Sonetto: Timekeeper, are you sure this is the right direction?
Nautika: Please trust me and my map. This is the way to the ruins. I promise.
Vertin: We need to catch up with Dr. Dores as soon as possible. Hold on tight, everyone. I'm going to speed up.
Ms. Radio: Please slow down! Just a lit—AAAH!
Tiny blue flower shakes wildly in the wind, straining to grow toward the sheltered side.
The snowmobile races across the frozen plain, its driver's face composed and certain.
Yet her passengers' eyes widen.
Nautika: Wow, incredible! You really are an arcanist! We couldn't figure out how this thing worked—the new model with the Chevrolet bumper. Only Friele was able to drive it.
Nautika: But you, you knew how to drive it as soon as you touched the handle. Are you trained to use human technology at the Foundation too?
Nautika: If you are, it would be a huge case support to my study on arcanist lifestyles.
Sonetto: The truth is, Ms. Amundsen, the Timekeeper has never driven before.
As the world streaks past in a blur, panic creeps onto the backseat passenger's face.
Nautika: WHAT DID YOU SAY?
Vertin: Don't worry. I'm generally a proponent of safe driving.
Nautika: G-GENERALLY?
Vertin: What are those snowdrifts ahead?
Nautika: Fumarolic ice towers. Pull over!
Sonetto: Stŭpĕo Swift!
Ms. Radio: ...
Vertin: ...
Sonetto: Phew. Thankfully, the vehicle isn't badly damaged. Ms. Amundsen, are there any other obstacles ahead that we should know about?
Nautika: That's strange. This should be an open plain.
Nautika lowers her binoculars, muttering in confusion.
Nautika: ...!
She stumbles backward as her feet slip over an outcropping of ice.
Nautika: We should take a detour. This place isn't suitable for snowmobiles.
Nautika: Ah!
Where the ice had failed, a burst of steam succeeds in sending her sprawling back onto the ground.
Sonetto: Ms. Amundsen, are you okay?
Nautika: I'm fine. I'm alright.
Her tough talk dies on her lips. She sniffs the air, her face stiffening.
Nautika: Has my nose gone wrong? Or are we carrying rotten food?
The pungent odor is not an illusion. It's begun to spread all around them.
Nautika: Do you smell that smell? It smells like, hmm, rotten reindeer meat.
Sonetto: It's the sour odor of protein being digested and broken down by microbes.
Sonetto: It seems to be coming in waves. First it's pungent, then it gets carried away on the wind.
Sonetto: It must be coming from the ice towers.
Sonetto crouches, examining the hissing ice formation.
Vertin: What are these towers, exactly?
Nautika: When there's magma beneath the surface, hot gas escapes through narrow cracks in the crust. When it meets the cold air, it vaporizes and forms hollow towers.
Nautika: They're often seen around volcanoes, hmm, but there's no volcano here.
Crouching on the ground, Nautika's fingers gather crusted deposits from the vent's rim.
Nautika: Ugh. It's so stinky.
Nautika: The sulfur dioxide in lava does have a strong smell, but it's not as sour and smelly as this.
Nautika: Hmm, besides ...
She begins an analysis at breakneck speed. Beads of sweat roll down her forehead as she shudders involuntarily.
Nautika: The last time my team and I were here, these towers weren't.
Nautika: That was less than 100 days ago. They—They shouldn't have formed so quickly.
Nautika: And I've never seen towers like these before. They're so ... so short and close together, like a beehive.
Nautika: It's almost like ...
Nautika: ... like they're the pores of the continent.
She unconsciously edges behind Sonetto for protection.
Vertin: They're warm on the inside.
Sonetto: Warm?
Sonetto raises a hand to examine the sample, not noticing her own fingertips have begun to tremble.
*boom*
Without warning, the nearest ice tower erupts. A geyser of foul-smelling vapor blasting several meters skyward.
Ms. Radio: Ugh!
Ms. Radio is blown over, plunging deep into the snowbank.
Ms. Radio: □■□△! Don't hurt my precious flower!
Her muttered complaint is cut short by a panicked shriek nearby.
Nautika: Ah!
Nautika: Vertin, Sonetto, look ...
Vertin: ...
Sonetto: What is that?
Nautika: squeal A nail. It just sputtered out of the tower.
Her voice jumps an octave higher—thin, soft, and wavering, as her legs buckle to the same tune.
Sonetto: Uh!
Vertin: At least now we can be sure that there are people around here, or there "were."
Vertin: Let's head further in.
Wave upon wave of snow stretches out beyond them, steep-ridged formations vanishing into the distance.
After struggling up the shifting slopes, they finally stand atop the snow waves.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, over there.
Bloodstains bloom across the white expanse, crimson glaring against the snow.
A massive research station looms ahead.
Blood has been smeared over its doors in violent streaks—a grotesque testament to the tragedy within.
Vertin: Let's take a look.
Nautika: Vertin ...
Vertin: Yes?
Nautika: I ... I can't go.
Her refusal dies half-spoken in her throat.
Nautika: mumbling
Nautika clenches her jaw tight against the shivers of both panic and cold and takes a step forward.
