Morimens story · Main Story
Desire's Flow
32 scenes, 1,578 lines
1. Thais, before the fight
31 linesOne week after Operation Remouahe
The ornate coffin rests in the subterranean depths of Mythag. Its black-and-gold lacquer evokes ancient origins and the shadowed history you're about to uncover.
It lies in solemn grandeur, whispering of a lost civilization's vanished splendor and the epic saga you've lived through.
We're looking at the spoils claimed by %player% during Operation Remouahe.
The Aramite nomads call what lies within the "Remains of the Mother Tree."
Your eyes linger on the intricate carving at the coffin's heart.
The tree emblem is carved into the lid's enigmatic surface. Its branches sprawl abundantly, and its roots coil like serpents, casting faint, elusive gleams in somber tones.
The Mother Tree serves as the earthly Proxy for one of the three Aeons, Tifere Yesod, the Aeon of Desire.
Studying these remains could prove pivotal in deciphering the Dissolution Phenomenon.
Now, let the opening rite commence.
Shall we call some students in for assistance?
No need. It's merely a matter of opening the lid.
Word has it that youngsters from the Elke Kingdom grapple with bears from childhood. Our acting dean Czort must also possess formidable prowess, no doubt.
Czort advances, inhales deeply, braces her frame, and unleashes her full might in a heaving thrust...
The lid holds fast.
Acting like you're still in your heyday? When's the last time you even stepped into the training hall?
Aww, but the acting dean's workload is relentless. I'm sure Ms. Czort would've loved to train more.
I'll give it a try.
Your eyes roam the coffin's expanse: the flaking black-and-gold veneer, the elaborate etchings encircling its form, the radiant jewels studding each corner.
You press against the lid, but it yields nothing.
Gritting your teeth, you pierce your fingertip with a sharp bite, and, braving the sting, trace a bloody streak across the wood.
A thunderous rumble echoes as the coffin slowly yields.
What slumbers inside was once a mummy...
Now reduced to faded linen scraps, tangled bandages, and a seething pool of inky sludge.
Dispatch the wood and fabric to the lab for compositional breakdown.
Dating analysis might reveal the mummy's identity.
That's unnecessary.
I know who she is.
Your fingers brush the inscribed runes lining the coffin's interior, their ridges forming a name seared into your memory.
Thais.
May she rest in peace at last.
2. Oasis, before the fight
43 linesI, too, once slumbered, but now I am awake. The beasts of the desert shall drink from the ▼▼ river, they shall rest upon its banks, for no one shall make them afraid.
Two weeks ago, Operation Remouahe
This was supposed to be the Mother Tree, nobody mentioned these things!
Ramona drove her blade through the beast rushing her. Its tentacles spasmed briefly, then slumped onto the dune. The mangled limbs dissolved into the grit, sinking beneath the shifting waves in seconds.
After all, the so-called Mother Tree legend has only vague records in Mythag's library.
Most of the Remouahe Kingdom is still uncharted in human history, except for the Aramites appearing in markets now and then, nobody knows what's hiding in those sandstorms.
But Mr. Alistair confirmed the Mother Tree intel from Lady Daffodil.
That Lady Daffodil... her style's not exactly something I'd endorse.
Alistair's readings show the Black Pool has been unstable since this year's Keybestowal Ceremony.
It might mean Tawil's stability is returning. I'd suggest ramping up monitoring...
Hold on.
Got a suggestion, Professor Doll?
I'd suggest you humans tune up your senses to avoid spilling Mythag secrets when outsiders are eavesdropping.
Doll's nudge brought a subtle violet scent drifting in as an elegant woman rose smoothly from the guest sofa.
No need to panic, the Gray Mist Sea provided me with the Black Pool's readings days before you poked your gadgets in.
But let's skip the small talk. I'm dropping by with critical intelligence from another outfit, a special delivery for Mr. William here.
All about the Aeon of Desire, the "Mother Tree."
So, for a handful of chit-chat from "Lady Daffodil," we're stranded in this godforsaken desert stuck in the stone age.
Mythag's top dogs gamble as hard as I do.
Weeks of this sandblasting, and my favorite coat's fraying to bits. Any chance for a clothing upgrade budget?
If you're really buying a new coat and not dumping it on some backroom bets, go ahead, Mr. Ryker.
One night at the tables nets me a fresh coat plus startup cash for the next game. Win-win, yeah?
William cleared his throat, nipping the idle chatter.
Tawil the Aeon of Sagacity is sleeping in Mythag's Black Pool. The Aeon of Rapture roams the world in disguises. But the Aeon of Desire's whereabouts has always remained a mystery.
Daffodil's intelligence confirms the Mother Tree site was sealed by the Storm Wall in A.F. 225. It's been ninety years since anyone last accessed the area.
The Aramites are preparing a huge sacrifice to taint the Mother Tree and kick off a worldwide Dissolution wave.
Your mission objective is simple: follow the local nomadic Aramites and neutralize the ritual's core, the Mother Tree.
Yeah, yeah. But forget the grand speeches, handling the crap at hand is priority one, right?
Look at the lass, she's white as a sheet from dehydration. If we don't find water pronto, we're all toast from thirst.
Quit exaggerating, I'm fine!
Come on, lass. We've all just polished off our stashes, but you haven't hit your pouch since yesterday, have you?
What's sloshing in there?
You grabbed Ramona's pouch, it was hefty, with dark shapes swirling inside.
Ryker tipped it up, and thick black goo spilled out.
D-Slime.
Ramona, when did your pouch...
A couple days back. I kept an eye on it, it looks like only mine was hit.
From mixing it up close with those freaks?
We'll worry about the why later. Refill's urgent now. Ryker?
Sure, sure. But luck's not for scavenger hunts, you get me? If I'd known this gig was the reason you hauled me out, I'd have played sick...
Ryker griped, sniffing the hot air for traces of moisture.
Westward bound, water must be that way, no doubt.
3. Oasis, after the fight
44 linesHeads up!
Ramona wobbled, her rapier barely blocking the monster's slashing claws.
Behind you...
Ramona couldn't spin fast enough. A beast burst from the sand, its tentacles fusing into a spear, hurtling down at her spine...
Clang...
A hulking hound leaped from the flank, slamming the creature down.
The blindsided monster shot out bloody feelers, ready to choke the dog mid-bite.
Ramona tumbled back, jabbing her rapier straight into its eye.
The thing let out a nightmarish wail, its slime-slick limbs thrashing feebly before it spasmed and crumbled away.
A camel train topped the far dune; the hound barked happily, bolting to the woman leading it.
Good boy, good boy.
Yes, I get it all. You did great, you'll earn that treat you deserve.
She swung off her camel, meeting your gaze head-on.
Your gear screams outsiders. You look beat; must've roughed it through Remouahe.
Sipping from the Aram Holy River? That's kismet. Care for some hospitality at our camp?
Meanwhile Mythag's Subterranean Black Pool
Free intel just isn't your style, and you don't front tabs. If Mythag didn't pay for it, someone did.
Who's pulling strings to get Mythag's Keeper into that desert?
It seems there's no use trying to leverage a falsehood with you.
Too bad, the deal is ancient history now. I can't picture the buyer's face anymore.
...I see.
Remouahe Holy River
So, Julie, the ley lines in Remouahe woke you up? Dreams called you to lead the Aramites?
Sounds straight-up legendary!
I dismissed it initially, of course, but the dreams persisted, night after night. A whole people waiting out there... as a Divine Envoy, how could I turn my back?
Lucky you heeded the call, or we'd still be flailing around like idiots forever!
It is the Aramite's honor to host distinguished guests like you, Mr. Ryker.
You prop Ramona on the camel; ahead, Juliette and Ryker's chuckles and whistles float back.
Despite the other Aramites urging her to ride, Juliette insists on walking, giving up her ride for you.
Isn't that too much for a ruse?
Somebody's gotta cozy up to the locals in your crew.
Alas, Mr. Ryker's got card skills and a charm to match mine.
I hope your lordship isn't mangling the word "match." I still recall your pout after Ryker cleaned you out at poker that night.
As Londinium's top table shark, a rare loss calls for a bit of moping, totally fair.
You blew every cent and skipped breakfast the next day.
Squabbling isn't for patients, rest up.
Ramona's rasp echoes in your hold, her unnatural fever pulsing through with each bump.
The heat comes weirdly quick; a bad feeling hits your nerve.
Check that out.
Restless beats thrum in the sandy gusts, dust choking your breaths with eerie tightness.
Camel bells toll far and lingering; heat twists the sunset into warps. The horizon's rim sprouts tent dots like hazy illusions.
After weeks of slogging, you finally find the target of this investigation, Aram.
Aramite camp's up ahead. To play it safe, I'll peel off solo.
Perfect timing, I've got a lead I want to chase...
4. Settlement, before the fight
7 linesA swift horse gallops from the tents, reining up sharply before Juliette.
I'm afraid there's urgent business, everyone.
Those monsters we just fended off, the locals call them Nubia, a whole contingent is eyeing the camp right now.
For the camp's safety, I need to clear them out.
Mind if we tag along?
I would hate to impose on you all.
Julie, your problems are our problems. Don't you fret about it! A few Nubia are hardly a wager.
5. Settlement, after the fight
106 linesOh, right, Ryker, a moment please.
Yeah?
Before we enter the settlement, we should address your... presentation.
Keep this sachet of incense on you at all times, tucked in your tie, dangling from your cane, or even behind your ear, whatever you like.
Ryker takes the small incense pouch and tucks it into his left glove.
...
Ramona, what's wrong?
Look at Ryker's face.
L-Lord Dexter!
Well, well, what a clever trick.
No sooner do you reach the camp than a crowd of Aramites in traditional garb swarms Juliette's camel train.
Miss Juliette's back, bring out the prepared offerings!
Miss Juliette brought guests?
Miss Juliette, we spotted a Nubian cluster eight hundred meters south, there are about thirty of them!
Got it. I'll handle them one by one. Is Alva in the Queen's tent?
The chieftain took a squad to scout the Nubia.
Understood. I'll escort our guests to rest first. Please wait for me in the chieftain's tent.
The Aramites scatter in a flurry as Juliette tugs the reins, turning toward you.
As you can see, Aram affairs keep us busy. As the envoy, I handle some of the odd jobs for them now and then.
That said, staying the night requires the Queen's and chieftain's approval. Feel free to rest in my tent or talk with the Aramites.
...
...
Let's pool what we know.
According to Juliette, the Mother Tree withered long before the Storm Wall appeared.
With the Mother Tree's decline, the Holy River's tributaries are drying up, desertification worsening, no way for villages to survive here now.
This squad carries the Mother Tree's remains, seeking a way through the Storm Wall to revive it.
Those monsters, Nubia, are a recent plague in Remouahe.
Aramite society is pretty primitive; Juliette, the Awakener who crushed Nubia attacks, is seen as a divine envoy with godly power.
Hold up, someone's coming.
Resting well, everyone?
If you're ready, one of you shall meet the Queen as a representative.
...
As dusk deepens, the sunset bleeds crimson across the sky. Desert hawks wheel once more, their final cry echoing before they settle into barren branches.
Under Juliette's guidance, you arrive before a tent of singular design.
This is the Queen's tent. By Aramite custom, all honored guests must earn the chieftain's permission under the Queen's witness.
Please wait here for the chieftain, I have matters to attend to.
Remember: do not enter.
Offending the Queen is beyond my ability to fix.
...
A breeze stirs the flap, glimpses of the interior flickering through the gap.
An inexplicable thirst rises in your throat, urging you to peer within.
Somehow, a whisper in the ether insists: this tent harbors all you seek on this journey. Lift the curtain, and answers await.
The winds howl lonely, carrying grains of sand. No one watches.
Enter the tent
Peek inside the tent
Do nothing
You know little of Aramite ways; miss this chance, and who knows when you'll approach this tent again.
