An Ice Cream Shop at the End of the World

Chapter IV

An Ice Cream Shop at the End of the World

Setting foot on solid ground after several days at sea had something strange about it. The ground wasn't moving, and for that very reason Rebecca's body insisted it was. Every step felt slightly off, as if her feet needed reminding of the old arrangement.

Beside her, Ciri was smiling with that particular width that only appears when someone is plotting something.

"Now that we have some time, how about a walk around town?" she suggested.

Rebecca looked at the street opening before them. The houses had a more elaborate architecture than she would have expected for somewhere so far removed from the rest of the world: carved stone facades, iron-railed balconies, streets paved with precision and cobblestone sidewalks that fit together without a single gap. It was not what she had imagined when she pictured a secret settlement in the middle of the ocean.

She filed that thought away for later.

"How about we find something sweet?" she suggested.

Ciri pressed her hands together with the enthusiasm of someone who has just been given exactly the answer she was hoping for.

"I know an ice cream shop that is a solid ten out of ten. Follow me."

They walked down a street where people moved without urgency — some on bicycles, others on motorcycles — with the specific ease of those who have no reason to be in a hurry. Rebecca watched as she went.

"Are all these people Summoners?" she asked.

"Families with Summoner heritage have lived on this island for generations," Ciri explained. "That's why ships like the old man's are so important — they bring goods, supplies, everything that can't be produced here."

Rebecca thought of the other captains who made the same route and felt something close to relief.

"I hope they're not all like your great-grandfather."

Ciri was pensive for a moment, mentally browsing through some internal archive of maritime eccentrics.

"There are some fairly odd ones. But none quite like him," she concluded, in a tone that left unclear whether this was a compliment.

A current of breeze brought a smell that stopped Rebecca in her tracks: smoke, butter, the unmistakable scent of something sizzling on a hot grill.

"Are those shrimp skewers?"

They approached the stall. An older man worked the grill with the economy of movement that comes from decades of doing the same thing: he turned the skewers at exactly the right moment, without watching a clock, without hurrying. The shrimp crackled and threw up small flames that died almost immediately.

They walked away with fingers gleaming with oil and the satisfaction of having made a good decision.

✦ ✦ ✦

The ice cream shop was a small place with a counter full of colorful tubs and a handwritten sign that promised more flavors than the eye could process at once.

Standing in front of the counter was a young woman who was processing it very slowly. Her chin rested on one hand, her brow slightly furrowed, and she was studying the labels with the focus of someone working through a problem that has no obvious solution.

"This can't be right... they all look delicious," she was murmuring.

"Miss, there are other customers waiting," said the vendor, with the measured patience of someone who has had this conversation before.

The girl pressed her hands together, visibly flustered.

"G-give me... give me all of them."

Ciri's eyes went wide.

"I understand you completely. It's impossible to choose."

"Exactly!" the girl replied, with the relief of someone who has finally found a reasonable person to talk to.

"Then give me a little of everything too," Ciri ordered, with total conviction.

Rebecca looked at them both.

"You're seriously going to eat twenty-something flavors?"

Nobody answered her.

"What's your name?" Ciri asked the girl.

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She hesitated for just a second, as if she needed to verify internally that the answer was safe.

"I'm... my name is Priscila," she answered in a slightly unsteady voice, though a small, genuine smile slipped out anyway.

"I'm Ciri, and this sourpuss over here is Rebecca."

"The sourpuss comment was unnecessary," Rebecca replied, without real irritation. "But yes — nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine," said Priscila, dropping her gaze for a moment.

"Shall we sit?" Rebecca suggested, pointing to a table by the window.

Priscila followed them. Her heart was beating faster than usual.

This is my chance to make friends. I can't ruin it. But what am I supposed to say?

"Oh, this is incredible!" Ciri exclaimed, sinking her spoon into a mountain of ice cream in improbable colors. "It's creamy and smooth. Like a cool little hug on your tongue."

"I'm not sure whether to call that poetry," Rebecca remarked. Then she turned to Priscila. "Are you from here, or are you visiting too?"

Priscila lowered her gaze slightly. If she said too much, they might start seeing her differently. But if she said nothing, the conversation would die right there.

Come on, she encouraged herself. Don't hesitate now.

She took a spoonful of ice cream and answered:

"I've always lived here. I've never left the island. In fact, this is the first time I've been out on my own — I slipped away from my guardian. Sorry if that sounds strange."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow.

"I see... though that was more information than I asked for."

"You slipped away?" Ciri repeated, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "Why?"

On the roof of a building across the street, a figure stood motionless.

