Tome of All-Memory: Burial at Sea

Caerula Recorder: Tome of All-Memory
May-June 2023	July 2023	August 2023	September 2023
October 2023	November 2023	December 2023	January 2024

Transcripts of the Burial at Sea Memory Mapping's Memory Selections.

Memory #1 Unlocked at the start

“ Fight the beginning, fight what transformed you. ” Kal'tsit is a little shorter than her. She walks a little slower, and her words are a little colder. Gladiia walks by her side, listening her to repeat those ancient tales. Morals, lessons, warnings. They have not known each other for long, but Kal'tsit has shown enough to demonstrate her power. "Power"? Gladiia stops in her tracks. She has seen power in many forms, most directly as the lance hanging on her back. She recalls the sights of Ægir, the fleets that once covered the ocean, how the gaze of its warriors penetrated the depths that not even sunlight could, how the pulse of knowledge throbbed within the vast Academy of Sciences... Finally, inevitably, ironically, and lamentably, she recalls her mother. "Power." Gladiia puts a stop to the associations, but could not shake the silhouette from her mind until Kal'tsit chooses silence. She says nothing, politely waiting for Gladiia to gather herself. Gladiia looks at the mysterious doctor before her, and gives a self-deprecating laugh. "Continue, Doctor. I did not mean to interrupt." "There seems to be something on your mind. Forgive my bluntness, but I could not continue the conversation with a Consul who is not paying attention." Kal'tsit pauses for a moment, then continues. "Regarding the origin of the Seaborn." Gladiia chuckles to herself. She remembers when she was still a girl, how her mother passed on her "tasks" in just a few sentences. Did her mother observe her expressions too? She starts walking again, in order to assuage Kal'tsit's suspicions. She'd had to reassess her feelings towards her mother, after living on land for some time. It was more than a bond of blood; the tones were more complex, like the coral-colored vortex that the wind creates on the dome. Subconsciously, Gladiia felt that she had long since escaped that vortex. It has been a long time. She has not thought about those sentimental scenes until today. Longing? Admiration? Respect? Fear? Resentment? Hatred? None of that mattered. Rather, had she ever truly escaped? Or had she simply learned that she cannot move when swimming against the tide–and that when allowing the tide to carry her along, it is only the scenery before her that moves? Ægir. Personality, attitude, even her "human nature." From head to toe, everything about her was molded by Ægir, or more accurately, by her family. An absurd thought flashes across her mind. As a Consul, as an Abyssal Hunter, as someone who has always fought for the greater good, she seems to have difficulty identifying the origins of this "greater good." "Do you need some rest, Madam Consul?" "Please, call me Gladiia." Kal'tsit nods in silence. Their gazes meet. "You are seeking like-minded people to find a way to save your country." "Yes." "So you need new companions." "Yes." "Then we can reach a consensus. But perhaps you should be seeking more than just that." Gladiia suppresses her surprise. She has always been good at hiding her thoughts, even when facing "herself" with the cruelest, most harsh attitude. Kal'tsit's gaze remains cold, but Gladiia does not feel it is due to indifference. "Very well, Doctor. You've told your story. Now it is my turn to speak on the present state of Ægir... and the plans of its Chief Designer of Warfare." "Kal'tsit." "Very well, Kal'tsit." Gladiia gazes out over the ocean. "Let's start with a mother."

