Deep Sea Embers

Agatha had been aware for quite some time that Bishop Ivan’s life was gradually drawing to a close. Underneath the layers of firmly bound bandages that covered him, his body was practically skeletal, with very little flesh remaining. What allowed him to remain standing wasn’t solely the divine miracle Bartok granted but also his spirit’s sheer determination and steadfastness.

The peculiar state of the bishop’s body was a mystery to most. Even Agatha, known as the Gatekeeper of Frost, was privy only to the vague explanation that an “accident” from many years ago was responsible for his physical condition. However, the true nature of this accident was a topic Bishop Ivan carefully avoided, never openly discussing it even when she was around.

It was a secret Agatha chose not to probe into, of her own accord.

Bishop Ivan’s demeanor clearly reflected a deep sense of melancholy. He stood silent for a long while before suddenly voicing his fears, “We are on the brink of a crisis.”

“Yes, Bishop Ivan,” Agatha responded, nodding her understanding, “I will strive with all my might to expose the reality and subvert the devious plot being hatched by those with destruction in their hearts.”

“No, you don’t quite grasp the situation,” Bishop Ivan retorted, shaking his head, “The ‘truth’ of this looming crisis may be far more complex and bewildering than we can imagine, Agatha. The insidious activities of the cult members might indeed contribute to the crisis, but they certainly don’t encompass the entirety of it. I have a premonition…”

At this, Agatha’s brow furrowed slightly, “A premonition?”

“An uncanny familiarity, reminiscent of the time fifty years ago… just before the upheaval occurred, the entire city was permeated with a mood quite similar to the one now,” Ivan shared, his voice slow and thoughtful, “A city-state that on the surface appeared utterly normal, yet was teeming with bewildering, inexplicable anomalies – almost as if we were all suddenly trapped in an uncanny, indistinguishable dream. We would occasionally catch a glimpse of horrifying scenes at the dream’s fringe, but our feeble human comprehension refused to fully understand them, blinding us to the truth that was tantalizingly close… Are you experiencing that sensation? As if… the distortion is plainly in front of us, yet we stubbornly keep our eyes shut.”

“I’m not sure I follow…” Agatha expressed her uncertainty, “Are you suggesting some kind of cognitive disruption? That this disruption is clouding our judgement?”

Instead of responding to her query, Bishop Ivan, after several seconds of contemplative silence, segued into a topic that seemed completely unrelated, “Agatha, have I ever spoken to you about the ‘Last Queen’s Guard’ from half a century ago? Or about the ‘Second Waterway’ buried deep within the heart of the city-state?”

“The Second Waterway?” Agatha appeared taken aback, as a flurry of knowledge resurfaced in her mind, “I have some understanding of that. It was a part of a colossal subterranean infrastructure developed by the Frost Queen for the city-state. However, with the termination of the Queen’s reign, the unfinished structure was deserted. Due to severe structural deterioration and financial constraints, it has remained forsaken up to this day—most people aren’t even aware of its existence.”

“Yes, it remains forsaken, and only keepers of the gate like you and old relics such as myself are privy to its existence,” Bishop Ivan stated, a slight shake of his head accentuating his words.

“And what about the ‘Last Queen’s Guard’?” Agatha queried, curiosity piqued, “What prompted you to suddenly mention them?”

“The Last Queen’s Guard was a unit that exhibited fierce resilience, continuing their resistance even after the queen’s palace fell to the rebels. They utilized the city-state’s subterranean structures to stage their last stand,” Bishop Ivan’s voice was low, imbued with an unmistakable air of nostalgia, “Their final fortress was the entrance to the Second Waterway. After being overpowered, they demolished all the connecting wells and were consequently interred beneath the earth. The reason I broach this topic today… is because an old rumor from those times unexpectedly crossed my mind.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpened at the mention of a rumor, “A rumor?”

“The tale goes that… as the vertical wells were being destroyed, the invaders besieging the underground base suddenly heard an array of eerie sounds emanating from the depths. Even amidst the utter ruin of their subterranean stronghold, the Last Queen’s Guard began to shout as if they were initiating an assault on an enemy,” Bishop Ivan slowly dredged up the distant memory, “For quite some time after that, there were reports of people hearing the resonating sounds of warfare and war cries echoing from deep within the earth. In due course, whispers began to circulate that the ‘Last Queen’s Guard’ had transformed into a grotesque legion lurking beneath the ground. They were said to be engaged in ceaseless battles, fueled by a simmering rage, awaiting the opportune moment of vulnerability in the new regime established by the traitors. At that moment, they were believed to emerge from their subterranean realm to exact their vengeance…”

Agatha’s countenance grew grave, “The most vulnerable moment of the new regime… You mentioned earlier that we’re confronting a crisis beyond our comprehension, and the prevailing mood in the city mirrors that of fifty years ago. Is this the moment of vulnerability? Will the mythical ‘Queen’s Guard’ surface from the depths? Do you lend credence to this legend?”

“I don’t believe this legend—the Queen’s Guard was unequivocally decimated. I was a witness to their downfall. Even if…” Bishop Ivan started but abruptly halted as if a new thought had dawned upon him. He then shook his head, “Even if a handful of survivors had managed to hold out temporarily in the Second Waterway, it’s improbable that they survived until the present day. The meager descendants who are still alive lack the power to challenge the city-state’s rule, even if we are currently grappling with a crisis.”