Picking one's way past bloodstains and toppled insulation panels into the darkness proves difficult.
Sonetto: This is a large station. They have a kitchen, separate bedrooms, a bio laboratory, and a daylight simulation room.
Sonetto: But judging by the mess, it's been abandoned.
Sonetto: ...?!
Vertin: What's this sticky substance on the ground?
Nautika: It's black algae. There's so much of it here. Watch your step. It could be slippery.
The search continues.
Sonetto: There are arcane fluctuation traces on the desks and chairs.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, look over there.
Following her pointed finger, deep in the shadowed interior, a faint glimmer pulses.
Vertin: Excuse me, is anybody there?
Sonetto: Hello, we're here to ask for help.
Nautika: I-I don't think we should go any further.
Vertin: Sonetto—
Her teammate's voice rings out from the adjacent room.
Sonetto: Yes? Timekeep—
Unfinished words fall to the ground like wet sand.
It's impossible to tell whether what is left is a human or a lamb.
A tent stake pierces his palm, pinning it high on the storage room wall.
The arctic wind slips between the explorers' boots, rushing into the room—the corpse's frozen feet kick out over dust-covered cans.
Dried blood has crumbled into flakes in the hyper-arid air, scattering like snow when the wind stirs.
Sonetto: He's been dead for quite some time.
Vertin: There's an odd mark carved into his forehead.
Sonetto: Look at his hands. His nails have been pulled off.
Silence falls over the three.
Nautika: It's like ... like some kind of sacrifice.
Nautika: Some cultures believe the connective tissues containing keratin are unclean ...
Overwhelmed by the horror of the sight, she drops to her knees and retches violently.
Nautika: Stop it, Máhtu. It's just a corpse. It's—It's not the first time you've seen one. It's not the first time.
Her hands are trembling as she clutches at her head.
Vertin: Something else is off. There's gauze on the floor and brown powder around his wound.
Vertin: Looks like somebody gave him first aid.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, look. What's that hanging around his neck?
Vertin: A stethoscope?
Sonetto: Aside from a few creases on the tubing, it looks rather new or at least well-kept.
Sonetto: Do you think he was a doctor?
Vertin: The body's bloodied, but the stethoscope is clean. It was put on afterwards.
Sonetto: Which means someone came here before us.
Their analysis reaches a conclusion as their eyes meet.
Sonetto: Dr. Dores.
Vertin: Let's take it off and have a look.
The instant her fingers brush the stethoscope—
The bloodied windbreaker, wool tops, desiccated skin, atrophied muscles—the horrific truth fractures before their eyes.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, watch out!
Vertin: ...?!
She stumbles back instinctively, yet the remains collapse toward them with gravitational inevitability.
Sonetto: Cover your mouth and nose.
When the dust clears, only two grotesque tent stakes remain embedded in the wall.
Nautika: ...
"Within the great eternal mystery, even death itself shall die—instantly!"
Nautika: Whuh ... Ahuh ... AAAHHH!
She screams—a raw burst of terror too long bridled now explodes.
Nautika: This is exactly what Máhtu said would happen. I-I told you. I told you we shouldn't have come here.
Nautika: Mother Spirit, please, please save me. Oh, Grandpa, save me.
Nautika's teeth sink into her own fingers as her frenzy deepens.
Sonetto: Ms. Amundsen, it's okay. Just take a breath.
Nautika: No, no, no, no, no. You don't know what this means. Those poisonous monsters, those, those beasts! They hide in the whiteout. They eat people. They eat our souls.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, she's ...
Vertin: ...
Nautika: That's it. Hah. It's over. Everyone will be eaten, and you—you will be left all alone.
Nautika collapses and curls up on the floor.
Nautika: Just you and their nails, alone.
Vertin: Nails?
The realization comes as suddenly as a thunderbolt.
Vertin: Nautika, did something similar happen to your teammates?
Now paralyzed by her growing terror, Nautika seems deaf to all questions.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, watch out!
Suddenly, human-sized monstrosities swarm from unseen corners around them.
Vertin: Sonetto, prepare to engage.
Sonetto: Copy that.
The beasts snarl, breathing in and out with hungry and aggressive pants.
Sonetto: Ed è subito sera!
COMBAT
BANG!
Though the Field Mission Evacuation Instructions never covered how to outrun a pack of monstrous hounds, somehow, the well-trained team manages.
Sled Dog: Woof! Woof woof woof!
But in deep snow, the beasts' superior speed and stamina render the end of their chase inevitable.
Sonetto: I removed Manus Vindictae's effect on them. They should've calmed down by now.
Maws snap wildly, just inches from snagging their fleeing prey.
Nautika: Máhtu, the Mother Spirit will protect me, right? She'll protect me. Yes, She will, won't She?
Sonetto: Timekeeper, there's the snowmobile.
Their snowmobile stands loyally in the clearing.
Nautika: Friele. Hah. Friele's snowmobile has come to save me.
Sonetto: Get on. Ms. Amundsen, give me your hand.
Vertin: Grab tight. I'm starting the engine.
The engine screams to life, throwing a spray of ice shards into the air as its treads churn—a glittering mist rising behind it.
Sled Dog: Woof! Woof woof!!