Memory #2 Unlocked after entering the 3rd floor

“ Fight the deceitful shadow, fight arrogance and compassion. ” Knights. At Rhodes Island, Gladiia had seen Kazimierzians claiming to be knights. There was nothing complicated about their history, simply the result of the clash between Kuranta military tradition and farcical consumerism. But no interpretation of the word suited the knight before her. The Iberian soldier beside her cannot conceal his impatience. Once again, he asks the Consul for permission to attack, but she remains silent. "These two Seaborn are unusual," answers the Inquisitor on behalf of the taciturn Consul. "But not to be underestimated. We should continue to observe their movements for now..." See, the surviving soldiers have heard of him, one way or another. "The Last Knight." Gladiia remembers when she first encountered him at the Eye of Iberia. The ocean is vast and its forces innumerable. What were the odds of encountering the same Seaborn multiple times? Or had the key from that tiny village in Kazimierz tied everyone's fates together, this encounter simply another terrible coincidence? Clouds darken the sky, and the sea breeze brings with it a dank, rotten stench. The knight and his loyal follower rise and ebb on the waves along with the ocean's breathing. Gladiia has been thinking about it. If the knight and his mount are humanity who have fallen, like those dregs of the church, then their actions were too haphazard, too meaningless. But if they have fallen even further than the dregs of the church, to become even closer to We Many, how did they manage to ignore the will of We Many, and even the requests of their kin? Gladiia frowns, feeling a sense of nausea. Why would she feel empathy for this inhuman creature? Why is she subconsciously treating them as her equal? When did she start doing that? A crack of thunder drags Gladiia back to reality. A young sailor looks up anxiously at the sky. "The weather's getting worse. Visibility is decreasing." She looks at the Iberian soldier who spoke. "But there's something unusual about it..." Another crack of thunder, and the sea begins to foam, a black ocean that causes discomfort at a genetic level to any viviparous creature of the land. Sweat seeps from the brows of the soldiers, and quiet surrounds Gladiia. The weak sunlight shining through the clouds flickers. The ocean is filled with an eerie silence. Until the knight looks up. Gladiia has thought about why his last vestige of reason made him rage again the waves of the ocean. Was it an allegory for We Many? Or for Ishar'mla? Or... Gladiia suddenly jumps into the water. A moment later, the Inquisitor reacts, ordering the fleet to follow the swift Abyssal Hunter. The knight looks up at almost the exact same moment. A massive wave rises soundlessly from the horizon. Uttering a bizarre screech, the knight charges towards it, through it, and watches as the next wave roils towards him. Gladiia realizes that she has been thinking a lot lately. Suddenly, it occurs to her that perhaps the Last Knight did not act according to any logic at all. Only the purest thoughts of obsession and struggle drive it to destroy everything on the sea. Including her. Including the waves. Gladiia has been thinking too much. She remembers Ulpianus's advice. For a Consul, it is an asset. For a soldier, it is a liability. Gladiia attacks, framed by the light of the last embers of the setting sun, as if it is being extinguished beneath the waves. Perhaps it is an image that her life has always lacked, but... This man cannot be Seaborn.

Memory #3 Unlocked after entering the 5th floor

“ Fight oneself, seek death. ” Gladiia spends a few minutes confirming that she cannot swim anymore. She sits calmly at the bottom of the sea, feeling the pressure press on her skin and the temperature caress it. She recalls her hometown, the first nursing robot she saw when she was little, and the blurred outlines of her mother's face. She feels the voices leave her. Ishar'mla's voice is gone. The long struggle, the question that had plagued Ægir for centuries, the existential threat that loomed over Terra–all vanished when that deplorable false god, her closest comrade, died. Only the Consul is left, here and now. At the last moment, Ulpianus had given up his chance at survival to his junior. How ironic. He was not the sort of person to flip through a Consul's personal files, and the two of them have never brought up seniority. Only now, with the long war finally over, does Gladiia start entertaining the idea of letting her guard down. "Ah..." She realizes that perhaps she had never truly known Ulpianus. No... that also includes Laurentina, Skadi, and everyone else. They had always treated each other as Ægir, as Abyssal Hunters, as kin, as comrades. But their scent has vanished, lost to the sea along with the last fleet. Gladiia smiles. She knows how this ends. The song does not cease, even after destruction and sacrifice beyond reckoning. This is about more than one false god. The footsteps of doom have never slowed. Ulpianus was right. Skadi may have tried to remind everyone of this at a time when their hearts had gone astray. But Gladiia feels surprisingly at peace. Value and meaning that she had never imagined creep into her mind. In a game where there could only be one result, she found a way to accept it all. After a brief moment of rest, she tears off the flesh of a Sea Terror and covers her own bleeding wounds. Her body is now no different from We Many. She stands up. Bioluminescence illuminates the pitch-black ocean floor for her. In the nearby ocean currents, millions of Seaborn raise their bizarre limbs and watch her every movement intently. We Many beg her to submit, to abandon meaningless resistance, to forsake meaningless death. She understands their intentions. She is made to. It is the very last thing distinguishing her from them. She gazes at the resting place of Ishar'mla. She gazes at where the god awoke. Gladiia knows that when their kin ask, We Many always answer. Therefore– "How many are left?" She asks.