Liberi Reader

Jordi knows that if doesn't take this opportunity, then he'll drift into the endless ocean along with the ship.

There's no other choice. He has to return to the Eye of Iberia and hide inside the lighthouse.

Just like he hid in that little town for over a decade.

Just like he hid when Dario died.

Just like with Thiago.

He clings to the mast to avoid falling into the aberrant waves. Mon3tr is visibly dissatisfied, urging him on.

Sea Terrors leap from the water's surface from time to time, darting back and forth rapidly and kicking up plumes of water. The Eye of Iberia is already becoming smaller and smaller.

He sees words carved crookedly into the boat's mast:

'Gran Faro'

Gladiia silently appears behind the Seaborn, the lance in her hand actually puncturing the creature's body.

It is followed immediately by the cacophony of a whirling chainsaw.

The heat of the sweltering flames sweeps down the long corridor. The Stultifera is groaning.

The Seaborn does not attack the vulnerable Skadi.

It simply stares at her in silence. A very strange sensation. Just like at Sal Viento.

It is 'watching' her, Skadi thinks.

The Seaborn no longer speaks. The creature before it is not kin.

Predation does not require the tool called language.

But before it can strike, a shadow drops down from the darkness of the ceiling.

A flash of intense passion shimmers across the captain's eyes.

Since the dark clouds and turbulent waves trapped them inside this cage, few things have ever stirred his heart.

The heat makes the Seaborn uncomfortable.

It has become weak. Its kin are encircling it. It is unable to reach the sea.

It screams. But its calls are not answered.

No. Kin are coming. Closer. It can hear the voices of its kin.

They speak—

Gladiia does not hesitate. Skadi and Specter sever its body.

It tries to regenerate. It tries to break free. But this time, Alfonso clings to its body in a death grip.

He makes use of his already mutated arm.

It feels its lifeforce slipping away.

It sees Specter raise her weapon again.

Alfonso slowly lowers himself into the throne. He closes his eyes.

The warmth of the bright Iberian sun as it splashes at an angle across the deck.

The aroma of a winery. The melody of his hometown.

A damp and empty room. Freshly burgeoning petri dishes.

The ocean's waves.

The ocean he once knew. The warmth of Garcia's hand. Breogan's lonely countenance. Carmen's smile. His comrades' roars resonating through the sky.

He opens his eyes, and lets out a hearty laugh as everything is consumed by the flames.

His laughter crosses through time, until it reaches a small town of pomegranate flowers, where one can smell the sea upon the breeze, and mingles with the first cries of a newborn child.

Alfonso. That is what the people call him.

He lifts his old, rusty blade, and places it against his neck. He prays. He laughs.

Water?

Right...

The Stultifera... sank.

I'm in the ocean? The ocean... is a dangerous place.

It's dangerous, yes.

I have to return to Iberia!

I want to say something in return. But of course, I am underwater, and cannot.

Despite trying to contain my instincts, I can't help but clutch at her clothes like a helpless child.

But, I can see it.

The light reflected in her pupils.

The Seaborn quietly watches the distant flames disappearing beneath the waters.

The ship sinks into the ocean. Along with the flames. Along with everything.

Its kin answer its call. They all return to the many.

Surrounded by the many's embrace, it takes only a moment for the dying to be given new life.

The chief mate grips the Seaborn in its jaws and charges all the way into the seabed's murky darkness.

Its lover. Its memories. Its identity. As its charge slows, its consciousness dissolves into the ocean.

But still it bites down on the Seaborn.

The Chief Mate's consciousness is blurring.

Is it biting down on this Seaborn? Or, is it leaping into the Seaborn's embrace, seeking its succor?

It... It is forced to accept.

The sea makes it very comfortable. The Seaborn's thoughts flood into its mind.

Is it Garcia, Chief Mate of the Stultifera?

No, it is a Seaborn. It is one of we many—

Ulpianus watches the two sink to the bottom of the ocean, seemingly locked in an embrace beyond death. Like flowers growing side-by-side, they shrink, and wither. And beyond a certain depth, they are carried away by the undercurrent.

He does not lift his head until they are completely out of sight.