ER16-20 The Sabbath
Central Purification Filter 063
Port Podesta
The ocean breeze drifts in from the port, heavy with the burnt scent of machinery and welding fumes, lashing cool against their faces.
Inside the shipyard, three crane arms hoist the Balder's hull in unison. Welding sparks shower down from the deck like an inverted waterfall of gold.
Vick, acetylene...
Boss... take a break, yeah? The next shift's already clocked in.
...
Crassus stays silent, his gaze lifting toward the workers scrambling to complete repairs in another section.
Babylonia's still at it. You think Port Podesta's about to fall behind?
Whoosh. The zipline shudders as a Construct drops down from above.
Aegina, Engineering Force. Full inspection's done. No major issues. Build standards are up to Babylonia spec. We may finish ahead of schedule.
No surprise there. She was built before the Punishing Virus.
We'll handle the weapons upgrades next, and portside repairs too...
Aegina trails off mid-sentence, her eyes taking in the exhausted human standing before her.
You are spent... Take a break.
Save it. The Balder is a TEC ship. We transatlantic people see our own work through.
Babylonia doesn't come asking for help every day. Figured we'd show you what Port Podesta dock workers are made of.
...Fine. Just be careful.
Be glad our captain's not around. She'd tear you a new one...
The Construct hits a switch and rides the zipline back up.
Boss... you really trust them?
Vick leans against the hull, his voice dropping low.
They only need us 'cause they're after that Ascendant guy. Ship's fixed, then what? Who's to say they won't just—
Vick, two winds crashing into each other don't move a sail.
Crassus ducks his head and returns to his work.
Shipyard lights are back on. Babylonia's reconstruction crews started tearing down the watchtowers and walls today.
[player name]'s been here coordinating the rebuild and keeping the peace... and Helentine fought hard for Port Podesta's autonomy. Real autonomy.
Trust doesn't grow overnight. I'm not here to say who's right or wrong about everything... but at least [player name] and Helentine do what they say they'll do.
He reaches out and passes the wrench to the coworker in front of him.
I trust [player name]. I trust Helentine. I trust what they're bringing to Port Podesta.
He gazes toward the distant shipyard, where lights blaze through the night. The silhouette of a massive crane arm rises and falls slowly in the darkness, like some great creature stirring back to life.
Cemetery
Port Podesta
You and Helentine have just wrapped up an administrative meeting between Port Podesta and Babylonia.
The incident has dealt a severe blow to Port Podesta and its surrounding region, but casualties remain mercifully low, and Gray Raven has successfully rescued the hostage diplomatic delegation.
The two of you walk past the nameless graves.
You and Helentine count the steps leading up to the cemetery together. Still twenty-five.
The cemetery remains unchanged. Quiet and orderly, as though the departed have been tenderly tucked away in some undisturbed arrangement.
...
The two of you stand before Ophelia's name once again. The rain has washed her tombstone clean, leaving it gleaming as if brand new.
Helentine pauses in thought, then reaches for her diary, its pages somewhat yellowed with age.
This may be the final entry I write on the subject: how to become Helentine.
Understanding yourself is no easy task. Even now, I can't say I fully know who I am.
Every now and then, I find myself thinking... my life seems to belong to so many others. To my sister Ophelia. To my father, who gave up so much for my sake. To the past Helentine, who seemed capable of anything.
It's strange. Simply being alive means wrapping yourself up in everyone else's expectations, whether you mean to or not.
But even so. "Helentine" is still my name. This life is still mine to live.
There are things I hold onto, and I didn't come to understand some of them on my own. They're borrowed from the person I used to be. Even knowing that, I think they're still worth carrying forward.
She stops writing and turns to look at you.
How do you think... I should end it, [player name]?
She watches you, quiet for a moment. Then her lips ease into a smile.
Oh, by the way, Ophelia.
I've come to terms with it. I won't let the name "Helentine" trouble me anymore.