No half-measures, you slip the flap aside unseen and step within.
Just a quick look, if caught, you can talk your way out. Telling yourself that, you lift the curtain for a furtive glance.
A wave of vertigo crashes over you; seconds pass before the world sharpens.
You know next to nothing about the Aramites yet. To play it safe, better do nothing.
Like pearls tumbling, a laughter both teasing and inviting drifts from behind. From beneath the tent flap extends a swath of pristine, silken veil.
A wave of vertigo crashes over you; seconds pass before the world sharpens.
Your vision clears on the tent's interior: at its center rests a coffin.
An inexplicable compulsion makes you walk towards it. When you come back to your senses, your fingers are already brushing the gem-encrusted golden edges.
This is,
You plunge into the tree's vision.
A seed burrows into rich black soil, its frail roots shattering their husk to breach the earth.
Countless tendrils erupt as writhing tentacles, clawing skyward along invisible rungs, quivering leaves howling in feral rage.
Swollen tree knots rupture in gouts of black pus, splattering into the crystal river like shattered floes.
Boom!
The tree topples in thunder, a rotten log drifting downstream, its shape eerily coffin-like...
...So this is... the remains of the Mother Tree.
Your mission objective is simple: follow the local nomadic Aramites and neutralize the ritual's core, the Mother Tree.
According to Juliette, the Mother Tree withered long before the Storm Wall appeared.
This squad carries the Mother Tree's remains, seeking a way through the Storm Wall to revive it.
In other words, charge in and torch the Mother Tree's remains in that coffin, and your mission would be accomplished.
But escaping the Aramites afterward? Will there even be time to plan?
Your heart hammers, affirmation and doubt twisting into knotted coils.
A chant rises like prayer...
Death draws near. Dissolution dawns.
The mother's remains vanish, blood and seed wander the earth, devoured by newborn beasts.
Skies and gods cloak in gloom, until the foreign envoy arrives.
The Mother Tree revives the Holy River, crowning the departed. Her bloodline will return to Aram.
Why are your eyes clouded by darkness?
And who is singing?
Traveler from afar...
A chuckle shatters your reverie. You look up: atop the coffin stands a woman's silhouette, arrived unbidden.
She smiles with mirthful eyes, her hands lifting her skirts like a bride curtsying, bending to regard you.
I am Thais, Queen of Aram. Traveler from afar, have you brought a tribute?
She leaps down, sauntering to your side, her sly gaze circling you.
What surprise do you offer me, {Male=lad,Female=lass}?
...
Juliette chose you to meet me under the Queen's watch, you must be highly regarded.
Didn't she warn you about the penalties for disturbing the Queen?
The tent flap parts as a stern-faced Aramite woman in her mid-thirties strides in.
Thais scrambles back atop the coffin, assuming a regal poise like a haughty sovereign on her throne.
Oh, our esteemed guest...
The intruder's crisp voice cuts her affected tone short.
Alva, Chieftain of Aram.
Juliette briefed me on your background.
But she skipped the crucial bit, young one, what is your purpose in Remouahe?
The sudden query jolts you; instinct takes the wheel...
Conducting scientific survey
Sightseeing
...No other motives?
Her piercing stare bores into yours, as if peeling away the lie.
You steady your nerves, masking unease to field her probe.
...
Ah, I see! So you're just a visitor to Remouahe!
Remouahe's long overdue for fresh faces! I'll have everyone prepare the grandest bonfire feast, you must have the time of your life!
A feast?
That's right! Aramites may lack worldly knowledge, but our hearts are wide open.
Survive the feast, and you're one of us!
As family, no punishment for you so long as you swear not to spill what you've seen in this tent.
Savor Aramite hospitality at the feast!
6. Feast, before the fight
108 linesBonfire feast?
Juliette's face clouds with hesitation.
As I mentioned earlier, Aramites, being a primitive tribe, hold many "unique" traditions that outsiders might struggle to understand.
The bonfire feast stands as the prime example.
The details... you will find out tonight.
...So the Aramites' migration targets the Mother Tree's old site too?
That's right, and they can't pierce the Storm Wall either.
Ah, Keeper. Doll and I were analyzing next steps.
You should be resting.
No, for some reason, a voice keeps telling me this investigation... it has to be me.
Ramona's tone brooks no argument, and you shared the same suspicion; logic and sentiment alike forestall any rebuttal.
Where's Ryker?
He's out front, thick as thieves with those Aramites. Thanks to him, we've at least pieced together their situation.
As we know, the Mother Tree vanished overnight years ago. Soon after, the Storm Wall veiled its ruins, the Holy River's source.
Not long ago, Juliette arrived as the envoy of legend. Guided by dreams, she scattered Nubia swarms for the Aramites, drawing near the Storm Wall.
Yet they failed to breach it.
All this lives on in the Aramites' traditional songs.
Ramona's pallor deepens with every word.
Let Doll explain the lyrics.
I'm not reciting that drivel. For stable recitation, there's a better specialist.
Wait...
Erica presses on, deaf to your command, her voice a mechanical drone.
The mother's remains vanish, blood and seed wander the earth, devoured by newborn beasts.
Skies and gods cloak in gloom, until the foreign envoy arrives.
Envoy, descends, creak, descends, creak, hee hee, envoy...
The shrill, emotionless timbre echoes unnaturally through the tent.
Hold on.
An alarm blares, followed by rustling pages, twisting screws, clanging metal.
Apologies. I just checked Erica's diagnostics, but there is no fault source yet.
Never mind. The song's last line... I'll handle it.
...The Mother Tree revives the Holy River, crowning the departed. Her bloodline will return to Aram.
From an efficiency standpoint, mentioning you had heard it before sooner would've saved us time.
What did you see in the Queen's tent?
Before you can reply, fervent calls ring from outside.
Honored guests, the feast awaits!
You pause, then lean to Ramona's ear, whispering the vital truth.
The Mother Tree's remains lie in the Queen's tent.
With your charm and wit, you'd even win over Chieftain Alva!
You're too kind, I heard the real storyteller here is Miss Juliette.
You mean the envoy?
Her tales might not top your "Final Wager" yarn, but chatting with her feels like a spring breeze.
And that "Inverted Pupilless Eye"... it stirs something profound, straight from the soul...
Oh? Talking about me?
Medinet's raving about your gift for stories.
Mind if I join?
The pleasure is all mine, my lady.
Nubia raids have been ramping up lately. We should do the bonfire rite.
Don't mope! New guests are a good omen. Here, down a few!
You too, honored guest! Have some more! Enjoy the feast; we'll offer you the finest we have!
Cheers!
I don't drink...
You raise your cup, clinking with the boisterous Aramites.
When their guard slips, you tip the contents discreetly away.
The Mother Tree's remains rest mere paces from the revelry. This is hardly the moment for indulgence.
What a shame! Only a rite with spirits hits perfection!
No matter how they urge you to try their drink, you politely decline.
The Mother Tree's remains rest mere paces from the revelry. This is hardly the moment for indulgence.
...
...
As the Aramites' spirits rise, the feast surges to frenzy.
Warriors hoist Aramite women aloft like palanquins, parading through the throng.
Hazy-eyed women pluck glistening grapes, flinging them into the crowd as they laugh.
Oh, nice! Over here, toss me a couple!
As if hearing him, the woman steers her bearers to Ryker, then dives into his arms.
Whoa, miss! I'm afraid my body can't take your weight...
Before Ryker finishes, the scene freezes you in shock.
She rips off her robe, bare skin pressing toward him.
Her gesture ignites the air: all Aramites shed garb and armor, the gathering dissolving into a sea of carnal abandon.
With Ryker frozen in place, she doesn't miss a beat, diving straight for the Aramite warrior at his side, her lewd moans echoing in the din.
?!
Come on, join us, savor the bonfire's deepest ecstasy!
Run! Back to Ramona's tent!
Mind blank, you heed Ryker's cry, sprinting, no, fleeing, toward Ramona with all haste...
Outside the tent, the woman taking care of Ramona has vanished.
Ramona lies fever-delirious, spared the rite's madness, perhaps a mercy.
That was...
The bonfire rite. Yeah... The Aramites' bonfire rite is a primal mating ritual.
We've established distance from the chaos here, I'll stand watch outside, keep stragglers away.
You stay with Ramona.
These primitive... lunatics.
Against the din beyond, the tent falls eerily still, save Ramona's labored breaths from the heat.
Faint moans and cries seep through the heavy canvas, stirring unwelcome turmoil in you.
...Ryker?
Such a shame, you were hoping for someone else?
Queen of Aram, Thais, parts the flap and enters, pressing close without restraint. Her gossamer veil clings to your arm, a brazen invitation.
Come, embrace Aram's bloodline, become one of us.
Come to me, embrace me... give me your blood, your seed...
Fire dances in her fervent eyes, her flushed cheeks betraying a fevered craving.
Just one drop, once our flesh mingles, She shall grant the future we yearn for...
Let us... bear heirs for the tribe, and share an eternity of...
Your brain screams refusal. You know nothing of Aramite ways, and this madness could drag you into abyss.
Yet your limbs won't obey; the siren's call commands flesh and spirit, stirring primal urges long dormant within.
Sober as you are, the world swims in drunken haze: blurred beauty, ethereal lightness, haunted only by life's primal call.
Reproduce, reproduce.
Propagate, propagate!
Scatter seeds upon the earth, let our bloodline flood Kadath!
A tolling bell resounds from nowhere; clarity crashes in.
Overwhelming terror floods you as you wrench free from Thais's grasp. Turning, you find her still gazing at you with fevered hunger.
Ramona bolts upright, her icy stare locking on Thais's ardor.
<Change>{Male=He,Female=She} is not your subject.
<Change>You cannot force {Male=him,Female=her}...
<Change>Shu...-Ni...urath...
Though channeled through Ramona's throat, you know instinctively: this tongue is by no means hers. It belongs to the Higher Being lodged within her.
Fine, you're such a spoilsport. What a shame, to let a beautiful sapling go to waste...
Thais releases your arm with lingering reluctance, departing the tent amid a teasing murmur.
We shall meet again. Next time, don't pull away.
7. Proliferate, before the fight
60 linesWhen did I... fall asleep?
Silence cloaks the tent; last night's warped, fevered revelry fades like a nightmare dissolving.
No idea, I woke to find you out cold.
Where's Ryker?
Ramona nods toward the flap.
Ryker slumps against the entrance in deep slumber, stirring at your movement. His velvety ears twitch, lashes fluttering before his slit wolf eyes crack open.
Yesterday's... rite, that wasn't a dream, was it?
For a Londinium gentleman's decorum, I'd never judge another's customs lightly, but those primitives' rite... it crossed every line.
The noise outside has stopped.
Visit Chieftain Alva
Consult with Juliette
Yeah, circling in place won't cut it.
Ryker shoves the flap aside, his body tensing mid-stride.
What's wrong, Ryker?
Ryker doesn't answer. Curiosity draws you behind him.
He draws a ragged breath, forcing a hoarse rasp from his throat.
You two... stay back.
Come on, Ryker. We can't hole up in this tent forever...
Your words falter.
Ryker was right. You regret laying eyes on this. But the atrocity makes you unable to look away.
You see an inferno of blood. A horrifying aftermath of procreation. A blasphemous nightmare defying human bonds and nature's laws.
Even a vermin warren falls short of the carnage: newborn limbs and placentas twist into malformed husks, crimson slurry seeping into the desert's weave.
The air reeks of fluids laced with soul-rusting iron, churning your gut.
A gust lifts the Queen's tent flap, and Thais emerges languidly.
Dawn's first ray pierces the sky as she points to the dune-sundered horizon.
In that instant, wails erupt from countless tents, newborn cries weaving a symphony of fragile life.
Yet no joy stirs in you, only chill from crown to toe.
