Deep Sea Embers

Agatha of Frost, a revered and enigmatic figure by her people, made her presence known under the cloak of the familiar grey winds that often heralded her arrival. In her unique position as both the city-state’s archbishop and priestess, she approached Duncan and Alice with a demeanor of solemn grace. Offering a slight bow in Duncan’s direction, she greeted them, “Good evening. It brings me great pleasure to witness your direct involvement in these proceedings.”

Duncan, his gaze drifting towards the horizon where the sea met the sky, lightly contested, “If we’re to be precise, the sun has yet to fully set. It’s still dusk.”

Agatha, unphased by the technicality, replied, “Indeed, dusk lingers, yet the lives of our people adhere to a more conventional schedule.” She then turned her attention to Alice, offering a gentle nod. “It has been an extensive period since our last encounter, Miss Alice.”

Caught off guard and momentarily flustered, Alice managed an awkward chuckle while scratching her head. “Oh… Ah! It’s been ages, hasn’t it? There’s also an Agatha aboard our ship so you threw me off for a second there.”

The mention of another bearing her name brought a smile to Agatha’s face. Despite her eyes being obscured by a black cloth, a sense of warmth seemed to radiate from her. “On the ship, you say? How has she been faring?”

Alice’s response was quick and animated, “Ah, she’s been great! She’s always chasing Shirley around, insisting they complete their homework together through a mirror. Occasionally, she’ll use the fog as cover to sneak around, claiming she’s merely out for a stroll, though I can tell she’s having fun in startling people.” Alice’s tone softened, “Everyone’s happy to be around her, except Shirley, who seems a tad unnerved.”

Agatha absorbed Alice’s recount with silent amusement, her initial surprise giving way to a heartfelt smile. After a brief pause, she softly acknowledged, “I see… That sounds wonderful.”

The conversation was then interrupted by Tyrian, seizing the moment to inquire, “Has the cathedral concluded the arrangements for tonight’s vigil?”

“I’ve just come from finalizing those details. Rest assured, we’re well-prepared,” Agatha assured him, her confidence momentarily faltering as she noted Tyrian’s discomfort, likely stemming from a digestive ailment. “Sir, are you experiencing stomach troubles?”

Caught off guard, Tyrian, despite his usual stoicism as the “Iron Admiral,” couldn’t hide his embarrassment. Recovering quickly, he awkwardly shifted the conversation towards Duncan, who was holding a paper bag. “Perhaps you’d like to try some potato cakes?”

The sudden shift in topic left Agatha perplexed, her gaze landing on the proffered snack. Eager to share, Duncan announced, “They’re a special recipe from Alice that’s captured the essence of Wind Harbor.”

Initially taken aback by the mention of Wind Harbor, Agatha politely declined, “My current form transcends the pleasures of the living, rendering me unable to partake in such delights. Nevertheless, I appreciate the gesture.”

Understanding Agatha’s condition, her form marred with cracks resembling a fragile doll, Duncan acknowledged her refusal with a resigned shrug, handing Tyrian the bag of potato cakes. “Then, it’s yours. Enjoy it at your leisure back home.”

Tyrian, momentarily caught off guard, accepted the bag of potato cakes from his father, his eyes casting a silent, contemplative glance over the eclectic assembly before him: a spectral figure, an entity no longer living, a sentient doll, and his own father, whose form resembled that of the departed.

It dawned on Tyrian, albeit a tad late, that among this peculiar congregation, he stood out as the sole bearer of a vibrant human essence, a stark contrast to the others’ connection to death or the supernatural.

Duncan, seemingly oblivious to the sudden shift in Tyrian’s demeanor, completed the handover of the potato cakes with a final clap of his hands before turning his gaze towards the celestial body that hung silently above the shoreline, its presence a quiet testament to the gravity of their situation.

“This marks only the outset,” Duncan began, addressing Agatha with a hint of solemnity in his voice. “As we move forward, we will witness an increasing number of solar fragments plummeting into the Boundless Sea. Embedded within each fragment lies a ‘Lost Star,’ offering a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. In the prolonged nights that await us, these fragments may serve as the sole beacon of security for numerous city-states.”

Agatha’s demeanor shifted to one of grave concern upon digesting Duncan’s words: “So, you’re suggesting that the disintegration of the sun is a foregone conclusion?”

Duncan confirmed with a slight nod, “Regrettably, yes. The vision is not only unavoidable but is expected to intensify over time. My next steps involve reaching out to the popes of the Four Gods, urging them to monitor these celestial falls into the Boundless Sea and to secure them promptly.”

A heavy silence enveloped Tyrian and Agatha as the weight of Duncan’s revelation settled in.

The uncertainty of witnessing another sunrise loomed large over them, heralding the onset of an extended period of darkness. This grim prospect left even Tyrian, amidst his contemplations, feeling a palpable sense of unease.

Raising his gaze to meet Duncan’s, Tyrian inquired, “You mentioned that these falling fragments could potentially serve as the sole safeguard for many city-states?”