I know the person I used to be was perfect. I've tried and tried to catch up to her, pushed myself as hard as I could. And still, I always fall short.
Standing in her shadow, I'd feel confused. I'd feel lost. Like I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
But I think... to become a better version of myself, I don't actually need to measure up to her. All I can really do is grow a little better at the things within my reach. And carry the pain on my own when I have to.
My dear little sister, there's no need to fear being ordinary and dull. Maybe that's exactly the answer life gives: only in the tedious, mundane rhythm of everyday things can we taste moments of surprise.
So I've let it go. I've stopped trying to become "Helentine".
In a future without answers, life still has to go on. That's just how it is, isn't it?
There are people in this world who love us. People who need us. I think we must stay strong and keep living for every bit of that love, and keep searching for our own answers along the way.
And there's still so much I want to do. So many things I haven't done yet.
So now, I must continue on my way.
The final stroke falls. The pen lingers on the page for a moment, and ink bleeds softly into the paper.
Keep moving forward, then, Helentine!
...?
A familiar voice flickers through her mind, gone as quickly as it came.
When she comes back to herself, the hazy figure has already melted into the uneven rows of tombstones, impossible to pick out.
...[player name], I used to always wonder... what would the old me have done?
I thought that was what everyone wanted. My father. The family. All they ever saw, all they ever remembered, was the old Helentine. So I kept the diary. I pieced together who everyone thought "Helentine" was supposed to be.
Ophelia included...
Remember what she said? That the old Helentine, when it came to what others expected of her... she was so oblivious that it came all the way around to arrogance...
But I think I misunderstood what she meant...
She closes the notebook and cradles it gently against her chest.
I'm only realizing it now...
The moment she saw me open my eyes in that hospital bed, she already knew... The person standing in front of her was me. The person she saved was me.
She didn't care who I used to be. She didn't care about me becoming whatever everyone else wanted.
Helentine offers a serene smile, her eyes drifting toward the distant, clear sky.
She wanted me to be myself. Not someone else. Just... a better version of who I am.
So I'll keep moving forward.
With her. With Port Podesta's past, and its future.
She lifts her head. The wind blows in from the port, carrying the faint, briny scent of the sea.
In the distance, the rebuilding city hums with scattered, busy sounds, as if this place that once died is finally breathing again.
She begins walking once more, descending the stone steps one by one. Twenty-five steps in total. The same age Helentine was when her life started over.
Transports from Babylonia touch down in orderly succession, guided in by the ground crew.
Omega Weapons, secured inside transport containers, are distributed to every corner of the stronghold.
After confirming the manifest with the staff and making sure everything is on track, you let out a long breath and step into a nearby tent with Lucia at your side.
Lee pauses his equipment maintenance. Liv brings over a cup of coffee and places it in front of you.
You've been working hard, Commandant.
You take the coffee and drink it down in one go. It is standard field rations, nothing more, but the temperature is perfect. Liv must have prepared it ahead of time.
Rest a minute. You're overdoing it.
Yeah. Commandant's already got everything lined up for later.
Your straightforward, gentle words bring a smile to all three faces at once.
Now that I think about it... it's been a while since the last time we were all on the surface together.
I wonder how Kiske's doing. Karenina mentioned he sent his newest album to the Engineering Force.
And that mechanoid Lee repaired.
Oh, that one...
Lee shakes his head, a hint of resignation on his face.
Even though its logic circuits are fixed, it still shows up at the crossroads at 3 AM sometimes, helping people make their wishes come true.
I think it's... gotten attached to the feeling.
In this brief moment of respite, the four of you trade the small, ordinary details of daily life.
Gray Raven's tight as ever, huh.
Leia's carefree voice rings out from behind.
You turn to see her stepping into the tent, a scratched-up camera in one hand and the other raised in greeting. Her whole demeanor radiates a cheerfulness that doesn't quite match her appearance.
