Deep Sea Embers

The peaceful and serene sea was momentarily disrupted, creating cascading waves as a massive submarine emerged from its depths. The brilliant afternoon sun, burning like a radiant gem in the vast sky, cast shimmering light trails over the seemingly infinite ocean. The sun’s bright, uncaring glow reflected off the submarine’s steel exterior, creating a vivid contrast between the warmth of the sun and the coldness of the metal.

Suddenly, an onboard, single-use smoke device positioned at the top of the submarine’s hull came to life. It was as if a brief, brilliant fire erupted, quickly followed by a subdued detonation, propelling a blazing, orange streak that cut through the clear blue sky. The crew made a series of adjustments to the submarine’s alignment and power settings, allowing it to hover in a stable position on the water’s surface. A loud, grinding sound echoed as the submarine’s locking system began to slowly release.

Inside, Duncan, with steady hands, started turning the handle that kept the thick hatch in place. As he opened it, a wave of the ocean’s fresh air flooded into the chamber, embracing both him and his silent counterpart. Although neither of them technically needed air, the sensation of the refreshing sea breeze offered an unanticipated reprieve. The chilling illusions, which had tormented them, weaving into their thoughts and consciousness during their submerged journey, were now starting to fade. Holding onto the handrail for support, Agatha gathered her strength and followed Duncan, stepping out onto the sturdy outer surface of the submarine. The vast ocean met her gaze, a vision of tranquility and grandeur.

Looking sideways, Duncan addressed the sentinel-like figure next to him. “How does the daylight feel after our ordeal?” he inquired.

Agatha, her voice just above a whisper, answered, “It’s as if I’ve been revived from the brink of oblivion once again. I hadn’t realized the depth of longing I felt for the warmth of the sun and the simple pleasure of inhaling fresh air until they were taken from me.”

“And what of the other you?” Duncan questioned further. “Throughout our descent, she remained distant. She was watching us though, correct?”

Agatha nodded. “Our feelings are intertwined. However, she expressed a desire for reflection and chose silence. Would you like me to call her forward for a chat?”

Duncan shook his head gently. “No need. Give her the space she needs. This undersea voyage has been a deeply moving journey for each of us, almost like a rite of passage. We must all reflect on it in our own time.”

Signaling with a subtle gesture, Duncan looked out towards the horizon, and his attention was captured by an oncoming ship.

“Behold, the rescue vessel sent by Tyrian is nearing,” he declared, a touch of comfort evident in his tone. “Fortunately for us, it appears we won’t be forced to find our own way back to our home city-state.”

Emerging from the vast horizon, a spectral silhouette of a steamboat sliced through the ocean waves, moving swiftly toward the source of the submarine’s distress beacon. Having accomplished its mission, the submarine was safely guided back to its main ship, with the invaluable “Gatekeeper” aboard. Receiving this report via the pneumatic messaging system, a wave of relief washed over Tyrian, who had been fervently waiting for an update in the southern port’s command center. As he let out a sigh of relief, an unfamiliar emotion began to surface from deep within him. Pushing his chair back, he meandered to the window, becoming lost in the captivating hues of the descending sun.

Suddenly, a voice punctuated the hushed atmosphere. It was Lucretia’s voice, echoing from a gleaming crystal ball nearby: “Have you received any updates about Father?”

Pivoting to face the glowing orb, a hint of surprise colored Tyrian’s response. “You caught that… Was my anticipation so visibly readable?”

Lucretia, though engrossed in her multi-tasking — biting into a chunk of bread, hastily jotting down intricate calculations on a hovering parchment, and finetuning various experimental tools scattered around — spared a fleeting look at her elder sibling. She quipped with a playful tone, “Your emotional cocktail of anxiety, uncertainty, relief, and a dash of confusion can only signify one thing: Father is back.”

With a mock grimace, Tyrian remarked, “Really? Is this the dissected way scholars converse nowadays? I sound like some emotional pie chart to you…”

Taking a moment, Tyrian added with a hint of nostalgia, “Times have indeed changed. It wasn’t long ago when news of Father’s return wouldn’t have evoked such feelings in me. My initial reactions, during his earlier expeditions, were starkly different.”

With a teasing grin, Lucretia chimed in, “Oh, I vividly remember. Your knees wobbled like jelly. You even went to the extent of deploying the Sea Mist against our own Father, staying sleepless for nights on end. You had this knack for waking me up in the eeriest hours, recounting your night terrors. They were so vivid that we both ended up shivering…”

Cutting her off, Tyrian said with a hint of mock annoyance, “Alright, enough of your dramatic flair. Those aren’t the memories I’m keen to revisit right now.”

In response, Lucretia’s animated hands stilled, her relentless research temporarily suspended, and the remnant of her bread set aside. She looked intently at Tyrian, her eyes filled with understanding and patience, ready to lend an ear.

In Lucretia’s steady and intense stare, Tyrian felt an eerie feeling, as if she were scanning every inch of his skin, analyzing him in a way that went beyond the surface. Finally, breaking the palpable tension that had filled the air between them, Lucretia spoke.

“When we were kids, it was normal for Father to be gone for long periods. Every time we heard the melodious sound of bells from the harbor, we would rush to the rooftop of our house, our eyes scanning the horizon for the distinctive flag on the sail of the Vanished. You’d always scold me, telling me to act more ladylike—more composed and graceful. But amusingly, you were always the one who would scramble to the highest point on the roof first.”

“That was a long time ago,” Tyrian responded.

Pausing for a moment, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with a deep sense of nostalgia, as if he was conversing with a younger version of himself.

“I can still vividly remember the shade of blue that our roof was painted in. The windmill you had placed there would catch the sea breeze, creating a soft, lilting melody. That’s how our hidden adventures on the rooftop began.”

