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The Ægir never thought of himself as someone who could hallucinate. But as soon as the pure white silence ends, a sharp pain begins to scream out, the shadows of lifeforms about to teem forth emerge from the distant ocean, and at the far end of his fragmented vision—
He sees a figure that should not be there.
Though its body has transformed into that of a pure Seaborn, an uncanny intuition helps Thorns recognize that he is looking at his former mentor.
Not so much by its physical form, but rather by a flash of enlightenment across the membrane of cognition the moment his eyes make contact with the monster.
In that instant, what once seemed like layers upon layers of contradictions in the past all unravel, answered.
The Iberian priest who had imparted him invaluable knowledge had, since the very beginning, been part of the Deep.
The priest from the Deep stands upon the broken shore, bringing with it not terror, but rather peace. The Sea Terrors circle it, emitting soft whispers of joy; the Seaborn shake their slender wrist-appendages, swaying in the tide. Pure and clean are they among we many, swaying gently in the tide. The evening sun sets behind the priest's back, its grey shadow gently reflected by the ocean's surface in scattered polka-dots. The priest stands there, looking at him.
'What a joyous reunion, my child.'
From within the ubiquitous whispers comes an emotion. One that we many should not possess, one that belonged to an individual.
'You yearn for the ocean you have never met, yet also worry about your ancestral lands.'
'Is that the reason you remain here, unwilling to retreat?'
'Within your blood still flows the gift I left for you. It should not have meant anything, but you've already spent too long with we many...'
'You seem to still be hesitating, wandering, searching for something?'
'Did you find what you were looking for here?'
'The will of we many will subsume that of the individual, though there will always be exceptions.'
'It may not be the most optimal of paths, but my extensive thoughts have brought me here.'
'As for you, do you have your answer?'
The priest holds out his hand.
The brood begins to blossom, the offspring of the sea extending their tendrils towards him.
'You must think for yourself, and make your own decision.'
'You must make a choice.'
'How I wish you could embark upon the path most suited for you, my child.'
The Seaborn's voice brushes across the surface of the sea like ripples stirred by the wind, diffusing outward layer by layer.
Thorns can understand this voice.
All this time, the person he is facing has always taught him to maintain his independent thought.
If all previous approaches to verification have failed, and new hypotheses are established, then...
Will the option in front of him help him find the answer he seeks?
At the terminus of his life, will this option in front of him be the answer he sought?
The sun sets within Thorns's eyes.
We Many do not immediately march upon the land, but instead gradually retreat.
The sacred mural is scattered and broken.
Silver and gold pour onto the ocean's surface.
The Ægir raises his sword and points its tip at the priest.