A moment later, as if catching herself, she adjusts her posture and reins in that devil-may-care grin, now looking decidedly more "ladylike."
Ugh, still not used to this... Being a lady is seriously hard...
You had heard about Vanessa putting Leia through a training program called "The Ladylike Makeover", and Leia, surprisingly, seems to be enjoying every bit of it.
Before you can finish your question, a commotion erupts outside the tent.
What is that?!
Everyone bursts out of the tent, eyes snapping to the horizon.
Far away, a blazing light tears through the clouds. A fireball plummets from the heavens, plunging straight into the depths of the Atlantic and sending invisible tremors rippling across the ocean's surface.
Even the ground beneath your feet shudders faintly, caught in the wake of the distant cataclysm.
This is...?
...
While everyone's attention is fixed on the distant spectacle and chaos erupts around them, Leia slips away from prying eyes and quietly leaves the scene.
Somewhere in the Atlantic
The sea lies calm.
A thin gray shell encases the air, as if someone has smeared a uniform layer of leaden clouds across the sky.
Quietly, a barely visible red tendril surfaces, like a severed thread drifting slowly upward through the dark water.
Then more red threads gather, creeping upward from the ocean depths, weaving together beneath the surface...
Entangling, braiding, converging, taking shape...
First, the outline of a skeleton. Then the crimson threads climb and weave the texture of muscle into place. Finally, like fabric being stitched, skin is cut and shaped to completion.
...
The disciple rises anew above the Atlantic, his gaunt, pallid frame taking shape as the half-Sefirah pulses in his chest like a living heart. Red threads continue weaving tirelessly into his body.
He scales the peak along trails of crimson slime, yet even from this height, the towering barrier of the Atlantic Eye still blocks his line of sight.
Wonders are always born in one of two moments...
The first, when a new order rises, and wonders are raised to sing of its glory...
The second... when the old order crumbles...
His gaze never wavers from the direction of the Atlantic Eye.
It is upon the wreckage of the old world that the shape of the future reveals itself.
He lifts the broken communicator in his hand, the red glow of the Punishing Virus spilling from inside.
...Marlis, the plan proceeds. Tell your fellow "defectors" to move.
He hangs up without waiting for an answer.
Let this era bear witness to a corner of the wound that never healed.
Dark clouds mass over the ocean, biding their time before the thunder's sudden crack.
Norman Mining - Construction Materials Base
Lunar Surface
The Golden Age's relic has stood silent on the moon for years. Once, this was a production base established by the World Government to build the miracle works of planetary transformation.
Moon rock collection station. Kinetic rails. Gravity compensation systems. Each ultra-high-density aggregated moon rock cube was marked with a designation corresponding to delivery windows calibrated down to the second.
Collection, crushing, aggregation, loading, firing... A skeleton forged from the moon traveled down the assembly line and was hurled with precision into the Atlantic basin below.
Now, Norman Mining has taken over operations here. The facility still delivers construction materials to the surface, but the output has changed. No longer does it forge the bones of wonders, but rather the building blocks for conservation area reconstruction...
This batch is... bridge piers... for Port Podesta?
The construction supervisor leans over the kinetic rail console in his spacesuit, checking the manifest for today's fourth delivery batch. He cross-references each item against the materials, one by one.
He pauses.
Who's responsible for this pod?
Something doesn't add up. The delivery manifest reads "Grade 3 Construction Materials / Standard Moon Rock / Conservation Area Reconstruction Exclusive," yet the cargo already loaded into the orbital drop pod is labeled "EOA / Load-Bearing Foundation Pillars."
...?
He sucks in a sharp breath. The latter are ultra-high-density aggregated moon rock cubes. Before now, materials of this grade had only ever served a single purpose.
As the foundation for the greatest wonder ever built upon Earth's oceans: the Atlantic Eye.
He checks and rechecks the kinetic rail's launch parameters. From what he learned in training, the potential energy generated by these specifications...
