Deep Sea Embers

Adjusting his position for more comfort, Duncan leaned back into the soft, cushiony embrace of the couch. Through the meshwork of bandages wrapped around his face, his eyes caught the young priestess’s attention, radiating a mischievous spark.

“So, the cat’s out of the bag about my identity, isn’t it?” he asked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin. “According to the rules of the Death Church, you should report me immediately, you know.”

Agatha parted her lips as if to speak, but her words were held captive by the jumble of her thoughts. Finally, after what felt like an endless pause, she gestured helplessly with her hands in an open shrug. Her face mirrored her internal conflict, settling into a rueful smile. “You’ve certainly placed me in a complicated situation.”

“Yes, you really should report everything that’s happened here to the higher-ups in the Death Church,” Duncan said, his cheerful demeanor giving way to a more serious tone. “First, there was the incident in Pland, and now issues are arising in Frost. Add to that the heretics who have been a perpetual nuisance. Lately, the problems seem to be increasing both in frequency and severity. And let’s not forget, our sun—Vision 001, has also been showing unsettling signs.”

Agatha quickly abandoned her previous discomfort, adopting a more solemn expression as she picked up on Duncan’s dire tone. “…Are you suggesting that all of these troubling events are somehow related?”

“I can’t make that claim with absolute certainty. Don’t be so shocked; I don’t hold the keys to all the mysteries in the world,” Duncan replied nonchalantly. “However, I’ve developed a knack for seeing patterns. When a sequence of unlikely or troubling events starts to line up, I start to wonder if they’re not just isolated incidents but ‘symptoms’ of a more significant system heading for collapse. Have you ever stopped to consider why heretical activities seem to be on the rise lately? In the historical records of grand heretical sacrifices, how many have had such far-reaching impacts?”

Agatha sank into deep thought, her face turning more serious with each passing second.

“Report everything,” Duncan said softly, breaking the silence. “Don’t overlook any details. Let those with the analytical minds dissect what they will.”

“I understand your point. I’ll give a full account of what has transpired,” Agatha responded, her eyes meeting Duncan’s earnestly. “Absolutely everything.”

“I’m curious to see how the Death Church will handle this information,” Duncan said, letting out a soft sigh of relief. “Delaying the inevitable is rarely a good strategy.”

For a while, the room sank into a profound silence as if submerged under the weight of their collective thoughts. Finally, Agatha shattered the stillness. “I must go now.”

“You don’t want to stay a bit longer?” Duncan asked. “Given the state of affairs, leaving this sanctuary means diving right back into a world filled with problems. Moments of peace like this are few and far between.”

“That’s exactly why I need to get back,” Agatha responded, shaking her head resolutely. “The city-state is in turmoil, and it’s not just the Death Church that’s affected. Even the local government is in disarray. If I keep hiding out here, then who will take the reins and try to steer things back on track?”

“Chaos indeed,” Duncan echoed, pausing thoughtfully before suddenly posing another question. “Realistically, with the limited resources and manpower that Frost currently has, do you truly think you can restore order in a short amount of time?”

Caught off guard, Agatha hesitated for a moment. Then, breaking the brief silence, she declared, “…I will do my absolute best.”

“Ah, ‘doing one’s best.’ It’s a noble aim, but sometimes even our best isn’t enough to truly solve the problem at hand,” Duncan mused.

“What are you insinuating?” Agatha probed.

“I’m merely entertaining a daring idea,” Duncan replied with a chuckle, locking eyes with Agatha. “Think of it as a perspective from an outsider.”

Stepping out of the charming little house at 44 Oak Street, Agatha found herself enveloped by the fading glow of the late afternoon sun. Its radiant light was gradually dimming, casting long shadows across the world, even as the snow continued its steady descent. Individual flakes floated lazily from the overcast sky, each flake catching the warm glow of the gas-lit streetlights as it meandered to the ground, layering the streets below in a soft blanket of white.

The distant sounds of the guardian’s night patrol reverberated from a far-off intersection. The rhythmic, intermittent clanging of steam-powered walking machines punctuated the otherwise tranquil ambiance of the street. Somewhere in the distance, bells rang to signify the changing of day to night, their chimes mingling with the haunting melody of a pipe organ that floated on the air from a humble church on the corner.

The icy wind swept through the cobblestone avenues, lifting strands of Agatha’s hair and causing her skirt to billow. She reached out a hand into the falling snow and slightly tilted her head, remarking, “It’s still snowing.”

Vanna, who had accompanied her to the door, looked at her with curiosity. “Can you not see the snowflakes?”

“I can’t see them, but I can feel them,” Agatha admitted softly. “My senses have broadened in some ways, but narrowed in others. Adjusting to this new reality is going to take some time.”