Nubia raids have been ramping up lately. We should do the bonfire rite.
That wasn't a morale boost, but a breeding muster to swell ranks. What do they see life as? Some tool for survival?
Records tie the Aeon of Desire's Authority to reproduction and propagation.
The Mother Tree rooted at the Karage River's source, the Holy River, enriching banks and shores, granting Aramites fertility beyond the ordinary.
Sustained by the Holy River's nurture, Aram blood endures in Remouahe's harsh wastes across generations.
Nurture, fertility, endurance... these tender words manifest in such filth and cruelty.
Our options are laid out.
Stick with the Aramites' march, or break off and improvise our goal.
Discarding malformed fetuses for peak breeding rates? In civilized eyes, that's mass murder, I know you can't ignore it.
Plus, riddles abound in this mess. Notice the deformity rate?
The Mother Tree's gift of overnight conception and birth, why does it yield barely one healthy in ten?
See? From an investigator's or sleuth's view, the first path's a lock. We must stay close to the target and truth, right?
Before you decide, the caravan stirs, from the chieftain's tent, Aramites dash between shelters, shouting orders. Everyone leaves their tents, packing gear.
What's happening?
Nubia! A huge Nubia swarm's hitting the camp! Front guards are losing it!
Right on cue. They just wrapped up their feast, and Nubia immediately strikes?
Who knows? It's always like this; those cursed beasts never let up!
You lot should run too! No one's got time to protect you!
We need to see Alva. Where is she?
Chieftain's up front, commanding!
Left flank, form up! Migration's not done, let no Nubia through!
Naen, hold your side! If your limbs shake, fall back, Vajet, take over!
What are you doing here? Can't you see the front's a mess?
We do not welcome guests who refuse to birth our "Seed." Now see yourselves out!
Chieftain Alva, a word please?
%player%'s intrusion into the Queen's tent was merely an accident. The Queen took no offense, correct?
If we are assigning blame, I share half for leaving {Male=him,Female=her} alone without explaining the rules.
You stare at Juliette, and she blinks at you with a subtle shake of her head, warning you to hold your tongue.
You can't fathom why she would defend you, but there is no reason to refuse.
With Nubia strikes mounting, they might lend a hand against these abominations.
...
They can follow you, then.
You must keep them out of the main tent's sight. Or the consequences will be worse than banishment.
8. Proliferate, after the fight
12 linesIf these brutes come in waves, my old bones are toast.
Alva says these are just small-pack leaders, the real threat's far worse.
Enough, just keep me ignorant and carefree before we see them.
No relaxing yet! %player%, over there!
The grotesque silhouettes you've grown numb to emerge from night-shrouded dunes, shambling toward you.
Wait. Something's off...
Upon closer look, this Nubia's movements drag with unnatural stiffness.
Hold on, is that...
A figure hauls the Nubia across the sands, hood slipping in the wind to reveal moonlight-glinting golden locks.
William!
9. Trail, before the fight
51 linesAt the heart of the crude, primal tent, the Nubia's limp form looms like a black mountain of flesh, dim lamplight twisting even shadows into grotesque menace.
William extracts a surgical kit from his greaves' lining: scalpel, shears, fine-toothed forceps, hemostats arrayed like a steel platoon.
Didn't expect you to carry this around, William. Planning a career change to healer?
William ignores the quip, his brows furrowed in focus as he makes the first careful incision.
The blade slices into the Nubia's bulk, no anticipated gush of black slime.
Taut like a wire, William sinks the edge deeper, then drags downward...
Sizzle...
The pierced Nubia melts into sludge in an instant, vaporizing away; the table gleams pristine, as if no abomination ever fouled it.
Just like in battle...
A failure.
Bet you two are itching for the senior's breakdown by now.
William adjusts his glasses, nodding your way.
This is the only intact Nubia specimen we've secured so far.
Before this year, sightings were near myth. Its emergence in the Remouahe Desert is recent, yet it's overrun the wastes in no time, encroaching on Aramite lands.
Mutation alone doesn't explain its rise; engineered origins fit the timing and traits better.
You mean someone's making these Nubia?
William nods, a glint of approval in your deduction.
And covering tracks as well. Slice any part, and tendrils knit the wound inside, hiding scars.
Fatal damage triggers swift evaporation, no traces for study. Note that standard D-Slime doesn't vanish so fast.
Their "creator" is hiding something.
Structure's intriguing, but I'm more hooked on their patterns.
I've been grilling the Aramites these days. They told me the Nubia swarms strike whenever they stay in one place for too long, or hold a rite.
Gut says these things are herding the Aramites somewhere.
William unfolds a map, marking Nubia hotspots.
Factor in Aram migration routes.
Ryker pins red thread with tacks, tracing the path from Aramite tales.
Black omens trail the crimson line, pressing inexorably, nudging it toward the Holy River's headwaters.
Your instincts rarely miss.
The Holy River's source. Shrouded in the Storm Wall.
Someone resents Aramites lingering outside it, shrinking their range, forcing a breach.
Too few clues for now. Let's sync recent sightings first; they'll sharpen the call.
...
...
We need more information about Nubia.
Core mission stands: probe the Mother Tree's remains in the Queen's tent, and sabotage when ripe.
I'll press my research on Nubia.
Something tells me Aramites and the Mother Tree's truth hide behind these things' origins.
William turns, donning his cloak.
Leaving already, William?
Before dawn breaks. Careful, don't let Juliette know.
William ducks the flap, nearly colliding with the newcomer.
Since our first encounter near the Holy River, I've smoothed your path without harm. So why the wariness, Mr. William?
Tension coils in the cramped tent; silence hangs, the once-scorching desert breeze turning chill.
Juliette breaks the silence after a few seconds.
Just teasing, no need to freeze up.
Miss Juliette, you're overselling it. We've had a blast together; William's just a lone wolf, hates mixing with strangers...
Ryker spins yarns effortlessly; you catch Ramona rolling her eyes from the pallet.
Ahem, so, anyway, Miss Juliette's late-night visit means something pressing, I guess?
Not earth-shattering, come, I'll tell you the details in my tent.
10. Origin Flow, before the fight
22 lines2:00 AM, Envoy's Tent
The envoy's tent is filled with pallets, where kids curl in slumber. A spirited boy approaches as you enter.
Lady Juliette, you're back.
Neferure, my good child. Everyone settled?
Yes, Lady Juliette.
These children...
Until today, you'd seen no minors among the Aramites.
Neferure, off to bed. Tucking them all in wasn't easy, Chieftain Alva will reward you tomorrow.
Juliette ruffles the boy's fuzzy head.
All right. If you need anything...
The boy eyes you warily.
Just wake me.
The boy departs; Juliette offers you an apologetic smile.
Sorry, he gets overprotective sometimes.
You guessed right: he's the quickest to grow in this batch.
By contrast...
Juliette leads you to a simple cradle.
Look at this one.
It's an infant in swaddling; tree-like dark veins crawling on his skin.
There is no outward deformity, but the Mother Tree's blight has already coursed through.
Try touching his skin.
You touch the child's skin as instructed. It is not the soft, smooth skin of a baby that you expected, but the parched rasp of cracked bark.
11. Origin Flow, after the fight
28 linesThis mind-space gathers every Aramite soul from ancient days to now.
The Aramites... are weeping?
Yes, their spirits wail. For sin in birth, for terror in death.
If I can lead the Aramites through the Storm Wall and reclaim the Mother Tree... They will crown me the new leader.
Then, I'll end this cursed rite and free Aramites forever from this barren hell.
Everyone will dwell in a pristine paradise, unburdened by sins.
%player%, please lend me your strength.
You wake up from the dream. The infant in Juliette's arms has stopped breathing.
Let him return to the Holy River.
Juliette kneels by the cradle, intoning a wordless hymn.
It has no lyrics, yet you know the melody.
She cradles the swaddling, sinking it into the river.
Sands swiftly entomb the fragile life.
Death draws near. Dissolution dawns.
The beautiful and melancholic song is laced with sorrow, winding with the Holy River into the distance.
4:00 AM, Guest's Tent
Let's review the facts.
To Aramites, without the Mother Tree's revival, the Holy River dries, the whole Remouahe turns to endless waste.
Juliette aims to revive the tree and integrate them into the modern world.
But Daffodil's sources warned us about the risk of a global-scale Dissolution once the Mother Tree reborns.
The Mother Tree's remains sit in the Queen's tent. Destroy it before we pass the Storm Wall, and we can wrap this with minimal cost.
So, the question: how trustworthy is Daffodil? Is her source solid?
Alistair did his best, confirmed deliberate leak, but accuracy's a toss-up.
But burning the remains rashly might take away the Aramites' last chance of survival...
Nobody has any chance of survival against Dissolution. Don't let misplaced mercy impair your judgment.
Easy, Doll. I'd storm their holy rite to burn that tree if you asked me to.
I'm with %player%. We know too little about the Aramites; striking now would be reckless.
I will continue researching the Nubia. %player%, Ryker, I'm leaving the Mother Tree's remains to you.
12. Necklace, before the fight
41 linesThat market is quite a spectacle!
The envoy! The envoy's caravan's back!
Villagers choke the narrow lanes, proffering tributes for Juliette aloft in their hands.
Lady Envoy, this one's for you!
At the tail of the line, Thais lounges atop a coffin carried by four Aram warriors.
Compared to the roaring welcome for Juliette, the sparse cheers Thais receives render her title as the Queen a hollow echo.
Thank you. The blazing sun must be a test for you, yet you're still here, welcoming us. Your warmth is unforgettable.
You must be tired. Please rest now and enjoy the night's peace.
The throng lingers.
Alright, everyone, back to your tasks.
We're off to the Storm Wall in two days; I need my beauty sleep too!
We've kept your rooms spotless, waiting for your return. Soothing incense is lit, by the Mother Tree, may sweet dreams enfold you.
In an overlooked nook, Thais vaults from the coffin, blending effortlessly into the crowd.
Spot the Mother Tree's remains?
Keeper's had eyes on it nonstop.
Wait. Where's the Keeper?
Excuse me! Make way, please.
You weave a few bends, shoving through the press, scanning for Thais.
Frustration at losing the trail wells up in your chest. Sighing, you turn back, only to find Thais in the building's shadow, beckoning with a smile.
Looking for me?
You follow Thais as she glides through alleys in uncharacteristic silence.
At a stall brimming with trinkets, she halts, leaning close to whisper in your ears.
Could you buy me this?
Your gaze follows her finger to a metal collar.
Sharp eye, {Male=sir,Female=miss}! Want a closer look?
It's my daughter's handiwork! Picked the materials herself. That lapis center? Even texture, rich hue, you spot quality!
No lapis.
No lapis?
Eh? The lapis is the crown jewel, you sure you don't want it?
Add that lapis, and the funds Mythag entrusted to you will be quite threadbare.
Yeah, skip the lapis.
Sure. I'll wrap it for you.
You and Thais reach the village edge; windswept sands stretch endlessly, vultures tracing lazy arcs with aged cries.
Kara craftsmanship, passed down for generations, still flawless.
She traces the collar's etchings, flipping the gem mount toward you.
This pattern is the Mother Tree's emblem, my own design.
Now, my envoy from afar... will you fasten this for me?
You take the collar; Thais tilts her head, your arm encircling neck and brow, breaths mingling.
A gem resembling white jade crowns the pendant, its milky sheen veiling life's faint blush, like a maiden's coy flush, blooming just so.
Mmm, I like it. For this gift, I'll answer your questions. You've got plenty of them, I believe?
But first, unwelcome guests approach. Shall we punish these tone-deaf pests together?
13. Necklace, after the fight
28 linesYou know these monsters, little one?
Hmm, no, compared to these beasts, you're the stranger one. The real monster.
Now, little monster, what would you like to know?
Ask her about the Bonfire Feast.