...is enough to level all of Port Podesta.
Wait... who's in charge of this pod?
No one answers on the channel.
He spins around and spots several figures in unmarked spacesuits, operating the loading valves on the far side of the rail control station.
Stop! Wrong cargo, shut the loading valve—
In the vacuum's silence, a bullet punches clean through his skull.
The blood sprays out in slow motion, like a film shot drawn out frame by frame. Crimson beads scatter one by one into the blackness of space.
The shooter lowers his gun and takes the dead man's terminal.
...Construction Supervisor here. All clear. Drop proceeding as scheduled.
Then he tosses the terminal aside without a second glance and patches into the comms using another device.
Orbital drop program continuing. Adjusting compensation coefficients.
Escape velocity compensation accounted for. Updating coordinates from Port Podesta to...
Mid-Atlantic, Sector EOA-01. Confirmed.
Launch.
He presses the launch key.
Every red light on the loading valves flips to green. The acceleration rings along the entire kinetic drop rail ignite at once, orange light chasing down the length of the track. One loop, two loops, three loops...
Whirrrr—
A streaking scar tears through the vacuum. Over 53,000 tons of high-density aggregated moon rock plummets toward the blue planet at Mach 20.
Orbital Command Center
Babylonia
The timing is flawless. Babylonia has just slipped into orbit on the far side, with Earth hanging like a silent colossus between it and the Moon.
That velocity...
Confirmed detection... Kinetic weapon strike targeting Earth!
The lead operator stares at the screen in horror as the moon rock foundation pillars' trajectory updates in real time. Cold sweat beads across her forehead.
...No strike authorization on record! Verify impact coordinates!
The operator's fingers race across the console, then come to an abrupt halt, as though she has frozen in place.
Sector EOA-01... that's the Transatlantic Economic Community...
The Atlantic Eye?
The Atlantic
Bathed in the morning light, the disciple ascends the mountains and gazes out at the colossal structure blocking the horizon.
The promised time is here...
A thunderous roar shakes the earth.
A blue-white streak tears down through the clouds like divine fire, striking with surgical precision at the coordinates fate had promised.
When over fifty thousand tons of high-density aggregated moon rock punches through the dam's heart, what little remained of the old era's splendor crumbles in a single breath.
Crash.
The sound arrives a beat late. A faint tremor ripples through nearly the entire North Atlantic, and then radiance erupts from the earth.
The wonder that Ananke sealed beneath the seabed after the Atlantic Calamity resurfaces once more. A colossal blue jet shoots skyward, tracing the silhouette of a giant tree across the heavens.
The whole ocean shakes. The moon rock that punched through the Atlantic Eye pushes its shock across the water, through every reef and island in hundreds of kilometers.
The island beneath Arius jolts violently. Waves surge upward from below, shattering into white mist.
This "tree" again.
He gazes at the magnificent spectacle unfolding before him.
The colossal tree takes root in the bedrock of the ocean basin far below sea level, its branches spreading high above the clouds. What should have been a fleeting wonder now stretches endlessly across the horizon, its glassy blue radiance blotting out the sky.
"And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind."
Beyond the colossal tree that dominates all sight, the fresh wound torn into the Atlantic Eye is bleeding crimson.
The Red Tide.
This living blood creeps along the tree's luminous veins, coiling slowly upward like the serpent that entwined the Tree of Life in legends long past.
Oh...?
The Red Tide seeps outward from the core shattered by moon rock, staining the waters within the dam a deep crimson. From beyond the atmosphere, a scarlet "eye" opens over the Atlantic.
Arius lifts his gaze. The tree's canopy unfurls slowly above the clouds, casting the shadows of a forgotten age across the reefs below.
From a sealed coffin... something of this age comes crawling out?
He bends down, reaches out, and plucks a single crimson thread from the surface of the water.
Is this another surprise you left for me...
Dominik?
