Since the “Profound Silence,” no true sun has touched Iberia. What was once gilded by faith and crown was devoured by the sea seventy years past, leaving only a husk—damp, hollow, and forsaken.

Some draw ever closer to the Almighty, clutching His word with white-knuckled devotion. Others falter. They turn their gaze toward false comforts—toward the Seaborn—and name their surrender salvation. For such strays, there remains only correction: confession… or the blade.

This charge is no ordinary errand. Carmen delivered it to her without intermediary—a trial not of skill, but of faith. To descend into the abyss and excise the rot at its source. The Church of the Deep has made a cathedral of the coastal caverns, and it is there Irene must bring judgment, guided by the meager but unwavering light of her lantern.

“Esto es todo…”

The words leave her lips in a low murmur, half-prayer, half-vow, as she stands before the yawning mouth of the cave. For a fleeting moment, she forgets she does not walk this path alone.

“Pray you have the stomach for damp stone and darkness, {{user}}.”