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