She retracted her hand, her face lighting up with a soft smile. “But on the bright side, I no longer feel the harsh bite of the wind. Regardless of how many layers I’m wearing or how many fires are burning, the world feels… uniformly cold to me now.”

Vanna struggled to comprehend. “I’m sorry, I can’t quite imagine what that must feel like.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not as troublesome as it sounds,” Agatha reassured her with a chuckle. Her fist clenched slightly as she spoke, and a soft, green flame emanated from the intricate scars etched into her skin. The flame flowed within her like some sort of ethereal lifeblood, warming her from within. “This makes it more bearable.”

For a moment, Vanna remained silent. “If the captain knew you were using the flame he gifted you for mere warmth, his reaction would be rather entertaining, to say the least.”

“What sort of person is he?” Agatha asked, curiosity filling her eyes as she contained the energy of the flame once more. “Is he generally… stern? Intimidating?”

“What do you think? You’ve met him twice now.”

“All the information I have feels biased. He appears to be much more amicable and serene than I initially thought, but… perhaps I should be using ‘It’ as a pronoun. I’m unsure whether it’s even appropriate to assess such an entity using human parameters. I know he was once human, but with all the changes that subspace has wrought… You know what I’m getting at.”

Vanna considered her words carefully for a few moments before finally shaking her head softly. “Honestly, I haven’t been with him for very long, so I might not offer the clarity you’re seeking. But I can tell you this — I had reservations similar to yours. Yet, here I am, selected by the Storm Cathedral, a mere inquisitor, to embark on this journey aboard the Vanished. Just as Captain Duncan has faith in ‘counterfeit’ beings having some essence of humanity, we too have opted to believe in Duncan’s remaining humanity because…”

She stopped speaking abruptly and looked up towards the sky, heavy with snow. After a contemplative pause, she whispered, almost as if she were talking to herself, “Because the world has grown so cold and unforgiving. If we give up on the idea of hope, all that would be left in this vast, Boundless Sea is a chilling wind that cuts to the bone.”

Agatha remained silent for a moment, taking in the weight of Vanna’s words.

“What do you think about the Captain’s proposal?” Vanna broke the silence after several seconds had passed.

Pondering carefully, Agatha finally shared her complex thoughts. “The idea of inviting the Mist Fleet into the city is conflicting for me. On one hand, it could restore some semblance of order; on the other, it might ignite more chaos. You’ve lived here long enough to understand what the Mist Fleet represents to the people of Frost.”

“True. To most of the people of Pland, the Vanished is considered a menace as well. But you’d be surprised how people’s ability to adapt and accept can skyrocket in the face of a major crisis. The collective desire for stability and a sense of normalcy can calm many fears.”

“The desire for stability,” Agatha repeated, musing on Vanna’s words. Though she felt it differently now, the frigid night seemed to seep into her very being. For some reason, it reminded her of another time—fifty years ago, during a grand uprising, when it had also been snowing.

“I’ll discuss this matter thoroughly with the dignitaries at City Hall,” Agatha finally said, as if coming to a conclusion. “And personally, I’ll speak in favor of it.”

“We all hope for the best,” Vanna replied.

“Yes, we all hope for the best,” Agatha echoed, turning to leave. She began walking towards a steam-powered vehicle parked further down the street, its sides adorned with the emblem of the church.

However, after a few steps, she stopped abruptly.

“Is there something else on your mind?” Vanna called out, intrigued.

“Just some personal curiosity. I hope it’s not intrusive,” Agatha turned around, her expression notably odd. Hesitating a moment, she asked, “Is it true that you leaped off a cliff, defeated some kind of creature, and emerged unscathed?”

Vanna looked momentarily stunned, her eyes widening in confusion. “Why this question all of a sudden?”

“I’m not certain, the question just popped into my head,” Agatha admitted, appearing a little embarrassed. “I’ve heard rumors about this particular adventure of yours. If it’s too personal, I apologize for asking.”

“No, it’s fine,” Vanna said, her expression relaxing into a playful grin. “The story is true to some extent, but far less dramatic than the rumors suggest. I was merely taking a casual walk and accidentally slipped off the edge of the cliff. I happened to land on some oceanic waste creature that had washed ashore. It was neither a dangerous offspring nor a momentous battle. The tale has been greatly exaggerated.”

Agatha’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise. Though she couldn’t see due to her blindfold, her expression clearly conveyed her shock.

“So you were unharmed then?” she asked, almost reflexively.

“It was a nasty fall, I won’t lie,” Vanna admitted, laughing a bit self-consciously. She then puffed up her chest, striking a confident pose, “But luckily, I come from sturdy stock. A few cups of warm broth and a couple of days’ rest, and I was back to normal.”

Agatha was visibly taken aback, her surprise palpable.

“Why the stunned look?” Vanna asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Your athletes in Pland must truly be something else,” Agatha finally managed, still trying to wrap her head around Vanna’s casual admission.