Vertin: "Dear Urd,"
Vertin: "Why are you so interested in the Panopticon of Comala?"
Vertin: "Dear Mr. Aleph,"
Dores: Whether as a doctor or a writer, I simply cannot turn a blind eye to the friction around me, especially the discord and injustice I've witnessed here in Comala.
Dores: So, I would ask of you a question: Is there any way to resolve the endless conflicts in this place?
Aleph: To put an end to this, a true ending is required.
Aleph: Your arrival has made it possible for this simulation to have an ending—or rather, a victory.
Dores: What do you mean by "victory"? I'd appreciate it if you could clarify in simple terms. If this victory comes at the cost of any inmate's life, I'm afraid I cannot accept it.
Dores: I also have another question for you: If I leave, will the stories and conflicts here come to an end?
Aleph: Ms. Grace of Manus Vindictae will grant you passage. But in any case, the cycle of history will continue to repeat itself in this prison, and in the entire world.
Aleph: The sins of humankind will not cease until veins turn to wires, flesh and bone to geometric shapes, and the world around us twists in the colors of an oil painting.
Dores: I must say, your words have left me rather baffled. Fragments of the events you describe often appear in my dreams. Could it be that these things really happened?
Dores: If that's the case, why can't I recall the details? Why am I left with only disconnected pieces?
Dores: The madness in Comala, these bizarre dreams ... I must put an end to them.
Dores: What have I forgotten? Has someone or something altered my memory? I can't shake the feeling that something crucial to me has been lost in the river of time. Some kind of duty, perhaps.
Dores: What should I do? How can I recapture what I've lost?
Aleph: I won't answer a question that already has an answer, one given to you by the person who escorted you here and made you a promise.
Aleph: You're so close to the place where the truth lies. Think carefully. Why are you here?
Vertin: These letters we found have answered a great deal, but there's still something that isn't clear.
Vertin: Mr. Aleph, what exactly did the Manus promise Dr. Dores?
Aleph: An era. A chance for her to remember her duty.
Vertin: An era?
Vertin: You helped her leave the Panopticon in the end. Where did she go?
Momentarily roused from his dream, the prisoner looks blankly for a moment before his gaze drifts back toward the distant illusion.
Aleph: Southward.
Aleph: There, on the no-man's continent, Manus Vindictae is preparing to recreate the parable of the past and future.
Aleph: A glorious past and a glimmering future belonging to arcanists.
Aleph: Dr. Dores is deeply connected to this particular parable.
Sonetto: Hmm. What exactly are the Manus planning to do in Antarctica?
Sonetto: And why would Dr. Dores go there voluntarily?
The information revealed stirs unease in the hearts of the investigators from the Foundation.
Vertin: Mr. Aleph, when did Dr. Dores depart?
Aleph: It was a day when both the clouds and sun were visible.
Vertin: A day when both the clouds and sun were visible? Could you be more specific?
Aleph: Specific? You mean the time of day?
His mind long ago lost any sense of time, a necessary exchange to make room for an infinite cosmos of words.
He once again finds himself without an answer.
Recoleta: When both clouds and the sun were visible? Hey, Vertin, I think I know!
Recoleta: It was three days ago! Then, Dr. Dores wasn't going to Comala on the day I met her.
Recoleta: She was leaving. She was headed to Antarctica!
Recoleta: It was cloudy that afternoon, with a brief spell of sunshine, just like Aleph described.
Vertin: Then it hasn't been long since she left. Excellent news.
Sonetto: Three days. If we set off immediately, we might still catch up to her.
Sonetto: But based on the intel we gathered in Ushuaia, Manus Vindictae bombed the entire port three days ago.
Sonetto: Clearly, they wanted to prevent any interference from the Foundation. It's unlikely we'll find any functioning ships there.
Sonetto: I'll report the situation to the Buenos Aires branch. Timekeeper, I'm afraid we'll have to find another way to get there.
Aleph: I have a boat.
A small boat gifted by Manus Vindictae.
During the past several "Storms," he has taken this boat, traveling to Antarctica at Manus Vindictae's invitation to evade the reversion.
Vertin: Could you lend it to us? The situation's urgent, Mr. Aleph.
Beneath a decrypted lighthouse, a battered little boat bobs in sync with the waves.
It is small and fragile, not the kind that seems capable of braving an icy sea.
Aleph: This boat will automatically take you to McMurdo Port, the landing point Manus Vindictae established by the shores of the Ross Sea.
Sonetto eyes the boat with skepticism, rightfully distrusting this "advisor" of Manus Vindictae.
Sonetto: This looks like Manus technology. Its arcane energy source is highly unstable.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, I suggest we wait for support in Ushuaia.
Recoleta: I don't usually agree with Sonetto, but I have to admit, I don't have much confidence that a boat this small can actually make it to Antarctica.
Vertin: Mr. Aleph, do you know anything about Manus Vindictae's ritual? How far has it progressed?
Aleph: The ritual could begin at any moment. I believe that's why they left Comala.
Aleph: Upon departure, one of their members, a woman named Grace, told me they would seal off the sea.
Sonetto: Are we too late?
Aleph: If you wish to find Dores, you must follow the same path she took.
The distant drone of the raging waves fills their background like a repeating omen.
Vertin: I see. Mr. Aleph, members of the Foundation branch will arrive soon to evaluate your condition. I hope you'll answer their questions with the same patience you showed us. Thank you.
Vertin: Sonetto, let's go.
Sonetto: Yes, Timekeeper.
As always, Sonetto keeps any mission-irrelevant queries to herself.
The girls preparing to set sail turn to the young writer beside them.
Vertin: Thank you for your assistance too, Recoleta. Perhaps you'll consider joining the—
A thunderous crash echoes from behind them—the sound of a collapsing building.
Recoleta: What was that? It came from the Panopticon!
