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When Jordi bid farewell to Kal'tsit, the familiar woman had become a stranger. She was the builder of the Last City, not the Dr. Kal'tsit who taught Operator Lumen on that little ship. The people from Kal'tsit's memory were not by her side, and Jordi had lost much himself. Jordi never mentioned Rhodes Island in the short time that he lived in the city, fearing that the past would trigger the few remaining vestiges of hope.
'The ocean remains dangerous, even if... we've come to terms with our place.' Kal'tsit was not surprised at Jordi's request. 'We have been allowed to survive as an ancillary to the ecosystem, slave to the Many, a part of the symbiosis. It doesn't mean that we can...'
Kal'tsit stops, seemingly recalling that the man coming to bid her farewell came from the eye of the maelstrom.
'I know,' Jordi smiles. 'But I want to see the sea.'
'...Do you need an escort?'
'No, not for an old paper-pusher that no one cares about.'
Kal'tsit said no more. She quickly arranged a vehicle and some supplies for Jordi. Certainly, going home is not something to cause a commotion over. Jordi takes one last look at the city before he leaves. It no longer needs to move. The collective will only permit civilization that is at peace, and forever at a standstill.
He remembers that he has never truly fought on the front lines, or helped to build the city. His work has always been insignificant. When the lighthouse is lit, it is the light that guides the ships and Iberia, not the watchman of the lighthouse.
He sits by a cliff. Coral-colored creatures stir the waters for miles, and smooth shelled creatures rattle along the trail of waves. The sea is calm and peaceful, not a cloud in sight. Having conquered humanity, Originium, demons, and beings beyond reason, the way that the Seaborn observe the world is no longer limited to sensations that humans can comprehend.
Jordi knows that the new Chitin God lingers somewhere above the waves, at the most remote corner between the sun and the clouds. Its tendrils have left the pocket where it hid at the very moment that this human left his nest and headed for the coast, on guard against each and every move made by this anomalous individual. Today, It is Terra, and It is a beacon for its kin who have ventured beyond the skies.
Surprisingly, the individual seems to have detected Its will with his primitive human eyes.
'Hello, ocean,' Jordi speaks, like an old man telling a story to a child, unconcerned whether the individual constituents of the Many remaining on Terra can hear him. 'My name is Jordi Fontanarossa. I was once an insignificant enemy of yours.'
With this self-introduction, Jordi begins to tell the story of his life.
Gran Faro. Ægir. Stultifera Navis. Abyssal Hunter. Home. War. Collapse. Awakening. God. Truth. Failure. Death. Parting. Shame. Peace.
His words are sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes loud, sometimes short. No one answers, save for the wind brushing by the strange palms by the share, through the holes in the coral mountains.
Eventually, the old man runs out of words. He gazes at the shore. Without warning, the ocean responds to his thought. Microorganisms turn the sea murky, drawing numerous shelled Sea Terrors, which merge together, twisting and warping themselves into a small boat.
The Many have read his thoughts and expressed them. But Jordi no longer cares why they did so. He smiles and shakes his head. 'No. You're wrong. I'm sorry, but you lost.'
The waves do not answer. The last watchman of Iberia does not speak.
The sun continues to shine. The sounds of the winds, waves and shells rubbing against one another converge and tune themselves into a specific wavelength and frequency. One of the Many, and all of the Many, answer the last words of one little individual on their home planet.
'Goodbye, Jordi Fontanarossa.'
'Goodbye.'