Agatha fell silent for a brief while, and after about ten seconds, she abruptly broke the silence, “The legend of the ‘Last Queen’s Guard’ might be steeped in falsehood, but it’s undeniable that a vast, unregulated area persists underneath Frost. Your concern isn’t about the Queen’s Guard who vanished half a century ago, but rather something else lurking within the Second Waterway, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been diligently scouring the entire city for a significant period of time, managing to apprehend a number of followers of the Annihilation Cult. However, they are all relatively minor figures, most lacking any adept skills in remaining hidden. It’s improbable that these individuals could be responsible for creating the plethora of ‘counterfeits’ and ‘elemental pollution’ that plague the city-state, let alone instigate the disturbances on Dagger Island,” Bishop Ivan affirmed, nodding gravely, “Upon reflection, the minions we’ve apprehended seem more akin to scattered soldiers who have ‘slipped’ from a more substantial nest. The majority of the city-state has been searched thoroughly, perhaps even multiple times, leaving only one area largely unexplored… I fear it might be the depths below.”

After giving the Bishop’s words some thought, Agatha responded with a hint of uncertainty, “Yet, according to the historical records, a significant portion of the Second Waterway has severely collapsed, rendering most of its passageways into treacherous traps. Add to this the presence of toxic pollution and vast stretches of darkness, survival down there seems untenable. The followers of the Annihilation Cult, despite their unsavory beliefs, are still living beings. Aside from a small number of priests who have almost morphed into insidious demons, most still require a human-friendly environment to survive… How could they possibly be hiding in such an inhospitable place?”

“Despite the grim prospects, we should at least attempt a search,” Bishop Ivan replied slowly, “We can commence by probing the collapsed sections around the metal mines.”

After reflecting for a few moments, Agatha offered a gentle nod of agreement, “To accomplish this, we’ll need the assistance of City Hall—protective gear, underground machinery, and professional engineers; such resources are beyond the cathedral’s capacity.”

“I’ll undertake the task of negotiations,” Bishop Ivan reassured her with a nod, “Draft a list detailing the personnel and equipment you’ll require, and I’ll find a way to procure them for you.”

“Understood, I’ll have the list prepared for you by noon,” Agatha didn’t hesitate, “And before the workforce and supplies arrive, I wish to conduct a thorough ‘interrogation’ of the captured cultists to determine if they could provide any valuable information…”

…

As the grip of the night loosened, the sky gradually brightened. Vision 001 began its ascent from the city-state’s edge, and the majestic sun slowly climbed into the sky. The double-rune circle passed over the towering spires and rooftops, bringing with it warmth that dissipated the overnight chill.

At the entrance of Cemetery No. 3, the hefty, intricately carved iron gate creaked open. As the gate moved, it swept the accumulated snow on the ground, leaving behind twin arc-like trails as if wings had been spread. The old caretaker, adorned in a worn-out coat, stood in front of the ajar cemetery gate, took a deep breath, and gazed upon the clear sky.

The sky was pristine, yet for some inexplicable reason, the vibrancy of the morning was unable to alleviate the irksomeness brewing within him. The elderly caretaker’s gaze drifted towards the bustling city streets as distant sounds of horses and carriages faded into the background, much like the uneasy winds from the previous night.

Subsequently, even the cloudless sky seemed tainted with a veneer of artifice.

Murmuring a string of grumbles under his breath, his gaze shifted to the incline leading up to the cemetery.

The lines etched deep into the old man’s face eased momentarily, only to intensify a second later as his brows furrowed in puzzlement.

He had noticed a small figure materializing on the incline, trudging towards him with a mix of struggle and tenacity. Sensing the old man’s scrutiny, the tiny figure halted deliberately and offered a cheerful wave.

The old caretaker’s frown deepened.

He patiently waited for the individual to come closer, not saying a word until Annie had brushed the snowflakes off her trousers and boots. His voice tinged with annoyance as he finally said, “You’re back again. Yesterday was peaceful without you, I had assumed you’d finally decided to stay home. Why have you returned today?”

“I wished to visit yesterday too,” Annie replied, sticking her tongue out in tease, “However, my mother thought the roads were heavily laden with snow, and we needed to wait for the snowplows to clear the main roads before venturing out…”

Before the old man could respond, she had already presented him with a small package, “I’ve brought cookies!”

“…It seems I’ve been consuming cookies daily,” the old man cast a glance at the package in her hands, his eyelids twitching, yet he accepted the offering, “Please extend my gratitude to Mrs. Belloni.”

Annie’s face lit up with joy.

“Is there something else?” The old caretaker’s gaze swept over the girl standing before him, “The cemetery is not accepting visitors today.”

“Oh, no. I simply wished to chat with you,” Annie replied with her usual cheerfulness, “Did you know? We’ve recently had a few new guests move into our house. Can you guess who they are?”

The twelve-year-old girl was notoriously bad at keeping secrets.

“I have no interest,” the old caretaker grumbled, displaying his disinterest with an impatient wave of his hand, “It’s your home, you can lease it out to whomever you wish. Why would that concern me?”

Ignoring his reaction, Annie continued with an even brighter smile and an air of inexplicable pride, “It’s the tall man wrapped in bandages! Remember the one we saw at the cemetery gate the last time… Are you alright, Grandpa Caretaker?”

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