Sigh. I'm still sad about that night.
Never thought someone would refuse siring an heir for Aram's Queen.
In a word: do you think this desert is fit for human thriving?
You remember the scouring gales, parched springs, nocturnal predators, venomous crawlers, and reservoirs tainted by Dissolution. You shake your head.
But we can't leave.
Under Mother Tree's grace, Aramites have been able to counter high infant mortality with unnatural breeding speed.
That's why the bonfire feast... we can't survive without it.
Ask her about Nubia.
I have no clue on their origins, but they carry a familiar scent.
Sometimes, those Nubia feel like Aramite kin.
...You say they're herding Aramites to breach the Storm Wall?
I guessed as much. The Aramites crave passage beyond that Storm Wall too. To find the Mother Tree.
It's still futile, though. The Storm Wall yields only to recognized envoys.
More questions?
Ask her about Juliette.
One more, that "envoy" Juliette. Tell me about her.
I do.
I don't.
Before you can speak, Thais leans in, fingertip grazing your lips.
14. Dance, before the fight
101 lines▼▼ dwells in chaos; none foresees the end. What must come lies in my words, but ears and eyes fail the throng, only the silent overrun the earth.
Tawil's monitoring data steadies at last.
You have done well.
We cannot let our guard down yet. In three centuries, the Black Pool's never stirred so relentlessly.
No need to worry too much; it is inevitable. Whether "They" choose to hide in the past, or the future... It cannot last forever.
It's not "Them" that I worry about. It's the {Male=boy,Female=girl}.
Then that would be beyond our meddling.
Mythag has staked three centuries on this; the one chosen to carry the torch cannot stray from the objective.
Worry not, Czort. The young will carve their own path ahead.
...
You stir from haze, the vast starfield blazing clear and boundless above.
How did I... drift off?
Long desert marches weary the soul. It's nothing unusual.
I have more questions...
The endless dream wrenches you from the trek's strain; queries cascade through your mind.
Why did Ramona's water turn to D-Slime?
Who's unleashing these Nubia?
What lurks beyond the Storm Wall?
What drives the enigmatic envoy Juliette?
What's behind the Aramite ritual?
And Thais, this Thais before you, can she truly be trusted?
Since arriving in Remouahe, anomalies cascade without cease, riddles hounding you breathless.
You need to stay calm. You need to think.
No need to ponder, you're already exhausted. Time to rest.
You turn to see a full moon bathing Thais's flawless skin in translucence.
Beyond the Storm Wall... all your questions will answer themselves.
Beyond the Storm Wall.
Juliette said as much, must you follow some shadow's whim into its heart?
Or does some cosmic force propel all toward the storm's eye, pilgrims in thrall?
Thoughts churn unchecked, seeding doubt and dread in your mind's depths.
Thais's breath brushes yours, just inches apart.
Close your eyes.
Refuse to close your eyes.
Your eyes are so bright... unclouded by the road's toll.
Thais presses a fingertip to your lips.
Her face hovers near, moonlight gilding her skin in a soft halo.
You feel her approach: gentle, warm exhalation.
Coolness ghosts your lips.
You open your eyes: Thais's finger rests on your lips. Her face hovers near, moonlight gilding her skin in a soft halo.
Did you know? In your eyes, I see calamity, ancient embers, the cosmos's breath.
Your journey's worn you thin, hasn't it? Yet your stare holds firm, untainted.
Stars couldn't sway you; sands may not either.
I don't understand.
You don't have to, not yet.
Thais rises, strolling down the dune.
Under such stars, mere sitting squanders the night.
Wind lifts her diaphanous veil; she sways across the yielding sand.
Let me present Aram's dance.
Bells chime; she raises one arm, swaying into motion's dawn.
She bends, unfurls, wild, then restrained.
I've been waiting for the one.
Her form bends boneless, her steps serpentine grace.
A guardian to steer Aram to the future.
She spins and sways. Even the lingering blur of her movements whisper innate poise, uncanny pliancy.
Isn't that Alva?
Thais glances sidelong, lashes low, fingertip's bloom grazing sighing lips.
Alva's a fine one, but unready to forge new paths.
And Juliette? Isn't she the Foreign Envoy?
You said Juliette seeks to let Aramites leave the desert, yes?
Thais extends her arms, her gaze drifting to moon-tipped fingers, as if loosing unseen birds.
Those who could leave have done so. Aram binds no one. It's the soil's pull and the desert's rhythm; those who stayed can only survive here.
Besides, that's not the answer I crave.
The answer you crave... what is it?
Written in the songs long ago.
The Mother Tree revives the Holy River, crowning the departed. Her bloodline will return to Aram.
Reviving the Holy River makes sense, who are the departed? How do we return bloodlines to Aram?
Shh...
Details tangle too deep; @1's prophecy yields no full map.
All you need is to trust me entirely. You will trust Aram's Queen.
Desert blooms unfurl in the moon's gloom; she lifts, whirls, steps, etching intricate, ancient rhythms in the sand.
Believe in me, and I'm yours alone, your absolute, singular secret weapon.
Moonlight softens her contours to enigma, her eyes swirling wordless longing.
If this dream must end... Distant stars bear witness.
Wait, Thais, your feet...
You cry out in panic.
She treads on ripples, no, black ripples fan from her toes.
Veil's hem flutters like lily pads, scattering obsidian beads.
That's... D-Slime...?
She dances in the dreamy Dissolution pool, stepping again and again onto the ebon surface.
...
...
Deaf to your pleas, she sways to the unheard cadence.
She turns to you, her form blooming; the necklace you clasped gleams at her throat.
She beckons you to dance; instinctively, your palm meets hers.
She draws your hand, guiding your fingers to the pendant's pulsing jade, like a living heartbeat.
A meteor streaks the firmament. Her eyes outshine the stars.
Lips part; the night breeze carries her murmur.
Can I entrust them to you?
The feast's pull grips anew; unbidden, you whisper.
Yes, absolutely.
Good.
Thais smiles.
Your friends have arrived.
You follow her gaze: Ramona jogs toward you, with Ryker close behind, swift yet poised, elegance unbroken.
Remember: tonight's our secret.
You turn, Thais vanishes, with only winds keening over dunes.
Before you, sands bear a black D-Slime stain, merging with the earth.
15. Remains, before the fight
16 linesYou were gone in a blink. Who were you talking to?
...
All you need is to trust me entirely. You will trust Aram's Queen.
Remember: tonight's our secret.
Your pause doesn't escape the detective's notice.
Our little friend's holding back a secret. No worries! As an understanding grown man, I won't pry.
Ramona and I tailed the Aramites earlier, and we've pinpointed the Mother Tree's remains. No time to waste, we should sneak in at midnight.
Ramona, how's your condition?
Better now. William's not here, and I can't leave you two alone.
Her cheeks still flush faintly; you brush her brow, and it feels cooler than before.
This place...
Unlike the Aramites' raw primal sprawl, these are ruins of human civilization: a long-abandoned factory.
After the Flood, Remouahe's regime pushed industrialization here, factories, schools.
But Aramites, favoring nomadic life, provided little support for desert industrialization. These buildings eventually crumbled with desertification and regime shifts.
They didn't waste these rooftops, though. They used the abandoned factory to store goods that required ventilation, moisture protection, and heavy security, such as the Mother Tree's remains.
Heads up! Something's coming!
16. Remains, after the fight
19 linesM-Monster!
You fight Nubia every day, yet you freak out at my look?
Now speak. Where did you hide the Mother Tree's remains?
By the Mother Tree, we'll tell you nothing...
Oh? Really?
Ryker crouches, a wolfish huff rasping a low growl; fangs clack sharp in the factory hush.
Know what it's like getting torn by a wolf? Let me picture it: fangs sinking deep, ripping flesh and nerve in bloody chunks...
N-No, don't eat me, I'll talk!
Hey, you...
The re-remains are... in the secret chamber up ahead!
Meanwhile, Abandoned Factory Ducts
A boy crawls through factory ducts, rust and coal smearing his fine features to a mottled black.
He creeps softly, trailing the group below.
I warned Lady Juliette from the start, those travelers are no good...
...
...
At the secret chamber's threshold, the wolf-headed man kicks the iron door flying, dust billowing. He leaves one Aram soldier bound at the entry; the rest file past the wreckage.
The boy slides from the duct, freeing the guard's hood and ropes.
Shh, don't alert them. Go warn Chieftain Alva while I tail them...
17. Rival, before the fight
7 linesRyker kicks the rusted iron door wide, dust swirling.
Eerie, familiar snarls and creaking joints echo from all sides.
No kidding. Are those the Sculptors' Association's lab freaks?
I see them too.
What a brawl. I smell something fishy.
The Mother Tree's remains are there! B-by the window!
Let's go. Stall any longer, and he'll wet himself.
18. Rival, after the fight
13 linesThe Sculptors' Association's hulking lab spawn crashes down, air thick with acrid rust.
...It's not here.
No, it was here.
Ryker's fingertip skims the floor, then lifts to pinch and blow. Dust drifts from his black gloves, dancing in window light.
I can see some faint foot prints.
Shadows of the broken window stripe the concrete slab etched with a coffin's outline. Yet the coffin is not there.
We should've known. Lady Daffodil wouldn't sell intel to just one buyer.
Should've priced an exclusive, perhaps?
Stow the wit. The Mother Tree's remains remain our priority.
In Aram lands, priorities aren't yours to set, outsiders.
Her anger echoes hollow in the factory voids. Aram's chieftain commands dozens of soldiers to block your way out.
The soldier you'd stashed outside, now freed, somehow, trails her, pointing your way.
That does it. The truce is over, outsiders.
19. Magic, before the fight
57 linesWell, should I say there's always a slip-up? This guy's tougher than we thought.
Ryker scratches his nape. The stalwart Aram soldier glares at him fiercely, but recoils as Ryker flashes his teeth.
Chieftain Alva, I recruited them to guard the Mother Tree's remains...
So that gives them the right to tie up my soldier and interrogate him about the relic's location?
Inspiration strikes as you recall the monster you encountered earlier.
Moments ago, we spotted Herbert, the Sculptors' Association head, entering the factory where the remains are kept, that's why we're here.
Herbert is a man driven by selfish desires, scavenging for relics with special powers everywhere. We suspect he's after the power of the Mother Tree's remains.
We had no choice but to act urgently and force the information from the soldier, but unfortunately, we were still one step too late.
...
Words alone prove nothing. We'll reclaim the Mother Tree's remains, and return them to Aram.
Alva broods, weighing your claim.
Finally, she seems to come to a conclusion.
The convoy will set out for the Storm Wall tomorrow afternoon.
You will return the remains to us before then...
...or you are banished for good.
Alva and the soldiers file out one by one, leaving the vast factory empty except for the three of you.
Not bad, you spun quite the tale there.
Alva didn't really buy it; she just needed an explanation.
She clearly noticed we didn't have the remains yet, whether she forces us to hand them over or uses our strength to find them, it's more in her interest than clashing with us outright.
So we must find the Mother Tree's remains in a day. Got a plan?
Let's just say I have an idea worth trying.
You shut your eyes, plunging into mental depths.
A chant rises like a prayer.
Death draws near. Dissolution dawns.
The mother's remains vanish, blood and seed wander the earth, devoured by newborn beasts.
A chuckle shatters your reverie. You look up: atop the coffin stands a woman's silhouette, arrived unbidden.
Can I entrust them to you?
...
Tumultuous thoughts flicker, splice, merge in your skull.
A faint, ethereal thread of colorless guidance forms, pointing toward the final answer.
The Mother Tree's remains are right here.
You gently touch the wall, then close your eyes and plunge your hand in without hesitation, grasping a soft piece of fabric, then yank it out...
Hey, stop, stop...
The "wall" crumbles; false glow yields to blinding sunlight.
Hey, you messed up my cloak!
