursue what I want.
Sonetto: Sorry, Timekeeper. This isn't the time.
Sonetto: Let's move on. There's still much to be done.
Vertin: ...
With a deep breath, Sonetto suppresses the shaking in her words.
Sonetto: "We must turn our eyes to the supreme mission alone."
Muttering to herself, she takes another step forward.
Sonetto: The ritual must be stopped. Shall we go, Timekeeper?
Vertin: Yes.
The sound of hurried footsteps rises again.
This time, it's met with an echo from the far end of the tunnel.
Footsteps come to a sudden stop, the ring of metallic ornaments lingering in the air.
Sophia the Preacher: ...
Sonetto: Ms. Sophia!
The air hangs stagnant in the dark space, yet the Preacher's shadow dances wildly over the stone walls.
Vertin: Sonetto.
Sonetto exchanges a glance with her, then nods, arcane energy coalescing at the tip of her glasfeder.
The Preacher tightens her grip on the idol, and radiance surges forth from it.
Sophia the Preacher: Διορθωθεί το σφάλμα!
COMBAT
Vertin: Now, Sonetto.
Sophia the Preacher: coughing What's ...
A haze of pink and purple smoke billows out. When the dust settles, only a hat remains.
Vertin: Run!
Sonetto springs into action, but another wave of dense mist rolls out from the tunnel, cutting her off.
Sonetto: This mist ... It's not from the Misty Bubble Ball.
Odorless, thin, yet oppressive and omnipresent, like the fog over the lake trying to turn the Spinning Wheel.
Vertin: Stay where you are!
Through the mist, Sonetto jerks to an abrupt halt.
Vertin: It looks just like the mist that hangs over the lake in the suitcase. You collapsed in it once, remember?
Sonetto: ...!
Sophia the Preacher: You cannot escape!
The black mucus surges forward again, chasing after those attempting to flee.
Sonetto: Regna sereno intenso ed infinito!
The arcane skill intercepts the creeping black. Sonetto steps in front of the Preacher, her glasfeder gripped tight.
Sonetto: It seems this is the farthest I go.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, go on without me. I'll hold her off.
A final glance is exchanged before she disappears into the thickening mist.
Sonetto: If you want to stop the Timekeeper, Ms. Sophia, you'll have to get past me first.
Sonetto: You once said that you'd draw steel the next we meet. Well, now's your chance.
Sonetto: Make your move.
The glow of arcane skills collides and flickers out in midair, over and over.
Sonetto: Ms. Sophia ...
Sonetto: To this day, I struggle to understand why you chose to stand against us.
Sonetto: Why did you turn your back on everything? On everyone you loved and who loved you?
Sophia the Preacher: You've changed.
Sophia the Preacher: Grown too fond of your own voice and paid too little attention to what's happening around you.
Sophia the Preacher: Are you sure this is where you want to be?
Sonetto: What do you mean?
The Preacher fixes her gaze on the tunnel's far end.
Sophia the Preacher: As we speak, the Timekeeper is leaving your watch. Would the Foundation agree to this course of action?
Sophia the Preacher: Shouldn't you be keeping your eyes on her, rather than wasting your words on me?
Sonetto: I trust the Timekeeper will fulfill her duty.
Sonetto: As for me—I will clear the dust off the path.
Every attacking gleam is caught and devoured by the viscous liquid surrounding the Preacher. Yet Sonetto keeps scribbling with her glasfeder in midair.
Sonetto: I have the same question for you, Ms. Sophia.
Sonetto: Is this where you want to be?
Sonetto: I saw how you fought on the island. Your arcane skills aren't at all like the ones you used back then.
Sonetto: You've changed, too. Something new has taken root and choked your old faith out from you.
Sophia the Preacher: ...
A single streak of light finally breaks through, severing crimson strands at the Preacher's temple.
Sonetto: We must be close to the ritual site for you to show up.
Sonetto: Which means Dr. Dores is close by, doesn't it?
Sophia the Preacher: ...
Sophia steps forward to meet those silent, resolute, unyielding eyes, as the surging black mucus solidifies into an impenetrable wall again.
Sophia the Preacher: Ms. Dores came to us led by nothing but her own purpose.
Sophia the Preacher: But what of you, Sonetto?
The Preacher raises a hand; the little idol sways gently against her chest.
Sophia the Preacher: What's your purpose in all this?
Sonetto: ...
Her grip tightens around her glasfeder. Just as she has done countless times before, she raises it into the air.