“Things have changed a lot since then,” Lucretia said. “We’re now experiencing moments that even that old rooftop could never offer, seeing the world from perspectives that were once only Father’s. But even now, we’re not yet walking in his footsteps.”

“Father’s explorations took him into the most mysterious depths of the ocean, places so deep that even the ambitious Abyss Project hasn’t been able to reach. What do you think he’s hoping to discover on this latest expedition?”

Tyrian became quiet again, contemplating the weight of Lucretia’s question. Before he could speak, however, the stillness of the room was shattered by a cacophony of clicks emanating from the mirror behind him. Duncan’s voice immediately followed, sounding from the glass: “I’ve stumbled upon an extraordinary secret and was about to share it with you both.”

The sudden intrusion shocked Tyrian; his muscles tensed reflexively. But the reaction from Lucretia, who appeared through a magical crystal ball, was even more striking. He heard her gasp audibly, followed by a series of chaotic noises on her end. Then, both smoke and flashes of light filled the crystal ball, abruptly cutting off their connection. With his heart still racing, Tyrian turned to find the mirror behind him ablaze with an ethereal green flame. Emerging from the dark surface of the mirror was Duncan’s face, who glanced around curiously.

“Is your sister okay? Did I scare her?” he inquired.

“Could you please not make such dramatic entrances every time you show up?” Tyrian found himself mumbling, almost without thinking. As the words left his lips, he felt a blush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He looked at Duncan, wondering if he’d offended him. But Duncan’s face remained as impassive as ever.

“I did consider making a more subdued entrance, perhaps with a preliminary knock or a notice,” Duncan admitted, locking eyes with Tyrian. “But Vanna pointed out that it’s not how I arrive that startles people; it’s the sheer surprise of my unexpected presence that does. She probably has a point, so I didn’t change it. Besides, catching others off guard has its own entertaining charm.”

Tyrian’s eye twitched in response to his father’s cavalier attitude towards the discomfort he induced. Struggling for words, he quickly gathered his composure, schooling his features into a look of curiosity as he regarded his father’s reflection in the mirror. “Have you returned to the city-state? Should I come find you?”

“The avatar I was using has returned, but you needn’t go over there,” Duncan interjected.

“Prepare yourself and head straight to the Vanished.”

Tyrian’s surprise was intense. “What?”

“I’ve made an extraordinary discovery in the deep sea.”

Duncan’s countenance took on a grave aspect. “This information must not be made public, and it potentially has ties to the ancient gods. Consequently, we need to convene everyone on the Vanished for a discussion. I’ve already dispatched Agatha, and my followers have begun assembling.”

“As the captain of the Sea Mist and the newly appointed governor of Frost, your presence is essential.”

From his father’s demeanor and tone, Tyrian quickly gathered that the situation was exceptional and of significant importance. He immediately straightened up, his earlier casualness replaced by a newfound determination.

“Understood. I’ll leave a note for Aiden explaining the situation.”

“Excellent.”

Duncan offered a nod of approval, his gaze then swept the room, finally landing on the intricate arrangement of the crystal ball.

“When you come aboard, bring your crystal ball,” he instructed Tyrian. “Lucy should also be privy to the situation. She’ll be intrigued by the secrets of the deep sea.”

Tyrian, while penning a note, looked up abruptly. He first shot a surprised look at Duncan, then swiftly nodded in acknowledgment. “Understood. I’ll make sure to bring the crystal ball. Where is the Vanished currently? I’ll arrange for a speedboat.”

No sooner had he finished speaking, Duncan in the mirror waved off his concern. “There’s no need. Ai will take you.”

A knocking sound drew Tyrian’s attention to the window. Outside, the ever-present plump white dove, a constant companion to his father, pecked at the window glass of the harbor office, its head tilted at an inquisitive angle. “Are you ready to get on board? Plenty of space, and the old driver is steady at the helm.”

Tyrian was left bewildered, a question mark practically hanging over his head. “…?”

The Vanished’s dining room was the customary meeting point for its crew members. The expansive dining table had been meticulously wiped clean and glistened under the soft light while radiant oil lamps dangled from the columns surrounding the table, casting a warm glow.

The ship’s faithful followers gathered on either side of the table, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Vanna and Morris maintained a strict, upright posture. Shirley and Alice seemed lost in their thoughts, engrossed in a world of their own. Nina and Dog, on the other hand, were engrossed in their books, their focused attention evident in their furrowed brows. Yet, today, the tableau was complemented with two unfamiliar faces…

Clad in the garb of a blind nun, Agatha occupied a spot at the extensive table. She sat motionless, her lips whispering silent prayers. Adjacent to her, Lawrence, attired in a crisp white coat, nervously clutched his pipe. His gaze flitted around the cabin, scrutinizing every minute detail with an expression of mounting unease. Lawrence’s ship was currently moored in the adjacent waters, with his first mate diligently attending to the ship’s affairs. Unaware of the specific circumstances, Lawrence, the captain, found himself summoned to the ‘flagship.’ The unfamiliar surroundings filled the old captain’s heart with trepidation; it was his maiden venture onto the Vanished.

Stepping aboard this legendary phantom ship, a vessel rumored to have returned from subspace, Lawrence found himself amidst the trusted followers of Duncan Abnomar. They were assembled in this venerable and solemn cabin, awaiting directives from Duncan’s command. They had a clear understanding of the identities and origins of the present company – the animated puppet, the fragment of the sun, the sentient demon, the exiled inquisitor, the legendary scholar teetering on the brink of madness…

Now, Lawrence was himself a part of this extraordinary assembly. He could never have conjured such a scenario even in his wildest flights of fancy or hallucinations. After all, he was just a retired captain of an exploration vessel… How on earth did he find himself in this situation?

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