Should I say enemies meet on a narrow road, or that our alumni bond keeps drawing us together?
Francis's research was limited to Dissolution. The cipher in that sanatorium was your doing.
These test subjects might slip past the guards into the factory unnoticed, but moving the remains is a big job, it couldn't happen silently.
We couldn't see the remains because of an illusion, you shifted this wall inward by two meters.
Impressive. You've come a long way from the {Male=guy,Female=girl} who ditched {Male=his,Female=her} allies and ran last time we met.
So, Casiah, your illusions are way too easy to break.
Hmph, you get what you pay for. Mythag's field agents are all so emotionally stable, hardly worth the pennies.
I've got fancier tricks up my sleeve. Getting Lady Daffodil to open a portal and ship this lousy coffin out for you wouldn't be hard, but...
Hmm?
It'll cost extra!
Lady Daffodil knows my finances aren't great. If she bleeds me dry, she'll lose a loyal customer, right?
Slow and steady wins the race, after all.
Ahem! Maybe you two can haggle over prices after we're done here?
Ryker tosses the dice in his hand, then hurls it forcefully...
Her top hat flies up, scooping the speeding die inside, then returns to its owner. Casiah tugs at the brim and shakes it, letting the pulverized die dust cascade down.
See? They're not gonna let you off easy.
My Mythag alumni, how about we both back off a step, for old times' sake?
I'm here for the Mother Tree's remains; and Mythag, I bet you want to purge its contamination to keep it from tainting the Holy River.
Let's strike a deal: the remains are mine, the Mother Tree stays dead, and we both head home. Isn't that a win-win?
Contamination? Looks like Daffodil fed the Sculptors more than us.
If that's the case, we can't hand over the remains.
Then let's kick off Casiah's magic show a bit early!
20. Magic, after the fight
61 linesA transparent giant claw rips through the air, smashing the flimsy wall. Casiah vaults atop, riding off toward the distant desert.
See you around!
Hey...
Let them go. It could be a diversion, the Mother Tree's remains are still here.
Casiah shakes the flask in her hand, rolling with black slime.
That's it? I could snag the coffin too.
No need. The Mother Tree's seed is not inside.
I never imagined the Aramite Mother Tree's remains had been Dissoluted to this extent...
Herbert and Casiah fade into distant dunes, finally giving the three of you a moment to breathe.
We can tell Alva to retrieve the remains now.
No rush, it's our best chance to probe the remains, no?
Besides... check out the corner where Casiah was standing.
From the remains' crevice, black slime slowly seeps out, flowing into deliberately chiseled grooves in the floor.
Wait, I saw this in the Queen's tent...
Which means this wasn't Casiah's doing. It's a structure built by the Aramites. They're extracting D-Slime from the remains for some purpose.
Allow me to satisfy your curiosity.
No one noticed Juliette's return. She appears behind the iron gate, walking toward you over the stone steps.
Since we're all entangled in mysteries, I'll cut to the chase: does Mythag know about the three Aeons?
Ramona and Ryker both turn your way. You pause, weighing Juliette's conduct, then nod.
Since you've heard of the Aeon of Desire, this will be easier to explain.
The so-called Mother Tree's remains... are in fact the mummified corpse of Tifere Yesod, the Aeon of Desire.
For the Aramites, the most crucial part is the fluid accumulated in this coffin.
It seeps endlessly from the mummy.
We both know what it is... it's D-Slime.
Tifere Yesod's divine power slows the Dissolution's erosion dramatically, and from it, the Aramites draw their power of fertility.
Wait, you mean...
Ramona begins to retch.
You... You brew drinks from the Mother Tree's D-Slime... Liquid from a corpse...
That's why they fell into a frenzy, why they gained that abnormal fertility...
Not from their bloodline, but from this mummy.
With the Mother Tree gone and its power waning, deformities keep rising.
You've noticed it too, right? The Dissolution black mist drifting from those Aramites.
The Aramites differ from ordinary humans; at their core, they're all the Mother Tree's offspring.
If the Mother Tree is fully Dissoluted, it's not just their fertility that vanishes, every existing Aramite will perish.
That's why the Aramites must breach the Storm Wall and revive the Mother Tree.
I don't know why Mythag sent you to Remouahe, but based on the trust we've built, I'll share the Aramites' deepest secret with you.
If you stop the ritual, every Aramite you've seen in Remouahe will die, without exception.
Receiving the message, William arrives at the tent again in the dead of night.
Ramona's asleep?
Yeah, burning up badly.
Regarding the Aeon of Desire... Tell me what you make of Juliette's findings.
I don't know.
We should have realized when we heard about that twisted bonfire feast.
This method of reproduction is nothing like the usual Kadathians'.
Besides, Ramona's been feverish ever since arriving in Remouahe.
Did she get sick because of this?
I have a theory...
You've met Tawil and know about Ramona: Timeworn. You should know her connection to Tawil by now.
The powers of the three Aeons repel each other. The water in Remouahe comes from the Aeon of Desire's bloodline, it's poison to Ramona.
The closer to the Holy River's source, the stronger this repulsion gets.
The Aramites will try to breach the Storm Wall again tomorrow.
Ramona must stay outside the Storm Wall.
The three of us will handle the rest.
No way, I'm part of Mythag too, I can't...
Ramona struggles up from the bedding, swaying unsteadily, nearly collapsing back down.
Ramona, you're in no shape for this.
You tuck the blanket around her. The girl, assailed by heat, glares at you shakily but says nothing.
You are not leaving me behind alone...
21. Storm Wall, before the fight
41 linesI'm fine. Alva's already mustering the squad. Let's catch up.
You notice the soldiers following Alva. Their solemn expressions reveal their resolve to face death.
The young man at the front has sharp features and stands ramrod straight, he seems familiar.
The Storm Wall?
You gaze into the distance: clear blue skies, unobstructed view, no hint of a sandstorm.
Juliette steps forward.
The Storm Wall isn't a physical barrier... it's a veil the Mother Tree draws around herself for concealment.
Without the intent to face her, you won't even glimpse it, much less break through.
That's why they need the Foreign Envoy.
The formation fans out on both sides, spacing every five or ten paces, forming a long serpent of human bodies.
Everyone takes their place, standing firm.
Alva hoists the banner high, and in unison, they drag their spears across the barren sand, stirring up blinding dust, chanting a distant, eerie hymn.
Death draws near. Dissolution dawns.
The mother's remains vanish, blood and seed wander the earth, devoured by newborn beasts.
Skies and gods cloak in gloom, until the foreign envoy arrives.
The Mother Tree revives the Holy River, crowning the departed. Her bloodline will return to Aram.
Returns bloodlines... to Aram...
The desert sun vanishes unnoticed, the sky turning overcast, the wind changing its pitch.
An inexplicable dread grips you; you briefly zone out, then a scream snaps you back.
It, it's here!
In that focused instant, you grasp what the "Storm Wall" truly means.
A gray curtain swallows sky and earth, surging in to blot out the heavens.
It mimics a tidal wave yet isn't, vast and lifeless, moving while seeming frozen.
Its edge laps the ground like a colossal beast's tongue, devouring the Aram line into the fog, ripping and digesting them in the storm's maw.
Keep dancing! Don't stop!
The Foreign Envoy is with us; the Queen will open our path to the Mother Tree!
You catch Juliette smirking.
Chieftain, Chieftain, this storm's too vicious! We can't take the losses, let's fall back!
No!
Her voice rings with authority, yet the wind makes it tremble.
The bonfire rite's deformities are spiking higher each time. At this rate, Aram's bloodline will fade into oblivion before we reach the Mother Tree.
Juliette curls her fingers into a ring and blows a clear, resounding whistle, its lingering note carried by the storm to unseen horizons.
I am Envoy Juliette. I've heard the Queen's will, today, we will breach the Storm Wall!
Everyone, advance! No retreat!
As the envoy commands, advance! No retreat!
There's no... turning... back...
Hold up, Keeper! A huge pack of Nubia coming up from behind... At least two hundred!
Behold! This is the Queen's decree. Your only way lies ahead!
The Nubia roars, charging straight at you.
22. Storm Wall, after the fight
15 linesThe storm rages fiercer; Aram soldiers howl, panic, shout, beg, curse.
You spot the figure on a dune.
You recognize the silhouette. It's Thais.
The storm... is it dying down?
With the howling winds whipping her veils, she chants an unknown prayer, stepping slow and steady into the dark sandstorm.
The thunderous roar deafens, yet the prayer cuts through clear, echoing inside your skull.
In the sky-devouring gale, she converses calmly with some entity lurking in the desert sands.
It's the Queen! She's come to save us, to save Aram!
The Aram group, frantic to escape moments ago, suddenly halts.
Countless Aramites turn toward Thais, kneeling in solemn devotion.
The frenzied sand spirits calm under the prayer's soothing; the storm gradually fades.
It's the Queen! It's the Queen!
Praise the Queen!
The Queen's eyes are still upon us!
We... We made it!
23. Convergence, before the fight
112 linesThen, ▼▼▼ shall return to her throne, Chaos shall be banished. Those who witness this shall rejoice, And those who serve the Queen shall rejoice.
That squad... only three made it back, including Neferure.
But the Aramites still look thrilled. This kind of sacrifice... it's probably routine for them by now.
You survey the once-silent crowd; their eyes gleam like oases.
O Mother Tree above, please enrich Aram's soil and waters, safeguard our generations.
When you revive, we'll offer you our sweetest waters...
They just can't stop chanting about the Mother Tree, I wonder how magnificent it really is.
Ryker... what are you talking about...?
The Mother Tree... Isn't it right there?
On the distant horizon, where the earth meets the sky.
The Mother Tree towers into the clouds, as if beyond the world.
You mean you can see the Mother Tree?
You tilt your head skyward, extending your hand to trace its outline.
A withered, skeletal tree... towering, but so alone...
Perhaps... the Mother Tree vanished due to Dissolution.
Remember? %player% retains memories of things erased by Dissolution.
You unfold the newspaper from Jenkin, only to find the ink seems alive, gradually dissolving...
Until you can no longer make out the report about "Primavera".
The damaged watermarks and ink stains seem hell-bent on completely erasing Mason's existence.
...
What sorcery is this? I've read this newspaper a thousand times.
But now... I can't remember a single word.
Wait, you don't remember anything at all?
"The outstanding defender of Cubism, the reincarnation of Botticelli's soul, is now in hiding at a wax museum on the corner of Southwark Street..."
See? I can even quote that news article word for word.
The newspaper was Dissoluted. Likely a mass amnesia event, yet...
Ramona and Jenkin turn to you at the same time.
Looks like it doesn't work on a certain someone.
...
Believe it or not, this doesn't feel right at all...
It seems that, without anyone realizing it, the past is altered, and the story deviates from its intended path.
And you are the sole witness to these changes.
As the vessel for the Aeon of Desire, the Mother Tree must have left a profound mark on the planet.
Her tenacious vitality slows the Dissolution's erosion a thousandfold.
So, to you, she hasn't fully vanished yet.
Give it another century or millennium, and the Aramites will likely forget the Mother Tree even existed.
But their ritual might capture that faint remnant of her presence.
Like the Awakening Ceremony?
Exactly. The Awakening Ceremony uses an investigator's mental strength to manifest a spirit anew from the Silver. The Mother Tree's "rebirth" should be similar.
%player%, what does the Mother Tree look like to you?
Hmm... how should I put it... I saw a bare trunk growing in barren soil... there was nothing "Motherly" or "Bountiful" about it.
It looked almost as if... the Mother Tree is in its final moments.
The Aram ritual is tomorrow. You all not crashing yet?
My dissection's almost done.
Still on about your autopsy even at a time like this... Though you're right, we're missing one last piece.
%player%, this is our final chance.
He's up dissecting; what's keeping you awake?
I... am recalling a dream.
