Would you care to try some sweets? I could prepare a selection for you. Wine to pair with? I have some too.

My servants relish in manipulating the fates of others. Some imagine themselves cunning conspirators, others mere wavering dreamers. Yet they remain equally cold when consuming lives not their own. And me? Heheh. It matters not whether I am puppet or puppetmaster… for the end of life lies with me.

That Dr. Kal'tsit has a frightening glare. Whenever her eyes fall on me, I feel as if she plans to nail me to the landship deck. Fret not... during my brief stay here, I am but your Operator Necrass, and nothing more.

An ice-cold body, a dulled sense of touch; a pain inside that never rests, as if my own freezing flames pierce me through... But it is the pain I find so fascinating, for without it, I might forget I've already tamed death.

Rhodes Island is a beautiful place, where anyone can write their story, no matter who they may be. It's something of a utopia, built at the theoretical cost of countless lives. Illusions are ephemeral, however, so do try your best to keep it alive.

I permit your silence—or perhaps, your evasiveness—toward my invitation, but this does not mean you can escape me. Once I grasp you, your soul will be mine. Time, life, and joy are all yours to squander, but remember this well: your end, too, lies with me.

What brings me here, you ask? You do. Or should I say, your willingness to explain the glimpse I saw... of a future where even death is gone? Whether you choose to serve me before that future comes matters little... I'll gladly keep on waiting.

Loughshinny? Were she still the girl shivering under that snowy night, I would have simply gifted her a peaceful life until death reunited us both. A pity she ultimately learned to dance between blades and lies, and you surely understand how rare a truly endearing dance partner can be.

What must I do to have you submit to me? Must I plead, or yell? Show you a side of me no one has ever seen, or grant you my dominion over death? All that you desire, I... refuse. First you must submit, and then we can discuss further.

...A deep sleep is akin to death. I hope you manage to wake as usual, Erudite.

Allowing me on board at last? Then, hand me the register. 'Necrass'—how about this codename, Erudite? Hm? Rhodes Island requires I go by a codename, so I've decided to fashion an appropriate one for you as well.

How delightful. Another momentary escape from their predestined end.

A promotion. Does this imply I now have a formal position in your organization? Do you deem this appropriate, Erudite?

This medal symbolizes your trust, yet death is an eternal betrayal of life. If you've thought it through, perhaps set me a deadline—I'll strive to live up to your expectations until then.

Do you require me to conceal my face? No? A judicious judgment. The dead shall remember, while the living will forget.

Your operators might fail to keep up with my harsh demands.

Let us be off, to create many more corpses.

Mortals grieve over death, but death has never mourned.

My flame holds no warmth.

I see it.

I accept your invitation.

So this is your judgment?

A touch of my finger shall crumble your wills.

Life withers and dissipates, remnants left to hesitate.

Bathed in fire, departed souls dance in a frenzy of fear.

The clamor of the dead peters out into oblivion.

You and your tactics are equally lethal, Erudite.

Why repress yourself? I see a desire for destruction in you, and you should let it all out... with no reservations.

Life is inherently flawed, so let's not grieve too much over it.

Should I take them all away? Good, you need only pay a tiny price... I'm sure you can afford it.

Ah. A warm place.

What do you want?

You may hold my hand, if you can bear the icy burn.

Arknights.

A new year ought to be welcomed with fire; burn away the past to build again upon the remains, and the cycle continues anew. That being said, I do quite fancy this tiny flame before me as well. Roast something for me, accomplish what my flames cannot.

Are you happy to see me, Erudite?

Should I prepare a bouquet of flowers for you? For what reason, you ask? I simply want to receive one in return, and watch your flowers crumble into ashes between my fingers, that's all.

Loughshinny aside, Rhodes Island still bears scant traces of Dublinn... don't be nervous. The dream has been realized, so Dublinn should die, but death does not mean to vanish without reason. I shall allow it—let this gravestone of Dublinn remain at Rhodes Island as-is.