It wore a black hood that barely stirred in the sea breeze. The face was in shadow; only the eyes were visible, fixed on the interior of the ice cream shop. The birds that had been resting on the nearby rooftops took flight for no apparent reason — the way they do when something that shouldn't be there has been still in the same spot for too long.

Priscila was fidgeting with her spoon while she tried to explain. The ice cream had started melting at the edges of the glass, and a small river of pink was making its way across the table.

"I came into town to run some errands, but I'm not allowed to go anywhere without Pauline. So I slipped away."

"And why can't you go anywhere without her?" Ciri asked.

Priscila swallowed.

"Because I'm the daughter of a temple master."

Rebecca's spoon clinked against the edge of her glass.

"The daughter of who?" she asked, with an intensity that made Priscila shrink slightly.

"The master of one of the Summoner temples," she repeated, more slowly.

Rebecca opened her father's notebook. The worn leather creaked. She turned two pages, found what she was looking for, and read it — though she already knew it by heart.

"My next destination is the Temple of the Jaguar."

The distant murmur of the town continued its course, but Rebecca was no longer listening to it.

"That's where I'm from," Priscila answered.

Rebecca closed the notebook.

"Then there's nothing more to discuss. You have to take me there."

Priscila opened her mouth to respond, but didn't get the chance.

Something shifted in the air: a faint density, almost imperceptible, like when a cloud covers the sun without anyone having seen it coming. Priscila felt it before she saw anything. She slid off her chair without a word and crouched below the window.

"What's the matter?" Rebecca and Ciri asked in unison.

Priscila put a finger to her lips. Outside, a steady, measured set of footsteps was approaching over the cobblestones.

The two of them went quiet.

The footsteps passed. They faded. The noise of the town filled the space again like water returning to its course. Priscila straightened up, went back to her chair, and returned to her ice cream with the studied concentration of someone trying to look as though nothing had happened.

"Who was that?" Rebecca asked, lowering her voice.

"My guardian. That's why I was hiding."

"Pauline, I take it."

"Yes."

Rebecca studied her for a moment.

"What are you going to do now? Make a run for the island?"

The question landed on Priscila like cold water. The noise of the town went on — distant cars, overlapping conversations, the tinkle of a bell in some shop — but for her everything seemed to suspend for an instant.

She hadn't really thought about it.

If I try to leave by ship... those monsters from the second ring would devour me before I got anywhere.

Her face went slightly pale.

Rebecca watched her in silence for a few seconds.

"What if you find Pauline and apologize? We can go with you."

It was the most practical solution. Priscila could make amends for her impulsive escape, and Rebecca would secure a reliable guide inside the island. Both things at once, without either of them needing to say it out loud.

"B-but... Pauline is going to scold me," Priscila murmured, pulling her shoulders in. "You have no idea what she's like."

"It'll be worse if she finds you on her own," Rebecca replied.

Just imagining Pauline's stern face was enough. Priscila felt a shiver run the full length of her spine. She pressed the glass of nearly liquid ice cream between her hands.

"All right. Let's go find her. She can't be far."

Rebecca smiled to herself, just slightly.

I'm trouble, she thought, with a certain satisfaction.

"Rebecca," Ciri called, in a different tone. Less light than usual.

"What is it?"

Ciri avoided her gaze for a second before speaking.

"I'll come with you to find Pauline. But after that I need to go back to the old man. I suppose our journey together is coming to an end."

The sea breeze came in through the half-open door and moved Ciri's hair slightly. Rebecca looked at her. Without a word, she reached out and laid her hand gently on Ciri's head.

"Don't look like that, kid. It won't be the last time we see each other."

Ciri closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make the smile hold firm.

✦ ✦ ✦

Priscila took out her phone with fingers that wouldn't quite stay still and dialed Pauline's number.

On the other side of town, her guardian was making her way through the streets with methodical steps, scanning every corner, every shop, every face. She had her phone in her hand when it vibrated.

When she saw the name on the screen, she answered immediately.

"Miss?"

"H-hello..." Priscila greeted her in a thin voice.

"Miss!" Pauline's voice came out with a restrained force that made several nearby people look up. "Where are you?"

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry."

A brief silence. Tense.

"Tell me where you are. I'm coming right now."

Priscila arranged a meeting point: a small park a few streets away. She hung up and looked at the other two.

"She's on her way."

The three of them stepped out into the street.

✦ ✦ ✦

Elsewhere in the town, Pauline put away her phone and resumed her pace.

She didn't get very far.

Two figures emerged from either side of the street without a sound, as if they had been standing there all along, waiting for the right moment. They wore long black robes that grazed the pavement, and their faces were covered by smooth masks — no expression, no features. The kind of face that is more unsettling precisely because it says nothing.