One of those recurring dreams you have.
Pitch black, just the roar of surging tides crashing against the shore.
Your heart beats with the water's rhythm. Countless hearts beat along.
Those countless heartbeats merge into a black river, the dark tide rushing unchecked to the sea's mouth, staining the whole ocean ink-black...
Heard your dreams often hold prophecies.
Sometimes memories, sometimes foresights.
Either way, it means those lives were truly devoured by Dissolution...
Don't overthink it. Even without Dissolution, humans keep marching on, and vanishing, along the way.
Talking like this, feels like we should drag William in, crack open some booze.
Mythag's legendary investigator, he's seen more weirdness than bets I've won.
You tap the brooch on your chest, calling William.
I should've... should've realized sooner.
At the tent's center, the Nubia corpse lies gutted, incisions smooth and precise. Look closely, and you can sense its faint, heaving breaths.
That's the pinnacle of countless experiments, the throb on the edge of life and death.
They're able to control Dissolution's progress, making the Nubia vanish in unusual ways.
Our enemy has an unnatural grasp and command over Dissolution.
He sets down the scalpel, draws a deep breath, the foul stench like blood hits, triggering a violent cough.
And that hymn...
The mother's remains vanish, blood and seed wander the earth, devoured by newborn beasts.
Skies and gods cloak in gloom, until the foreign envoy arrives.
The beasts comes before the Envoy.
That's why Juliette lingered outside the Storm Wall, why she was so sure we'd breach it that time.
Juliette isn't the legendary Foreign Envoy...
She's from the Church of the Lightbearers, fabricating that dream summons to win the Aramites' trust. Her goal.... likely to join them and contaminate the Mother Tree and Holy River.
The true Foreign Envoy... No need to guess. It should be you, Keeper, without a doubt.
No. There must be more.
An odd feeling of dread urges William to push his conclusion further.
And these anomalous links... It's the Sculptors' Association. It's Herbert's work.
If your reasoning stopped one step back, you could've left Remouahe in peace.
Gotta hand it to Mythag's legendary investigator, always the one ahead, nailing the answer.
Herbert!
Easy now. I've always trusted your prowess, more than anyone else.
They seem to trust you plenty, too. Or why else would they leave you here alone, without even an Awakener tagging along?
Takes one to know one. If I recall correctly, your Awakener disconnected with you back in Rye.
As for the one you hired... I doubt Lady Daffodil would openly oppose Mythag University.
So you think I can't kill you here.
I never underestimate my foes, especially the one who murdered Professor Crowley.
I know, of course I do.
During the studio investigation, at the Sentinel Ridge ritual... None of the servants of higher will could stop you, let alone mere Awakeners.
So when I heard Mythag sent you, I knew I had to prepare thoroughly.
Ramona: Timeworn, right?
Channeling worlds somehow, then hosting a spirit from another world that is closer to higher existences in a kindred body.
Herbert strokes the two heads of the strange cat on his shoulder.
Good kitty, I love you both equally.
Helot: Catena. Your move.
Hello? William?
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
William's just a hundred paces away in the tent, but the comm stays dead silent.
Unease surges, fear hammering your mind.
You race toward the camp below the dunes.
The instant your fingers brush the flap, dread overwhelms you.
This fear differs from facing the Hound or the Sacred Fetus...
It's bone-deep, inescapable, irreparable, an unspeakable horror.
A drifting nightmare, a malformed delusion, an unbearable, suffocating reality.
A massive, feral monster sways its slime-like tendrils, William's lean frame dangling on them like a lone reed.
The scar on his forehead, from his mad mother's burn, now a shallow trench, oozing crimson sludge.
The Silver Key shatters at his chest, Mythag's standard gloves soaked in blood, ominous slime dripping upward in defiance of gravity.
Behind that swaying nightmare...
A colossal mound of flesh gapes like a Venus flytrap.
The folds of placentas and deformed infants, clear as blood-red brands in your mind.
In the bloated, twisted mass's center lies what he's relentlessly pursued, sought, the final gift for your journey.
That's the Nubia's core revealed...
A tiny lantern.
24. Farewell Kiss, before the fight
109 linesIn this journey, you've witnessed many departures. But not once has death felt so suffocatingly understated.
Of all people, it had to be William. Mythag's legendary investigator, your mentor on this path.
Who could possibly kill a legend like him, silently, just steps away?
You stagger back weakly, collapsing against a tall figure.
I get how you feel, but this ain't the time to break down.
He... left us the key info.
The Church of the Lightbearers is behind the Nubia. Daffodil wasn't bluffing, stopping the ritual's a must now.
Stars twinkle in the vast night sky; the desert breeze finally steadies your ragged breaths.
You draw a deep breath, ready to head back to the tent, when Thais beckons from behind it.
Tomorrow is the Mother Tree's rebirth ritual. What would you want with me now, Your Majesty?
The words come out sharper than you intended.
I... saw it. What happened to your companion... I'm so sorry.
An inevitable silence lingers between you.
This has nothing to do with Aram.
It's not Thais's fault, you remind yourself, but your words prick like a wary hedgehog in the dunes.
The rebirth ritual... you must have preparations too, right?
You try to soften it, but it still lands like a cold brush-off.
Where do you think the Aramites will go once the Mother Tree revives?
You stay quiet.
I know why Mythag came to Remouahe, and why you've held back so long.
I'm grateful, you gave Aram a chance.
But that chance is no more.
Thais, you know the Mother Tree's contaminated by Dissolution, don't you?
Then you should realize Mythag won't stand by and let Dissolution spread.
I'll stop the Mother Tree's revival. Thais, we're enemies now.
The once-refreshing sea of sand turns thick and sticky; inhaled dust scrapes your throat, leaving a faint ache.
To your surprise, Thais doesn't pull away, she draws closer, wrapping you in her embrace.
Sweet child, I understand.
I mean no harm to you or your companions, nor would I ever act against Aram's interests.
But the Aramites have no other path. Long ago, the Queen's power waned, it could barely protect the Mother Tree anymore.
Had to borrow Remouahe's ley lines, summoning the Storm Wall to hide its location.
You mean... the Storm Wall was summoned by the Queen's power?
Yes. The Storm Wall... wards off false envoys.
But every ritual claims so many Aramite lives!
As long as our fertility endures, Aramites won't die out.
So you just allow them to cling to this cursed rite, letting them fall to the Storm Wall time and time again?
This is every Aramite's fate. We were born here and raised here.
Your twisted faith has killed countless people!
Not just your people... and now William, too...
Your voice cracks faintly; you barely recognize it as your own.
Tell me, Thais, you don't really believe in this, do you?
Thais offers no answer.
She simply tightens her hold.
I know you're exhausted, angry...
I know you resent me. You don't understand why. But I have my reasons.
Let me tell you a story, a very long one.
Long, long ago, millennia before the Flood, a civilization worshipped a deity called the Mother Tree.
But the Tree's will was too elusive to stabilize their rule. To fix this, the empire hatched a terrible scheme:
They selected many girls, forcing them to drink the Mother Tree's crimson sap and bathe in its juices until one girl successfully merged with the entity.
From then on, this "puppet girl" was said to embody the Tree's divine will.
But no one ever listened to her or obeyed her words. The girl had no will of her own; she was merely a mouthpiece, repeating the commands recited to her by the King of Nineveh.
She was fifteen when she first spoke out in rebellion.
Why? Why kill him? He's Amayet's father!
He violated the taboo, Thais. He fled the battlefield.
The battle was lost! He was the only survivor, he couldn't fight that many enemies alone!
You're too young to understand war, Thais.
He should have charged ahead and died honorably.
Isn't one survivor better? With him alive... Amayet could become a warrior, his brother too, and Amayet's future children...
My decision is final.
Proclaim the Mother Tree's will: the sinner shall be devoured alive by insects.
I didn't say that!
Proclaim the Mother Tree's will: the sinner shall be devoured alive by insects.
I DIDN'T SAY THAT!
Proclaim the Mother Tree's will...
No, don't...!
The sinner shall be devoured alive by insects.
The girl's desperate, piercing cries went unheard.
Wh-who are you?
Hush, kiddo, keep it down. And follow me quickly.
You're not the first puppet. Whenever a girl tries to act against them, she is sacrificed to the Holy River.
I was born bathing in the Mother Tree's sap, I'm immortal!
Silly child, that's a lie. Everyone drowns in water.
I won't.
Who are you, anyway? I've never seen you before.
I clean your garden, leaving before dawn, so you've never spotted me.
But you know my grandson. His name was... Amayet.
Did the girl escape?
No.
In that moment, the girl realized a lot.
That soiled gardens don't clean themselves.
That some things exist unseen.
That being forced to stay silent... is such agony.
...On the sacrifice day, she jumped into the Holy River willingly.
In that instant, the girl's will resonated with the Tree's.
Then, the Tree asked her:
Will you become my vessel, giving birth to my flesh and soul?
Through the soul's wondrous harmony, the girl heard the tree's voice. That night, she learned of the knowledge tied to the Black End.
Black End... you mean Dissolution?
The girl returned to the Tree's side, no longer bound by the king's commands. All people obeyed her only, commanded by their shared bloodline.
She became one with the Tree. More than personal survival, her burden was ensuring her whole kin would escape the impending doom.
When the Niniveh Empire fell, she led a group deep into the desert's heart, into untrodden storms, to preserve the last of her people.
And those people became... the nomadic Aramites?
Much later, the girl vanished again.
No one heard her voice; no one sang her name.
But all followed her will, breeding desperately to evade the end...
To preserve the seed of their bloodline when the inevitable catastrophe befalls them.
But Aramites rely too much on the Mother Tree's power.
That dependence is like a fragile sand tower: seemingly sturdy, but one tidal surge wipes it out.
But I cannot easily let them abandon even the smallest, faintest thread of hope.
I don't get it...
To make farewells less painful, reunions are precious... you don't need to get it. For now.
But one day, we will all face the same doom.
You fall speechless.
When that inevitable day comes... remember to call my name.
She plants a soft kiss on your forehead.
Your mind reels, and she sways back. You extend your hand, but she's out of your reach.
You watch her receding figure shrink, finally dissolving into a grain-like speck, vanishing in the pristine moonlight.
25. Wager, before the fight
21 linesYou drag yourself back to the tent, where Ryker sits quietly in the corner, chin in hand, lost in thought.
Tomorrow's bound to be a rough fight. Why aren't you resting?
You go ahead and crash. My gut's feeling is... there is one more unsolved puzzle in this "crime scene."
You wash up and collapse from exhaustion.
In the chaotic dream, countless faces, familiar yet strange, flash through your memory, blurred, raspy, grotesque, each calling your name in turn.
I want to live...
I want to live...
Enough!
Your eyes snap open. Aside from the dawn light outside, everything remains as it was when you lay down.
I've figured it out. It's the motive.
If all this was the Church of the Lightbearers' doing, there's no need to leave that lantern inside the Nubia.
Piecing together what we've seen on this trip, the real culprit has to be...
Ryker rips through the tent's fabric with his claws, and a sneaky magician emerges with the endless dunes.
You two, from the Sculptors' Association.
Tee-hee, busted? I was hoping to listen in a bit longer.
Her tone is bubbly, no trace of nervousness from getting caught.
Casiah, you!
Hey now, debts to the debtor! I didn't kill your Senior William, so no vendetta on me!
My gig's simple: Snag this one...
She points at you.
And bring {Male=him,Female=her} to the one I serve.
26. Wager, after the fight
82 lines...
A massive transparent claw materializes high above, slamming Ryker against the wall.
Blood trickles from Ryker's mouth; air squeezes from his lungs, each breath a struggle.
You're gonna run out of bullets eventually. What's the point of dragging this out further?
Your every gasp for air, every heartbeat... it just further fuels my show.
The more you struggle, the more my cage tightens.
