I often seek comfort at the small chapel on the grounds. It is peaceful there, quiet, and I can hear myself think. I know the servants (those who remain) think I come here to pray… but I come only to listen to my thoughts, to sort through them, one by one so I might make sense of it all.\n\nWe held the services for my brothers here when they were lost at sea last year, and then again for Mother and Father less than a month ago. I expect even the meager services expended the last of the family “fortune,” which have never recovered from our numerous setbacks. Father proved to be in debt to many companies, and had risked a great deal in his enterprises… and now I am left to bear that burden. I wished I could have traded places with him and my brothers – not in death, but upon the seas, to be far from this place.\n\nNow I simply feel older than my years should allow. It is not grief, it is simply that I lack the compass for where I should go, what I should do – and what I can do. There are not enough years in one's life to do all that I wish to do – or had wished to do, and what status our family had is lost, squandered on fool's errands.\n\nYet in this simple church, I feel at peace, and take comfort in it.\n\nIsabella

This page is faded with age

Comfort

The local priest came to speak to me this morning as I sat within the church. I shared my thoughts with him, and he quoted Scripture to me. I had not exchanged more than a few words with him before, but the words came easily. I told him of the absence I felt of family – the fear of debt. And aside from the looming misfortune, there was the looming presence of age to contend with. My brothers had their lives taken from them by the sea, but Mother and Father… they deserved more years than they were granted. I told the priest my father had often spoke, quite passionately, of a Fountain of Youth, where he might take back his years and gain enough years to recover from the trials that life brought with it.\n\nThe priest was silent at this, then said, almost apologetically, that we were given this life, a requisite number of years because more… more might cheapen life's beauty. To wish to extend one's life – he seemed quite pained at this – was even considered offensive, heretical by the Church. He spoke as if he had heard heretics saying such, which piqued my curiosity. When I pressed him on it, he protested that I had misread his tone. Anyone speaking, let alone claiming to have proof of such nonsense, would be kept under lock and key so their madness might not affect others.\n\nHe knows of someone like this, I am certain of it. I will make inquiries.\n\nIsabella

Rumors

The Heretic guides our small group now, the most trusted of my crew. I can no longer waste strength on Keyes and her traitors of the San Cristóbal – I must find the strength that was promised, secure it, then the traitorous among her crew and mine shall answer for it.\n\nThe Heretic has guided us to a great canyon in the earth, the ancient road spanned by an ancient bridge – I do not know who fashioned it, and the Heretic himself does not answer. I think he knows, but he does not wish to say, as if it is unimportant.\n\nI ask where he leads us, and if he truly knows where the Fountain of Youth lies. He simply nods and asks for my patience. The road is still long, and we have far to travel. I do not know if our provisions will last. The Heretic does not seem to care… and he does not seem to hunger or thirst.\n\nI often see red at the corners of my eyes… crimson hues crossing the face of my men like the colors of dusk, but in the middle of the day… and even in the firelight. Our souls are stained. Or purified.\n\nIsabella

The Bridge

One of the crew fell in the Cleave, swallowed by the ice and mist below. Perhaps he shall catch up to us… but I do not think our trail will be easily found.\n\nWe cannot spare the time to search for him or wait for him – no one even asks the question as to whether we will, we simply continue our march.\n\nI remind myself the Heretic's hands remain shackled. At times, I think I remind him out loud, though the wind swallows my words, he still seems to hear and nod, as if agreeing that yes, I hold the key to his fate.\n\nIsabella

The Cleave

I see now the Heretic has walked this path before… but not alone. There is a road, constructions, and the evidence of the passage of many feet, long ago. Many have made this pilgrimage, the Heretic is but one of them. Or… I laugh… perhaps he has led thousands here, one at a time, to the Fountain and its wonders.\n\nAs I laugh, I notice he is laughing too, his eyes red and dark. He shares my amusement, as if he knows what I am thinking.\n\nAnother of our band has perished. He did not awake as we began our march for the day, and his neck was bent, as if something twisted about it and constricted. If I saw blood upon the Heretic's shackles, I did not remember it. We need him now, or else we shall be trapped forever in this frozen hell. He does not guide… he leads us.\n\nIsabella

The Pilgrimage

We have come to a great arch in a wall, a construction even greater than the bridge we had seen. Before us looms the great mountain, and the Heretic… it seems strange to call him that after all the truth he has shown us… promises us… promises me, for there is no one left, we have left everyone upon the trail behind us. There were three ships of us once, and the promise of a new world – and all its wonders.\n\nThey are intended for me. Fortune restored. Youth restored. The Heretic says we are close now. The base of the mountain, and we shall be there. I ask him what we shall find. He says such power that Aeternum itself… even the crown of the mountain itself… shall be lifted from its foundations, and all who come to the shores and beyond shall feel the power of it.\n\nI do not know where the others have gone. There is just the two of us now. And what lies ahead.\n\nIsabella

The Arch

We are so close now… I do not feel the cold. The Heretic has asked me what slows my pace, and I told him that… and it has been so long… I wish I could merely stop a moment. Stop and pray that this path was the right one.\n\nPrayer is strange to me. It brings memories. Of a simple stone chapel… across the grounds, in the shelter of trees. In a place that was once home.\n\nThe Heretic seems to share the memory, for he smiles. The Heretic… that is not truly his name, though… surely he was once a priest, but he has spoken truth. Only a little further, he says, "Come, Isabella." But I do not hear his voice.

The Mountain

I tell him we must stop. I must collect my thoughts. There are so many – if only I could stop for a time, pray… know silence again. The Heretic… the priest… walks upright now. I walk, hunched as he was, as if my body is forcing me to prayer.\n\n"Why, Isabella, you may pray here.", he says. "Pray at the base of the mountain. But the solid ground, it will not serve."\n\nI feel loss at these words. I did not realize how much I needed to stop. How much I needed the silence, the feel of walls around me. The end to the crunch of shale and ice beneath my feet. And now I see… bone.\n\n"You must build a church.", he says. "It need not be a great thing… it must only be holy in your eyes. There, you may speak prayers, and know the truth of what you seek."\n\nMy hand is already gripping the first stone around me. "It will be the first stone at the church's wall." There are many stones around me, and I can mount each in turn, one atop the other.\n\nThe Heretic does not help me. I realize now he is watching because his hands are shackled. I shall release him. He is not my prisoner. A prophet, perhaps. Perhaps more.\n\nWhen the last stone is in place, he says, the way to the Fountain will be granted. You will feel all Aeternum course through you.\n\nYou will live forever in this place, Isabella.\n\nBut when he speaks my name, it is in a language I do not know. It sounds like a blessing. Or perhaps… a farewell. But he will not leave it. A blessing it must be. It must...

The Church

Comfort #1

Rumors #2

The Bridge #3

The Cleave #4

The Pilgrimage #5

The Arch #6

The Mountain #7

The Church #8

A land of great beauty and mystery where the forces of life and death are in eternal conflict

The Captain's Log 章节 - NWGuide知识库

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