Pauline stopped. Her posture shifted immediately: feet apart, weight balanced, eyes sharp and moving across both of them at once. It was not the stance of someone caught off guard. It was the stance of someone who has been in situations like this before and knows exactly how to respond.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she said, with a calm that was not tranquility but something else entirely.

One of the masked figures tilted its head slightly.

"All I'll say is that from here, you won't be going anywhere."

The tone was relaxed. Almost friendly. And that was precisely what made it unsettling.

✦ ✦ ✦

The park was small and quiet. A few dry leaves rolled across the pavement pushed by the wind, and the distant murmur of the town filtered through the trees in a muffled hum. The three of them were sitting on a wooden bench, sunlight coming through the branches in uneven strips.

Priscila had suggested this spot instead of staying in the ice cream shop. To buy time, in part. To stretch the feeling of freedom just a little longer, in the other.

"Rebecca... why do you want to go to the Temple of the Jaguar?" she asked, with a curiosity that had nothing formal about it.

"I want to know too," Ciri added, settling into her seat.

Rebecca hesitated for barely a second. Then she took out the notebook. The leather creaked as it opened — that particular sound of something that has been handled many times.

"My father died when I was young. I was told it was an accident. Not long ago I found this among his things."

She turned a page. Then another.

"According to what he wrote here, he was chasing something important. I want to know what it was."

Priscila looked at her in silence for a moment.

"So you're following in his footsteps."

"That's incredible," said Ciri, with admiration that had no exaggeration in it.

Rebecca didn't answer. She closed the notebook slowly and left it on her lap.

For a moment the park was just that: leaves, filtered light, the distant sound of the town.

Too quiet.

Rebecca looked up without knowing exactly why. The park, which had had at least a couple of passersby before, was empty. The air had changed texture: heavier, stiller, with that particular density that precedes the things that shouldn't happen.

She didn't have time to name what she was feeling.

The whistle came first. Then the shadow: a rain of knives descending from above in perfect trajectories, all aimed at the same place.

At Priscila.

"Watch out!" Rebecca managed to shout.

The shockwave came a second later. It wasn't the impact of the blades — it was something that came out of Priscila, an energy that spilled outward without control and struck the air in every direction. Rebecca and Ciri were thrown off the bench. The pavement received them without ceremony.

The dust rose and took its time settling.

When Rebecca could see again, the first thing she noticed was the aura.

It radiated from Priscila's body in uneven waves — cold and dense, with that specific quality of ancient things that have been kept shut away for a long time. And behind her, emerging from the air as if it had solidified out of nothing, stood an enormous skeleton. Its ribs spread to either side, forming a curved barrier that sealed off the space around Priscila. The knives still falling from above struck the bone with a dry, metallic sound and dropped to the ground, having reached nothing.

The aura pulsed with instability. Like something that is not quite under control.

And Priscila stood in the center of it all, fists clenched and eyes wide open.

A woman appeared at the far end of the park, advancing with slow and completely unhurried steps. Her hood was pulled over her face; what could be made out of her expression was a faint smile that didn't fit the situation.

"I wasn't expecting the target to have a defense like that," she remarked, in the tone of someone who has found something interesting in a dull place.

Rebecca, still on the ground, was trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The skeleton. The aura. The woman advancing as if she were out for a stroll.

What is that thing coming out of Priscila? And who is that woman?

"No... not again, not again..." Priscila was murmuring. Her voice had the specific pitch of exhaustion, not fear.

As if this weren't the first time.

The hooded woman stopped. She tilted her head, assessing the specter with the clinical attention of someone calculating a price.

"I think that old man is going to have to pay me considerably more than we agreed."

She extended her hand. Ten knives materialized in the air before her, perfectly aligned, with the symmetry of something prepared well in advance.

"Execution Line."

The projectiles launched in unison.

The specter responded. From within the cavity of its ribcage a sphere of dark energy condensed and shot forward, pulverizing the knives mid-trajectory, then continued straight toward the attacker.

The hooded woman didn't move. More knives aligned before her, forming a compact shield.

The impact was brutal. The ground cracked at the point of collision. The marks left behind were black and scorched, and the cloud of dust it raised took several seconds to clear.

"Stop! Both of you, stop!" Priscila screamed.

Her eyes were wet. The specter behind her shook more violently the more unsteady her voice became.

Rebecca saw the tears.

She pressed her fists against the pavement and stood up.

There was no strategy in what she did next. No calculation. Only the simple, direct conviction that Priscila was suffering and that staying on the ground was not an option.

She stepped between the hooded woman and the spectral aura.

"I can fight too," she said, with a fury that was not panic but something cleaner than that. "You'll see, you damn lunatic."

The aura wrapped around her body.

The air around her changed temperature.

And for the first time since entering the park, the hooded woman stopped smiling.