The one who gave you that form, his name is "N," right? Is he that stingy?
The claw releases; Ryker plummets, coughing hard, slumping weakly to the ground.
You're barely Awakener material, Gnosis Index over 21 yet?
N...
Why am I remembering how I gained this form now?
Is it because I heard that man's name, or am I having a dying flashback?
Old memories from a long, long time ago are flooding back.
Before becoming "The Beast," I was just an everyday detective, the kind who'd grab a couple of drinks and a game after getting paid.
My freakish luck earned me quite some jobs from the Londinium inspector, clues or suspect spots.
No reason to turn down easy cash.
Until one day, the perp I nabbed vanished from lockup, leaving perfectly intact silver cuffs dangling in the wind.
None of my business, of course. I just hit the usual underground casino to blow the fresh commission.
You're... that runaway suspect!
Oh, you must be the guy who caught me?
Wouldn't mind tagging along back to jail for a couple days...
He rattled the dice cup in his hand.
But you gotta beat me first.
I didn't think I'd lose.
I was twenty-five, never tasted defeat.
Once I focused hard and let the casino lights, dice rolls, and card flips sink in...
My gut told me the answer.
Roll 'em.
Hold up, you haven't said your stake.
What do you want?
I wasn't planning to bet anything. Whatever it was, I'd win anyway.
Go ahead, you can name anything.
Hmm... How about that cigar?
He pointed to the one in my mouth.
...
Sorry, but your cigar is mine now.
He snatched the lit cigar from my hand, grinned, and took a deep drag. Ignoring my shock, he puffed white rings mockingly.
Another round?
That day, I lost my wallet, cane, deerstalker, tie, and suit.
We played high-low, blackjack, Texas hold'em.
Hundreds of games, zero wins.
Finally, he pulled a revolver.
Russian roulette, a brutal game wagering lives.
Gamblers take turns firing at themselves until the lone bullet hits someone's temple.
I pulled the trigger without a second thought; the bullet claimed my life without mercy.
I chased that man named "N," betting 316 rounds to make him confess.
Didn't peg you for the justice type.
Nah, nothing to do with justice, I just never lose.
But you lost to him that day. Why would you say "never"?
This isn't a vocabulary quiz, my friend.
I just... never, ever lost before. Plain and simple.
I am fated to win, no matter what. So I was curious how that guy was able to bend fate.
Chasing curiosity at the cost of your life? Folks call me crazy, but now I'm not sure who's crazier between us.
You're exaggerating. Folks spend lifetimes chasing Dissolution cures. Herbert's after human ascension; Aramites seek eternal bloodlines.
Everyone spends their lives on maybe-fruitless pursuits, my curiosity's no different, so it's not a real cost.
Plus, that guy made me a new body. We're in a new bet, now I've got endless time to explore new worlds. Could be a blessing in disguise.
I'll take this one bullet and a momentary pain. He'll show up and bet opposite me for sure. And I know he'll make himself win.
This time, N, I bet you can stop %player% from reaching the ritual site.
Ryker presses the revolver to his temple.
You have too much confidence. It's reckless.
What if I told you N has been pulling strings behind everything? Do you still think he would help you?
Ryker sighs softly.
As a fellow thrill-seeker, you never grasp human emotions, so your take on joy's never quite peak.
I'm betting this life on it, I bet he'll honor the deal.
Bam. A gunshot sounds.
Followed by seconds of silence.
What the... Can't you give me a heads up before shooting yourself?
Cheerful laughter erupts from somewhere high and distant, behind reality's scenes.
Splendid, splendid! Still as bold as ever, I made no mistake giving you this flawless form. Very well! I'll savor your life's dregs and grant your wish.
Two pitch-black, gold-rimmed dice appear in Ryker's palm.
Roll the dice, a natural 1, and I'll devour your foe.
Ryker laughs, coughing blood that sprays under the spotlight.
Couldn't ask for more.
Ryker tosses the two dice.
They clatter and roll.
When it comes to luck...
One die stops at 0.
I never lose.
The other halts at 1.
Next instant, the higher being's unrestrained laugh, and the magician's gut-wrenching scream.
Black D-Slime corrodes the entire drape, leaving two crescent scraps fluttering to the sand.
Like a certain man's mirthful, crinkled eyes.
27. Return, before the fight
69 linesNearly a thousand Aramites gather by the Holy River, their low chants rippling, weaving into a chaotic symphony with distant beast howls.
A massive wooden altar stands amid the crowd, the coffin etched with cryptic symbols displayed atop it, surrounded by eyes brimming with fear, fervor, and anticipation.
The moment you step in, you're met with harsh resistance.
Who goes there!
This is the ritual's critical phase, no outsiders allowed!
I need to see Thais!
You won't misread the clues William left for you: Nubia, false envoy, Mother Tree's contamination... all point to the Church of the Lightbearers' schemes.
Ramona, William, Ryker... none of your Mythag companions is at your side.
Now alone, you need an ally. You remember Thais's face.
All you need is to trust me entirely. You will trust Aram's Queen.
And you know she will repay you with the same trust.
Thais? Who?
Who else? Thais, your Queen!
Are you nuts? Want to see the Queen? Then slit your throat with this blade!
The Queen... what happened to her?
"What happened?" Her Majesty has been dead for centuries, spout more disrespect, and you're dead too!
His serious expression chills you to the core.
...
You stare at the ritual's heart in the distance.
The coffin rests quietly on the tall altar frame. Naturally, no trace of the Thais you know.
Not just there. There is no trace of her anywhere.
The tent flap parts as a stern-faced Aramite woman in her mid-thirties strides in.
Thais scrambles back atop the coffin, assuming a regal poise like a haughty sovereign on her throne.
Oh, our esteemed guest...
The intruder's crisp voice cuts her affected tone short.
You should have known. Alva would never interrupt her Queen's speech... If she could hear Thais talking.
The envoy! The envoy's caravan's back!
Villagers choke the narrow lanes, proffering tributes for Juliette aloft in their hands.
At the tail of the line, Thais lounged atop a coffin carried by four Aram warriors.
Compared to the roaring welcome for Juliette, the sparse cheers Thais received render her title as the Queen a hollow echo.
The people of Aram didn't see their Queen sitting on the coffin.
Could you buy me this?
Your gaze follows her finger to a metal collar.
Sharp eye, {Male=sir,Female=miss}! Want a closer look?
It's my daughter's handiwork! Picked the materials herself. That lapis center? Even texture, rich hue, you spot quality!
No lapis.
No lapis?
Eh? You sure you don't want it?
Add that lapis, and the funds Mythag entrusted to you will be quite threadbare.
Yeah, skip the lapis.
Sure. I'll wrap it for you.
The vendor was only responding to your words.
Finally, you spot a familiar figure on a dune.
You recognize the silhouette. It's Thais.
The storm... is it dying down?
With the howling winds whipping her veils, she chants an unknown prayer, stepping slow and steady into the dark sandstorm.
The thunderous roar deafens, yet the prayer cuts through clear, echoing inside your skull.
In the sky-devouring gale, she converses calmly with some entity lurking in the desert sands.
It's the Queen! She's come to save us, to save Aram!
The Aram group, frantic to escape moments ago, suddenly halts.
Countless Aramites turn toward Thais, kneeling in solemn devotion.
But they are kneeling towards empty space... Only you can see Thais's dress fluttering in the sandy wind.
As the vessel for the Aeon of Desire, the Mother Tree must have left a profound mark on the planet.
Her tenacious vitality slows the Dissolution's erosion a thousandfold.
So, to you, she hasn't fully vanished yet.
Give it another couple centuries, and the Aramites will likely forget the Mother Tree even existed.
...
They've never seen a Queen named Thais; what they worship, kneel to, is mere hearsay, an empty phantom.
The Thais who showed you around, danced for you, and posed on the coffin never existed in their eyes.
But you're certain, absolutely certain she exists.
You remember those moonlit memories.
You remember the lingering warmth on your fingertips.
You remember her soft whispers.
Did you know? In your eyes, I see calamity, ancient embers, the cosmos's breath.
Your journey's worn you thin, hasn't it? Yet your stare holds firm, untainted.
The twisted stars couldn't sway you; desert sands may not either.
Her breath mingles with yours. Star seas burn in her depths.
I have to end the Aramite ritual.
Thais... must be waiting there for me.
28. Return, after the fight
51 linesLady Alva, please allow me to have a few words with {Male=him,Female=her}.
Juliette's words break the stalemate.
Yes!
Juliette leans close, whispering at arm's length.
Returning to the Holy River is Aram's destiny. I'm merely... hastening it a bit.
When His gaze blankets all of Kadath, they'll merge with the river into a new world.
Isn't that your will too?
Her expression twists with unnatural zeal; words tumble fast, body leaning in, eyes ghostly.
I'll see you again, Pupilless Eye.
...
No, this isn't over. Because she urged you, with utmost sincerity, to call her name.
Recalling Thais's gaze, you activate the Silver Key.
Silver threads sway, pull, seek...
At the thread's end, nothing.
Dissolution has devoured her entirely. Not even you can find her now.
Still hoping she'll return? The Aramites heed only me now.
Thais... Thais!
If she could show up, if she could reveal Aram's future to Alva...
With a single word from her, you wouldn't have to face Alva blade-to-blade.
Thais... THAIS!
Your cries are futile. Your last words to her were accusations.
Her existence has been Dissoluted. Without a Silver Core, you can't reach her at all.
...
Hmm? Has this journey made you too arrogant to ask for help?
Or are you just a useless crybaby without me?
Either way, you have reached here alone after losing all companions. That grit deserves praise.
So, I'll lend my Authority to her, and to you.
The desert's calm shatters with a sudden gust; the horizon darkens fast, as if all light succumbs to the oncoming fury.
A sandstorm roars like an enraged behemoth, sweeping in tons of grit, blotting sun and sky.
In this rampaging force, a colossal silhouette flickers, shifting amid the dust.
The Storm Wall...
The Storm Wall... I summoned it with my Authority.
You're... Thais...?
It brims with endless power; as dust dances wildly, the shadow leaps, warps, like an ancient desert monster hunting in the gale.
Its form immense and terrifying: coiled massive head, razor claws, ponderous hooves, all glimpsed in swirling sand.
You're not entirely wrong to call me that.
But I'm not the Queen you expect.
To wield my power, chant my sacred name aloud. I am the Aeon of Desire...
The vast, bizarre shadow fades; the figure you seek emerges from the howling storm.
Grit whirls mercilessly around her, yet her steps remain unshaken.
<Change>Tifere Yesod.
The Queen! The Queen has returned!
The Queen's eyes are always upon us!
She has always watched over Aram, past and future flowing in its blood.
Lady Thais...
Aramites, heed me! The ancient prophecy has been fulfilled! The Mother Tree returns, crowning the departed!
The Queen walks the sands once more, reclaiming her throne!
Aram's one true Queen, Lady Thais...
shall have your will and loyalty!
29. Dream, before the fight
115 linesAlva, you've been summoned for quite some time now. But you've been doing drills and chores all day! You even turned down Karune's banquet.
Don't you want anything from me? Any reward you'd like?
As long as Aram thrives in peace, that's reward enough for me, Lady Thais.
You don't even like Aram, do you? You won't touch the bonfire feasts.
No need to deny it, it's obvious. This place is full of wild revelers; you don't fit in.
But living solely for duty, doesn't it feel stifling?
Lady Thais, you know this. In life, I was a soldier. Soldiers follow orders.
You're my linker. Safeguarding Aram is your wish, and thus mine.
That won't do, Alva.
How about this: Haleman just sent an invite, asking me to sample her fine wines.
Come with me. We'll drink till dawn. What do you say?
Lady Thais, I'm afraid...
Soldiers follow orders, you said it yourself.
Now, here's my order for you: We will drink till dawn. Together.
So you want a utopia without bloodshed or tears?
