One thousand meters below sea level, far beneath the Vault of Nautilus, four of the seven elites of the Seven Head Order lurked in the darkness.
There was no sound in the cavernous terrain where they plunged through, an underground world unveiled by the pulsating heart in the distance.
The third seal of Nidhogg stretched out beyond Esme's fingers, its pulsating light controlling the liquid, hot lava boiling beneath it.
Shielded by an impenetrable veil that not even the tiny white-haired girl could have prepared for, it taunted her from the shadows.
Her guards, Zarethul Fortegran, Portman Wreath, and Octavia Herslon, killed beast after beast that swarmed the chamber, attempting to devour those who invaded their home.
The descendants of the Oblivacis species prowled around the forgotten volcano, their power equal to that of a mid to high-level terror.
Every time they cut one down, another took its place like an unending swarm of fiery death, the elites slowly losing ground.
The white-haired girl focused all her might into the barrier around the seal; however, a force pushed against her, one that wasn't quite human.
Harnessing the souls of those who died in the fires of Nautilus, the seal manipulated the very fabric of reality to incarnate vessels to fight back.
Those outside of the radius were unable to help the small girl defeat them and successfully shatter the seal.
While most of the incarnated spirits were at the level of a civilian, some were knights, mercenaries, or even beings far beyond normal.
She fought with all her might to defeat them, but they continued to swarm her until she resorted to her most powerful of spells, her blood dripping from her forehead.
Yet, as she cut through them all, a certain figure emerged from the illusory mix of power that rested in the center of the chamber.
The pressure in the room dropped, the terrors swarming the room ceasing their assault and executing themselves in fear.
Zarethul, Octavia, and Portman froze, their senses warning them of a threat equal to that of a Sea King emerging beside Esme's petite form.
The small child had no chance to react before she was thrown against the wall, her left arm shattered to pieces before she could even blink.
This wasn't a repeat of Crescent Moon's End, but rather, a foe of similar strength who had been resurrected through the power of the eternal seal.
The arsonist who killed hundreds in the fires of Nautilus, the man who was directly responsible for the installation of the Knowledge Barrier, and the worst criminal in the history of the world.
Augustus Twynam, reborn.
…
White.
Endless white.
It stretched farther than Aaron's eyes could reach, the empty space frying his mind and ripping his memory to shreds.
Why was he in this place?
Who truly was he?
They were all familiar questions he had once asked himself upon awakening on the Ghostship on June 6th, 3125.
Reaching out his hand, he felt the space around him ripple and then shatter like glass, a million turquoise butterflies flying away.
No… Don't go…
His hand trembled, his head spinning back as if expecting to see something, anything, that he could remember.
Yet, nothing appeared, an endless and expansive nothingness consuming and devouring all things that had ever existed.
Stop.
He stood up and took a step forward, the space around him constricting to form a new barrier.
This isn't the place.
The world around him shook, his turquoise eyes shaking slightly with not fear, but determination, a single voice calling out to him among the silence.
It was one he had sworn to hate for its foul language and vile tongue; however, more times than not, that creature had saved him.
"Drown them all."
And as such, he awoke from his trance, his hands gripping around the very same chestplate he had picked off a shelf.
Alongside his return to the Vault of Nautilus, his memories appeared in a flash: his walk through the grand, beautiful halls, the presence calling out to him, and his eventual picking of the armor.
Looking down at the piece of godly gear, he studied each groove, noticing emblem after emblem coating the surface with the very same engravings as the ones Ocean's Bane sported.
Subconsciously, as if being told by the chestplate itself, he knew that this was something worn by Heaven's Prisoner, the God Slayer himself, and the man who once held equal footing among the deities.
He had found the item he had wished for, and now he was done; now the only question left in his mind was one of the utmost importance.
How do I leave?
There were no historical accounts of what it felt like to enter or exit the Vault of Nautilus, only reports of suddenly awakening after choosing an item.
However, even after holding the chestplate and deciding it would be his choice, nothing seemed to happen.
Maybe there's a door somewhere?