Duncan elaborated, “Vanna has been graced with a divine message from the Storm Goddess, and I’ve received word from the Nether Lord. Drawing from Wind Harbor’s experiences, it appears these solar fragments can indeed provide a protective force akin to Vision 001, albeit on a smaller scale. They may not pacify vast stretches of ocean, but they can safeguard a city-state.”

As Tyrian processed this information, his expression darkened with concern. After a moment of reflection, he voiced his apprehension, “…But is that truly sufficient?”

His query, though softly spoken, resonated with all present. Alice appeared confused by the implication, while Aiden and Agatha, understanding the depth of Tyrian’s question, shifted to a more contemplative stance.

Duncan acknowledged the gravity of Tyrian’s concern with a slow nod. “I grasp the essence of your inquiry,” he responded gravely. “The truth is, the exact number of fragments and whether they’ll suffice remains unknown. Without significant measures in place, even an ample supply of fragments could prove inadequate.”

After pausing to consider her response, Agatha assured, “The church will take action, and our patrol fleets are vigilant across all maritime routes. Should the church’s resources fall short, Frost Navy stands ready to lend its support.”

“But that’s the best-case outlook—and honestly, I’ve never been one to view the future through rose-colored glasses, especially in moments that put humanity to the test,” Tyrian expressed, shaking his head with a sense of resignation. “What if there’s discord within the church itself? As night envelops us, every challenge we face will seem insurmountable… Even those who are normally steadfast and principled may find their loyalties tested.”

A heavy silence ensued, casting a palpable tension over the group.

Still not fully grasping the gravity of their conversation, Alice looked around in bewilderment. Her gaze shifted from Tyrian to Agatha, and then to Duncan, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What’s the big discussion about?” she finally asked, unable to contain her confusion any longer.

Duncan, opting not to delve into the complexities of their conversation, simply raised his hand to gently pat Alice on the head in a comforting gesture.

“We’re concerned that there might not be enough sun fragments to go around, protecting all city-states. Or worse, some might try to monopolize this ‘sunlight’ for themselves,” Aiden chimed in, offering a more straightforward explanation. “It all boils down to survival, after all.”

Alice’s eyes widened in realization as she began to understand the dire nature of the situation they were discussing. “If things go south, someone from the North might never get to enjoy Wind Harbor’s potato cakes again.”

Addressing Alice’s concern, Duncan advised, “Don’t dwell on it too much. It’s not your burden to bear. The world has always had its dark corners, and today is no exception.”

Inspired by Duncan’s words, Alice suddenly looked up with renewed hope. “Then… when the time comes, you’ll step in, won’t you? Just like you did in Pland and Frost…”

Duncan remained silent, his response noncommittal, prompting Agatha to interject: “Exactly, with your aid, we’d stand a better chance at keeping the peace and ensuring some semblance of order after nightfall… at least preventing the worst from happening.”

Still, Duncan offered no confirmation, his silence speaking volumes.

This non-response led Tyrian to a realization. “You’re not planning on getting involved?”

Duncan clarified, shaking his head gently, “No, I’m contemplating other matters.”

He turned away, his gaze fixed on the “Lost Star” suspended in the sky, lost in thought. The silence that followed was profound, leaving even Tyrian hesitant to break it. After a lengthy pause, Duncan finally spoke, his voice soft yet carrying a weighty resolve: “Should we face the worst-case scenario, I may have to undertake a task that only I can accomplish. It could take me far away, perhaps for a very long time.”

In that moment, Tyrian experienced a fleeting, almost ethereal sensation, a kind of intuitive foreboding that seemed to wash over him, blurring the edges of his reality with a mix of light and shadow. It was as if, for an instant, he saw his father’s form standing in a realm so distant that no matter how much he reached out, he could never bridge the gap between them. It felt as though an unseen barrier was slowly enveloping them, ready to divide them across different dimensions of time and space.

This barrier appeared to shimmer with the light of countless stars, a sight both mesmerizing and unsettling.

However, the sensation was brief, and as Tyrian tried to grasp the fleeting impression, it slipped away, leaving behind a profound emptiness, as if his thoughts had been suspended in time and were now lost in an infinite abyss.

Duncan, turning towards him, his face partially obscured by bandages that hid all but his eyes, which held a serene and steady gaze, seemed to be looking not just at Tyrian but beyond.

“Don’t worry too much. Even in the worst of times, there will be a flame to re-illuminate the world. Difficult days are always temporary,” Duncan spoke, his voice carrying an undertone of something more, a hint of a deeper, unspoken truth.

Before Tyrian could delve further into his father’s words, a spectral flame erupted on the beach, slowly forming a vortex—an indication that it was time for Duncan to depart.

“I still have many things to do,” Duncan declared, offering a wave towards Tyrian, Aiden, and Agatha as he moved towards the burgeoning flame. His parting advice was, “Focus more on dealing with the coming nightfall and don’t overthink the issue.”

As he stepped into the flame, it soared upwards, tracing a path into the sky akin to a meteor reversing its course, swiftly vanishing from the sight of Tyrian, Agatha, and the others, leaving them to ponder the depth of his final words and the vast, unknown challenges that lay ahead.

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