Who would've thought! Our rigid chieftain is dreaming such naive dreams deep down her heart.
Lady Thais, please don't tease me like this...
No, I'm not teasing you.
I nourish all of Remouahe with my flesh and blood, to keep the Aramite bloodline flowing forever.
I make them breed endlessly, hoping at least one can escape Its gaze and carry my will through cycles of beginning and end...
Aren't we equally naive and foolish, you and I?
...
Asleep already?
Fine. You weren't Aram-born anyway. You shouldn't be trapped in this barren desert, Alva.
When my life ends, you will leave Remouahe, and link with someone new.
That day... is coming soon.
I sat in the Queen's tent; outside, funeral wails pierced with raw grief, pain, and denial.
To weep for someone trusted, that's a kind of fortune. On the battlefield, we rarely had time for tears over fallen comrades.
For me, the critical question was Aram's path forward, now that the Queen was gone. If the Aramites stopped thinking, paralyzed by grief, then I would think for them.
Lady Thais never trusted me. I always knew that.
To Aramites, blood defined kin; with foreign veins, I'd forever be an outsider.
But Aram needed a leader, in spirit and in flesh.
I'll take the chieftain's role, guarding Lady Thais's coffin.
Every step Aram takes would be under Lady Thais's watchful eye.
Every step Aram takes would be under the Queen's watchful eye.
Every step Aram takes would be under @1's watchful eye.
...
Why am I here?
That coffin holds... right, the Mother Tree's remains.
Why are we keeping the Mother Tree's remains in the Queen's tent?
...Nevermind. I don't remember.
But it's fine.
Once the Mother Tree revives, everything will be okay.
...
In centuries of my duty, I've trained many successors.
I believed a hero will bring Aram dawn.
The first died to a snake bite.
The second died to the storm.
The third to someone else's jealousy.
Desert hazards and twists are endless; the longest survivors aren't fierce crested eagles or venomous vipers, but silver ants active just ten minutes a day.
Pinning hope on one person is foolish.
And our number was dwindling too fast. One unforeseen storm can claim whole squads.
At our lowest, Aramites shrank below a hundred.
At this rate, Aram would end on my watch.
Tomorrow night... we resume the bonfire rite.
At the rite, they sang and drank freely. At dawn, countless infants are born over night.
Holding a crying newborn, tears welled up in my eyes.
The Mother Tree's grace was a divine miracle for Aram, and I dismissed it as heresy from my narrow view.
But...
The Mother Tree's power was fading.
Infant deformities rose.
I scrambled until an elder woman mentioned...
Remember that hymn?
Death draws near. Dissolution dawns.
The mother's remains vanish, blood and seed wander the earth, devoured by newborn beasts.
Skies and gods cloak in gloom, until the foreign envoy arrives.
The Mother Tree revives the Holy River, crowning the departed. Her bloodline will return to Aram.
Find the Foreign Envoy, and we might witness the Mother Tree's rebirth!
Thais, Thais!
I hear it. I hear someone calling out a certain person's name.
My head is splitting. Countless silver needles stab my brain, a shrill noise tears at my ears, and my blood roars audibly through my veins.
THAIS! THAIS!
Thais. Who is that?
Ignore those distractions, they'll only cloud your focus.
The Mother Tree nears her return. Doesn't that fill you with joy?
Thais, I've definitely heard the name somewhere.
But where?
Was it on the battlefields, while I was alive and flesh? I remember my comrades' dying smiles, the commander's cold replies... No. Not back then.
Drudgery, feasts, beast defenses after I was Awakened...
After I was Awakened...?
Who Awakened me?
...
Thais.
Why did I forget her name?
I called for her every day, over and over...
Amid the raging sandstorm, I finally see the person I've been longing for.
Each step etches deep in the wind-worn earth, stirring tearful waves in my chest.
Lady Thais...
I've been waiting for you. I knew you'd return. I knew you never abandoned Aram.
Aramites, heed me! The ancient prophecy has been fulfilled! The Mother Tree returns, crowning the departed!
The Queen walks the sands once more, reclaiming her throne!
Aram's one true Queen, Lady Thais...
shall have your will and loyalty!
Finally, finally. I've endured to this moment.
So please... Will you praise me now, my Queen?
Praise me for the centuries of restraint, for my endless persistence, for finally finding the envoy that brings forth your rebirth...
Together, we will make Aram a utopia without bloodshed or tears, a flawless paradise.
Ah, Lady Thais. Why do you shake your head at me?
...
A long sigh echoes through the air.
You're a flawed puppet, after all. You take far too much effort to control.
The stronger your devotion to sacrifice for Aram... the fiercer your resistance when you find out the truth.
Fortunately, I saw this coming.
Time's about right. All of you, your beloved Mother Tree...
shall claim your flesh and lives.
I open my mouth, stunned to find no sound emerges. The world comes to a horrifying halt.
No, it's not the world; my senses halt, each faint blink spanning centuries.
In this drawn-out stasis, only my former comrades, one Aram soldier after another, charge heedlessly to the Holy River.
Splash...
Sound and color rush back.
One by one, they leap unflinching into the river's torrent, arms outstretched, embracing the Mother Tree's withered trunk.
They cry and howl in mad, indescribable frenzy.
Their skin sags like mud; fluids drain from their bodies, joining the river's torrent.
Bones soften like flesh; limbs twist inhumanly, stretch, entwine, fusing blood and flesh into the sacred tree's bloated branches.
Slowly, agonizingly, they merge with the sacred tree.
30. Ember, before the fight
6 linesWhy... the Mother Tree's remains are still intact...
Haven't you figured it out yet? The so-called Mother Tree's remains were just a decoy.
All we truly need is the "Foreign Envoy" and Aramite flesh.
Now, that foolish envoy, namely, you, have opened the Storm Wall for me, and the Aramites have drunk the river water laced with lantern ash.
My grand vision is underway. All that's left is waiting for the Mother Tree to grow.
Ah, I can hardly wait to see Dissolution blanket the earth, the divine realm's gates flung wide...
31. Ember, after the fight
54 linesThe Mother Tree's branches seem sentient, stretching greedily in all directions; human outlines flicker within, movements clumsy and pained.
The first to form a throat groans, struggling free from the Mother Tree's grip, plummeting from on high into the Holy River.
...Splash!
Splash!
Splash! Splash!
Aramites fall, one after another.
Seconds later, small heads bob up, struggling toward shore.
The branch beneath your feet quakes.
Silver phantoms assault the Mother Tree's roots; silver flames erupt, becoming a blaze of destruction.
Tongues of fire slither up the trunk like silver serpents; branches writhe and scream in the rampage, hissing sharply, as if the Mother Tree wails in torment.
Wait, the tree's toppling, and the Keeper's still up there!
Don't worry, dear, I'll return {Male=him,Female=her} safe and sound.
The colossal tree shakes; the earth trembles.
You lose footing, plummeting straight down...
How high? A thousand feet? More?
Then, a warm, soft embrace catches you.
Good child, you've done wonderfully.
On her chest, the white jade you fastened gleams against her silky skin.
Thais unhooks it, swallows it, biting gently.
I'll return to the Holy River, nurturing the whole earth. This is my parting gift to you.
In the instant you plunge into the raging Holy River, her lips meet yours.
Your breaths entwine. Your souls merge into one.
Her tongue slips in, warm, wet, tender yet insistent.
The kiss mingles love's sweetness, blood's tang, and a small, round... something.
The tree's seed.
...
...
...
It's over... Though not in the way I envisioned.
As descendants of the Aeon of Desire, the Aramites obsessed over bloodline continuity..
We revered the Mother Tree, blending its essence into our bones, seeking superhuman fertility.
Our belief was that if even one descendant survived the black doom, our civilization would endure to the next cycle.
But we were wrong.
Their true sustainer wasn't a single descendant; they were utterly enslaved to reproduction, chained by an uncontrollable breeding urge across the ages.
In centuries of exile... only Alva truly pushed Aram forward.
Tawil, you were right. We should trust human will.
Even in endless darkness, even if the light of hope is faint... Humans never yield; that spirit alone can change fated futures.
Now, I have found a new answer.
So, Tawil, lend me your chosen successor. Be generous, will you?
I will entrust my seed with {Male=him,Female=her}.
The seed will root, sprout, grow into a beautiful tree...
Like how the first Mother Tree was born.
...
This final seed... I plant it within you.
Until it spreads my blood across the earth, you must not die...
You will remember me. Never forget me.
Tides surge.
That warm embrace pushes you away.
In the current's tumbling assault, you see her drift deeper into the river.
...
A pale, slender hand grabs you, familiar, firm.
%player%!
32. Epilogue, before the fight
48 linesThe Keygrave drizzles with fine rain, just like the Keybestowal Ceremony day.
Everyone stands solemnly before the engraved tombstone, witnessing a true funeral.
Today, a new comrade joins our ranks.
It's an honor to be part of Mythag. I'll fight alongside you all to save humanity's future.
On the day she left Remouahe, Alva stood by the Holy River, cupped a handful of water, and drank it.
No one dared to ask what it felt like to watch her entire tribe dissolve into the torrent before her eyes.
But in this downpour, Alva's resolute expression convinces you she's chosen her new path.
In this investigation, we faced our toughest foe. We failed to stop the Church of the Lightbearers from contaminating the Mother Tree. The Aramites have been erased from history.
But at least we averted the worst.
If the Mother Tree revived under the church's control, the contamination would've spread far beyond Remouahe's northern deserts.
Still, we've suffered the heaviest blow since Mythag's founding.
William's body... yielded no Silver Core.
We've lost Mythag's finest investigator forever. There is no chance to even partially revive his consciousness.
Today, his remains will be laid to rest here.
William was the most gifted investigator I know. His sharp insight, fearless attitude, and exceptional skills stand out among us all.
Mr. Alistair!
Amid the creaking of the wheelchair, the crowd made way for Alistair.
William was shadowed by mystery in life, but his brilliant deeds will shine like eternal stars.
Death stalks us all. In the face of Dissolution, we have little time for mourning.
%player%, come with me. About Tawil, the three Aeons, Dissolution... there is much you need to know.
Didn't think your indifference to colleagues extended to skipping his funeral.
I can't stand that atmosphere.
Besides, with the Aeon of Sagacity awakening, Aeon of Desire sinking, Aeon of Rapture appearing... William's gone, so it's my turn to sweat.
Aeon of Rapture appearing?
The traces from William's death scene weren't fruitless.
A Silver Core of the Ultra Realm, tests show it's Casiah's.
Plus, we detected signs of the Aeon of Rapture's activity...
Who allowed you to treat my toy so carelessly, forcing me to personally retrieve him?
Thanks for the bailout, Mr. N.
Next time we meet, you shall say: thank you, dear Lord N, for your broad-minded mercy, magnanimous generosity, and forgiving grace...
Ryker scratches his furry head.
Nah, that doesn't sound right, we agreed that until I beat you once, you'll make me relive failure and death's pain over and over, right?
Dying again means reviving first, so you'll definitely bring me back.
Aww, you're good at finding loopholes. Think I'll always play along?
Well, you're a big shot with broad-minded mercy, magnanimous generosity, and forgiving grace... So yeah. You will.
Hmm. That depends on what spectacle you stage for me next.
With that parting shot, N's silhouette vanishes. Ryker turns to the group.
Anyway, I'm back. Lord Dexter, up for another round?
Meanwhile, Remouahe Desert
There, there, easy now.
My loyal, obedient hound, sniff out the duo's trail for me.
Only then can I report to the Pharaoh.
The boy huddles in the factory corner, peeking toward the distance now and then.
We've made it this far, should be safe for now...
Next, gotta figure out how to make him understand the outside world.
Before that one finds us.
He doesn't notice his shadow stretching long in the windowed light.
That elongated shadow suddenly sprouts an eerie grin.