Taking a breath, Aaron gazed around the vault carefully, attempting to remember the path he had taken to the storage rack where he had found the armor.
Unlike the place where he had found Penelope, this one was truly magnificent, the walls made of intricate stonework and the ground paved with marble.
There was no ceiling, simply an endless array of shelving balanced precariously and allowed entry through ladders placed around the chamber.
While he had estimated the room to be infinite upon his first entry, he had soon discovered walls that surrounded it.
Even with those, he still estimated there to be at least a million artifacts still resting in the chamber, an endless supply for the amount able to be taken.
When he had first awakened here, he had marked his path by moving random objects from the shelves to the floor, a trail in case he needed to find his way back.
Now, as he did that exact thing, he felt happy in his choice; the guide he had made himself was working wonders.
Nevertheless, as he returned to where he started, he found nothing, simply a stone wall that stretched upward endlessly.
What now…?
As she had theorized, Penelope had gone into a sort of stasis; the deity inside his head included only the barrier around his mind left intact.
Even when it's shut up, it still won't let me see my past…
Groaning quietly, he heard his only acquaintance speak up, the Naelith's voice faint but audible as the boy scoured the vault for any exit.
He had assumed that the creature was able to stay due to its inhuman nature, while Penelope and the deity had souls that were bound to the mortal plane.
Lord Thorn would be thrilled to learn that terrors are truly soulless.
The thought was a dull one, his own lips curling down as he truly thought about what made a terror a terror.
Did they have emotions?
Did they have hopes and dreams?
Perhaps they were questions he would never get the answer to; however, even if he never quite found out, they would lie dormant in his mind for the last few months of his life.
Naelith.
Unlike with the woman inside the sword, he could now talk directly with the creature without having to speak aloud.
"Drown?"
Its stupid reply made him scoff, and the next thoughts that he said to the creature were blunt and curt.
How the hell do I get out of here?
Awaiting the reply, he continued forward past rows and rows of randomly assorted items that had runes scrawled across scrolls.
It was something he had figured out in his short time in the vault that some items were given names and descriptions while others were not.
Deciding that as long as he couldn't leave, he wouldn't be bored, he walked up to a particularly interesting object, a sword made of solid gold.
Picking up the scroll slowly, he read the name and description aloud, careful not to miss anything.
"The Sword of Roses. Forged with the strength of the most powerful flames in the world and the knowledge of one thousand scholars, it obtained the power of electrification."
Nodding his head slowly, he determined that such a weapon wasn't something to scoff at, but not quite at the level of Ocean's Bane.
That's better than that Fragment of Hero's Curse I found earlier… Who knew that a hilt made of acid would be a bad idea…
Sighing and rubbing his neck, he continued down the long hallways of the vault, his eyes gazing blankly at the items he passed.
Yet, as he approached the farthest wall of the room, a strange occurrence began to appear around the shelves.
Some are empty…?
There were no scrolls nor artifacts resting on them, only emptiness as if something or someone had taken them.
It would be almost impossible for it to be only the former entrants into the sealed treasure hall, therefore making it an intentional choice by the architects who had built such a structure.
His heart rate increased ever-so-slightly, an ominous feeling coming over his very soul as he walked forward.
The light from the lanterns that hung from the shelving began to flicker, another sign of something unusual.
Pop.
The ground beneath his feet seemed to disappear for a moment before reappearing, the bug in reality catching his attention immediately.
What the hell?
Feeling as if the world itself was wrong, he continued forward, not out of his own volition or wants, but out of the curiosity pent up in his heart.
He was simply a cog in the machine that pulled him down the conveyor, a piece of a larger puzzle being slotted in to fit into place.
As he began to approach the end of the hall, a shelf stood in the middle of the path, a single object located atop its surface.
"Hmm?"
Walking towards it, he noticed a scroll beside it, something he took quickly and unfurled without delay.
The last descendant of—
It stopped, a blotch of ink blurring the rest of the text as if the author had tipped the jar onto the parchment.
Furrowing his brow low, Aaron slowly placed his gaze upon the black, scaly object that sat before him.
