Inside the Hidden Sea Proving Ground, the air carried the stale smell of metallic rust and a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance of spider lilies.
The red rift rapidly sealed shut behind Rover, completely cutting off the seawater from the outside world.
The two stood a few paces apart, looking at each other. Rover didn't answer Phrolova's words, and a heavy silence spread through the cavernous space.
The eye not covered by bandages curved slightly as Phrolova raised her brow. That superficial, faint smile remained plastered on her face, her voice somewhat airy. "How truly pathetic. To think the renowned 'Crown' would also suffer the Convent's betrayal and be forced into such dire straits?"
Rover ignored her teasing. He surveyed his surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the bizarre, rust-mottled instruments and pipes before finally settling back on Phrolova's pale face. "So this is the Convent of the Hidden Sea's underwater nest? The so-called Hidden Sea Proving Ground?"
He asked directly. His tone was perfectly flat, completely devoid of emotion, as if he were merely conducting a routine site inspection.
This excessive calmness deepened the inquisitive desire in Phrolova's eyes.
She coughed lightly, her fingertips pressing slightly harder against her injured arm. "A nest? Heh, perhaps. But more accurately, it is the site of a shattered movement filled with treachery and mad notes." She spoke pointedly, her gaze locked firmly onto Rover. "For instance, what did you think of our dear Lord Prelate's performance just now?"
"A pitiful wretch bewitched by power, who has entirely lost his way," Rover evaluated concisely. He paused, then added, "...Not much different from the methods used by your Fractsidus."
The corner of Phrolova's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Oh?" She took a graceful half-step forward, her dress brushing against the cold floor. "Merely a pitiful wretch? How fascinating. I was under the impression that, in your eyes, anyone who dared to touch the Threnodian's power ought to be indiscriminately purged without exception."
Her words crept up like soft vines, quietly winding around him, attempting to probe the root of this subtle change in his demeanor.
"Different motives, different methods, and different consequences." Rover's answer remained restrained. He glanced at how she was clutching her arm, taking in her somewhat tattered dress. "Your injuries. Did the Convent do that to you?"
The sudden change of topic caused Phrolova to freeze for a fraction of a second. Immediately after, she let out an incredibly soft, low chuckle. "Are you concerned about me? Or... are you evaluating the residual value of your potential ally?"
Though she said this, she made no attempt to hide the truth.
"Very sharp eyes."
"A heart that went against itself ultimately transformed into a brilliant gemstone. Drifting down here, it continues to murmur its unwillingness. And the believers of the deep sea, guided by those ravings, wish to monopolize the sole remaining power of the god."
She lifted her chin slightly, revealing a trace of icy arrogance and mockery. "Unfortunately for them, my movement has yet to reach its finale."
"And to replay this twisted movement, I need your power."
"So, you saved me," Rover stated flatly. "Because you feel we need to face a common enemy. At least for now."
"We need what the other has," Phrolova corrected him, her gaze sharpening. "Finlay stole a note that does not belong to him—a note that was meant to complete my movement. And that very note seems to be the objective of your trip here as well, no?"
She finally laid her cards on the table, pointing out the core of the matter—the Threnodian Gemstone.
Rover looked at her in silence. He neither confirmed nor denied it.
Through her words, he confirmed two facts: The Threnodian's residual power at the bottom of the sea was the power that had been inside Miya, which had now condensed into a gemstone. Phrolova, on the verge of forging the Shores of the Lost, had been betrayed by the Convent, who deemed she had outlived her usefulness.
To Phrolova, this silence was tantamount to tacit admission.
"The reaction just now came from this direction!"
"Search the vicinity carefully!"
The shouts of Convent pursuers and the chaotic sound of footsteps echoed from not far away.
Hearing this noise, Phrolova couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. She looked back at Rover, a nearly imperceptible trace of worry and urgency surfacing on her brow.
"You see? We have the foundation for cooperation." Phrolova hid the worry on her brow, and the smile on her face deepened slightly. She extended a hand toward the man before her. "Facing the unfamiliar seabed alone, you cannot find your way. But I know exactly where the gemstone is, and I know how to bypass a lot of unnecessary trouble."
In response to her seemingly sincere invitation, Rover crossed his arms over his chest. He looked the currently somewhat disheveled and vulnerable Phrolova up and down, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But why must I cooperate with you?"
"They are nothing but the Convent's lapdogs. I could easily dispose of them first, and then take my time interrogating you for the gemstone's whereabouts."
Seeing Rover's threatening smile, Phrolova merely gave a light raise of her eyebrow. "Of course. The combined strength of everyone here would be unable to stand against you, and in my current weakened state, I could not possibly be your match."
"Unfortunately, neither you nor I can grasp the sands of time. By the time you blindly stumble around and finally find your direction, the thing you seek will likely have already vanished into nothingness."
"I know the way, and you possess the power to tear those noises to shreds. We can make a trade, each taking what we need."
"Temporarily." After quietly watching her for a moment, Rover spoke indifferently, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Naturally. Merely temporary traveling companions," Phrolova readily agreed. "After all, when the song ends and the crowd disperses, who knows whether we will be shaking hands in peace or... crossing blades?"
Her words were laced with dangerous implications, yet carried a bizarre, magnetic allure.
She extended her hand toward Rover once more. Palm facing up, it wasn't an attack, but rather the opening stance of an invitation. "So, my temporary ally, what is your answer?"
Rover's gaze lingered on her pale face and that outstretched hand for a moment.
In his mind, scenes of the future flashed rapidly—cooperation, betrayal, arguments, and that final movement upon the illusory shores.
He knew exactly where this path led, but he had to walk it.
He didn't take her hand. Instead, he simply took a step forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her, his gaze cast toward the dark, kelp-tangled passage leading deeper into the Proving Ground.
"Lead the way."
Phrolova slowly retracted her hand. Not feeling awkward in the slightest, she instead let out a low chuckle.
She turned around, the red-and-white hem of her dress drawing a resolute and aloof arc.
"Keep close. Don't get lost... in these echoes of the past."
One after the other, the two stepped into the deeper, heavier shadows of the Hidden Sea Proving Ground. A temporary alliance, with both parties harboring their own ulterior motives, thus raised its curtains.
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