—!
Geez, what is that?!
Hetero-Creatures?! Inside the perimeter?! All civilians, take cover, now!
!
Damn it! What's happening?! Weren't we told this sector was secure?
No time for that! We need a plan, and fast!
What plan?! We shipped every usable asset to the front! We've got nothing left here!
The moment the violent tremors at the frontline subside, countless Hetero-Creatures emerge from the frozen sea—horrific and utterly alien. The Arctic inhabitants, with no means to combat such foreign monsters, can only watch in shock.
Chaos erupts instantly, both inside and outside the city walls. In the crowded inner districts, where women and children seek shelter, a single, desperate truth takes hold: if these defenses fall, all is lost.
Evan... those things look even worse than the Corrupted...
Don't say that! We're the oldest here. First, we find all the other kids. No one gets left behind!
Ah, right!
At least we've got the gate sector! We can use the buildings for cover. Hold them off as long as we can!
Yeah, you're right.
But if that's all we have...
Amid the chaos, voices and footsteps assault the senses. Suddenly, a communication device half-buried in the snow erupts with piercing static, slicing through the clamor like a needle.
Can anyone read this? This is a Babylonia unit!
Babylonia? Are they here to help?
The person who heard the transmission lunges for the communicator, snatching it up. They press their face close to the screen, voice trembling.
Hello! This is New Sophiasburgh! Do you read us? Where are you?
New Sophiasburgh... So our signal only reached this far...
The people of New Sophiasburgh, hearts still alight with wild joy, are doused by the cold wave of disappointment emanating from Babylonia. In an instant, their elation turns to dread.
...What's wrong? You're not here for us?
No. I'm sorry. Whatever you're facing, we're actually requesting support.
We're under Science Council orders to lay comm lines across the Arctic region. Technicians say they're critical for the front... but we're surrounded by Hetero-Creatures. We need backup.
A palpable chill settles over the group, breaths catching in the cold air. Before the Construct can elaborate, the first retort cracks the silence. Then, like a spark hitting gunpowder, arguments erupt across the city.
Backup?! We can barely hold this place! Sending anyone out would collapse our defenses!
But if those lines are crucial and the front falls, we're dead anyway! It's just a matter of time!
Maybe... maybe we should just lay down arms...
Don't be a fool! You sang praises about the Frostheart Emperor, and look where we are! All the high-and-mighty are the same!
We just wanted somewhere safe to live...
BANG!
A gunshot explodes, ringing in the air and freezing everyone in place. When they turn toward the sound, they see Evan and several children thrown back by the recoil. They slam against the wall, their small hands trembling around the gun they still clutch.
Evan?! What are you doing?!
We have to help Babylonia! They came to help us, didn't they?!
We should... but we can't split our forces! We can't fight on two fronts!
Then we fight on one! We do what Rosetta did in the last battle. Blow the city gates! The whole area will flood into an ice-sea, and the monsters will sink!
Then we use the ship at the port to evacuate Babylonia's team! It's big enough for everyone!
Have you lost your mind?! Do you know how much blood and sweat went into rebuilding this place?! Those gate structures are ruins from the old Sophiasburgh! We barely preserved them!
The civilian guard is right. This gate, this entire sector, is a memento, pieced together by the adults during endless, sleepless nights.
For the adults, watching their lost capital slowly resurrect under their own hands has forged a small island of safety in the icy desolation.
Evan has long understood, from their weary sighs, what this city means to them. But now, with tears in his eyes, all he can do is shout:
None of that matters anymore!
What?!
He's right! They promised us schools and warm meals, but when we got here, they just put us to work!
You drag us on stage to perform when you're celebrating, but we don't even know what's worth celebrating!
And those onion-dome buildings wasted our last paints! You adults only care about yourselves!
...
With Evan taking the lead, the other children pour out their grievances. Their words strike like tiny, precise hammers against the adults' hearts. They stand stricken and speechless, mouths slightly agape, as a heavy, suffocating silence descends upon them all.
We don't need these stupid onion domes. We don't need Sophiasburgh landmarks. And we definitely don't need the Frostheart Emperor!
At this, Evan draws a deep, unsteady breath. Emotion swells in his chest, and his eyes burn with a fire no one has seen before.
Because... this isn't "Sophiasburgh" at all!
It's... it's "New" Sophiasburgh!
The silence hangs, frozen solid. Then, after what feels like an eternity, someone finally moves.
One step. Then another.