Is it an egg?
There was a slight tinge of confusion in his mind as he reached out to place his right index finger upon it, the sapphire ring on his finger showing no signs of reacting.
Finally, as his skin made contact with the object, he felt nothing for a moment, a strange, tranquil feeling settling over him.
Is it just a—
『■■■』
Before Aaron Grimstall's bright turquoise eyes, he watched as a light as wondrous and brilliant as the universe itself collapsed in on itself, reality splitting down to its last atom.
Time slowed to a halt; every thought, feeling, or action that the boy had once known was gone in an instant.
Then, a pressure descended upon him, one so weighty that it erased his astral form thousands, if not millions, of times before recrafting it again and again.
Yet it felt like nothing to the boy, the instance happening in a fraction of a second, his entire body phasing back before he could even think.
He fell backwards, his head slamming into the marble floor, where it oozed with pain and crimson blood.
His heart twitched and sputtered as if he had just been electrocuted, his entire body warning him of imminent death.
However, he was fine physically, disregarding his head wound, whatever he had touched, fooling his systems.
The sapphire ring on his finger shifted and buzzed with such ferocity that the boy wondered if it would shatter at any moment.
Sparks of magenta and turquoise popped from its surface and formed runes that wrapped around his body like a shield.
Whatever he had touched had done something unintended, and now it wrought havoc on his mental state.
Though for all the feelings coursing through his incarnation, only one stood out among all else.
"Choose that egg and whatever you so wish is yours."
It was a voice that he could hardly believe was speaking, the Naelith itself erasing its very identity to speak in a human tongue.
Aaron's chest clenched at the severity of its words, the creature's resolve steadfast and its will unbreakable.
In that moment, he knew that if he asked for the head of a god, the Apex of Life would die in the process of obtaining it.
What is it?
He thought the question to the beast, a long pause coming before it responded.
Providence.
That was the last word the Naelith ever said, its connection to the blond-haired boy ceasing at that very second.
Its essence left his body without a second thought, all its mana, soul, and siphoned lifeforce from the boy taken with it.
Floating weightlessly through the air, it landed within the egg, making its formerly black appearance glow with an otherworldly orange.
The sheen was so radiant that Aaron's eyes slammed shut, the prospect of blindness a very real concern.
Yet as he opened his eyelids and stared upon the egg, he felt the Naelith's death echo out throughout his body.
H-he's gone…
At that moment, something clicked behind him, his head whipping back to locate what it was.
Formed from the shelving of the chamber, a gateway of white appeared in a flash, the only logical purpose being escape.
I-I can leave!
Reaching down to grab the chestplate he had dropped when he had fallen, he paused, the last words of the Naelith resounding through his mind.
It sacrificed its life for that egg…
He shook his head, turning towards the portal and holding the chestplate tight.
No. It's a terror. Why should I follow its will…
That very same question that had grinded against his mind earlier replayed itself within him, the idea of a soulless creature not quite right.
From what he had experienced from the Naelith's inhabitation of his body was a beast with strict principles and a will for self-preservation.
It was not afraid of death to achieve its goals, something that both it and Aaron had in common, regardless of their background.
When in the fight against the Oblivacis, it had saved his life with a burst of mana, a similar act happened in the vault that very same day.
Its actions had directly benefited Aaron, a train of events that would cease to exist upon the truth of an emotionless, lifeless creature.
Every day since he had obtained the Apex of Life, he had wished for its death; now, when it was actually gone, he felt something different.
Closing his eyes slowly, he took a breath, a single thought running through his mind as he turned around.
Dammit. I'm as soft as a dog.
Dropping the chestplate that sustained the strikes of even deities, he turned around, picking up the egg and turning towards the portal once more.
I swear to every force in this universe, Naelith, that if you make me regret this, I will crack this egg upon my knee.
Then, with one hard exhale, Aaron Grimstall, the so-called Marshal of Waves, heir of the turquoise-sailed Ghostship, and protege of the God Slayer, stepped into the gateway and left the Vault of Nautilus without another word.