Deep Sea Embers

“Feeling troubled?” The voice of Bishop Ivan seemed to transform as he took in Agatha’s words. His gaze intensified, drilling into Agatha’s eyes with a profound seriousness, “Such feelings of unease aren’t desirable for a spiritual figure… Would you share with me what has occurred? When did you start feeling this way?”

“It began after my return from the polluted wastewater treatment facility,” Agatha shared freely. She held nothing back, knowing full well that the esteemed bishop was perhaps her most trustworthy confidant within the entire city-state, “I’m continually haunted by the feeling that I’ve missed something, that… I accidentally left something behind. But no matter how many times I replay the events of that day in my mind, I can’t identify anything wrong.”

“The wastewater treatment facility…” Bishop Ivan echoed in a deep rumble. He was, of course, well aware of Agatha’s incident. It had been quickly reported to the authorities at the Silent Cathedral and City Hall. An ongoing investigation and purification process had followed, “I have been keeping up with the situation as well. The surviving supervisor is presently under psychiatric care, and we’ve lost contact with around a dozen employees who worked there. Based on the on-site sampling reports, you seemed to have eliminated the entire facility’s contamination. Theoretically, there should be no remaining threats.”

“But I can’t shake off this unease,” Agatha admitted, “Even without any solid proof to back it, I can’t disregard the chance that I might have overlooked something.”

“Did you check your mental state? What were the cognitive calibration results?” he inquired.

“I did,” Agatha nodded, “Both self-conducted cognitive calibration and subconscious evaluations with a psychiatrist. None of these showed any irregularities.”

After a significant pause, Bishop Ivan broke his silence, “In that case, this might be an internal warning. Maybe it’s coming from your subconscious mind, or your precognitive abilities, or it could even be a signal from your faith.”

“I plan to go back to the facility for another inspection,” Agatha declared, nodding, “But first, I need to seek spiritual guidance through prayer in the cathedral.”

Bishop Ivan gave her a subtle nod, “Go ahead, and may your prayer time bring you peace.”

Agatha responded with a grunt of agreement, then stood up and left the platform where the sarcophagus was located. After a brief moment, she disappeared through the grand doors of the Silent Cathedral.

The vast cathedral was swallowed by a deep silence, leaving only Bishop Ivan, draped in his vestments like a mummy, lingering by the sarcophagus. He watched the direction Agatha had left in, seemingly lost in thought. After some time, he sighed softly, his hand gently tracing the triangular amulet of Bartok, on his chest, “May the Lord guide…”

Located just beyond the borders of the city-state of Frost, next to the local waters, a patrol vessel bearing the emblem of Frost’s Navy was diligently performing its rounds. The ship was sailing on a predetermined course, scanning the expansive sea.

The naval commander found himself on the ship’s foredeck, his brow creased as he gazed at the distant sea, aglow with the ethereal light of the World’s Creation in the night sky. Amidst the undulating waves, pieces of ice of varying sizes sporadically appeared. These icy remnants followed a distinct trajectory from a distance, quietly creating an unseen “borderline”.

The commander knew the truth behind these seemingly natural “icebergs”— they weren’t just ice fragments but formed part of the formidable Mist Fleet.

The ice served as a protective cover for the Sea Mist, a fearsome ghost ship cursed with eternal frost. The formation of such ice was an ominous indication of the ship’s presence, marking the pirate captain’s “territory” and acting as a powerful symbol of the curse engulfing the Sea Mist. Any ship daring to approach the ghost ship without the necessary permission would be subjected to a chilling “baptism” by these ominous “icebergs”. A mild encounter could hinder a ship’s mobility, while a severe one could encase the ship in ice, transforming the crew into frozen souls trapped within their icy tomb.

The Sea Mist often used this tactic to blockade sea routes, intercepting unsuspecting merchant ships that strayed into its territory and demanding a so-called “iceberg handling fee”. In most cases, the mere threat was sufficient to enforce this disgraceful act of piracy without firing a single shot.

At present, the tense standoff between the Mist Fleet and Frost’s Navy had temporarily cooled down. While the icebergs wouldn’t actively infringe upon the navy’s patrol ships, their mere existence was a strong deterrent, sending a clear and intimidating message: Even at Frost’s doorstep, beyond that lay the territory of the Mist Fleet.

The commander, clad in the uniform of Frost’s Navy, gritted his teeth and heaved a heavy sigh, striving to pacify his restless mind.

Their primary obligation as soldiers was to the greater good, which required them to abide by their superiors’ decisions. Oddly enough, the city-state’s stability hinged upon the notorious Mist Fleet’s presence right now due to the critical importance of that blockade.

“The fog is creeping in over the sea again,” a junior officer reported as he emerged onto the deck, casting a concerned glance into the distance, “It’s becoming a daily event.”

The patrol ship’s commander looked out to the sea.

As his subordinate had observed, a dense fog was indeed starting to shroud the sea. The signature fog of the Sea Mist was gradually forming over the sea’s surface, spreading around the icy “borderline”. The ethereal light from the World’s Creation seeped into the fog, casting a ghostly, spectral glow across the seascape.

“It’s likely the work of the Sea Mist again,” the commander grimaced, “That ship always brings ice and fog in its wake.”

“The Sea Mist hasn’t moved from its position,” the subordinate pointed out, “Maybe the ‘Pirate General’ is just asserting his control?”

“No matter his intent,” the commander waved off the suggestion with a shake of his head, “we should avoid the regions of fog and ice. Frost shouldn’t be the first to break the truce.”

“Understood, sir.”

Acknowledging the junior officer’s salute with a grunt, the commander turned his attention back to the distant fog, his brow furrowed in puzzlement, “But doesn’t the fog seem unusually thick tonight?”

The subordinate followed the commander’s gaze and observed that the fog encircling the icy boundary was indeed growing and appeared denser than usual. Something appeared to be faintly wavering within the intensifying fog.

“The fog is indeed getting thicker…” the junior officer muttered, “Could there be something concealed within the fog?”

“Something is off.” The patrol ship commander’s expression became even more grave. He quickly grabbed his telescope and aimed it at the area swallowed by the dense fog. After a few moments of careful observation, he confirmed that a sizeable object was indeed moving within the thick haze—it was heading their way.

It was a ship!

“A ship is emerging from the Mist Fleet’s patrol area,” the commander quickly put down the telescope, urgency lacing his voice, “Use the signal light. The Mist Fleet has crossed the boundary. Order them to stop immediately!”

“Right away, sir!” The junior officer’s voice echoed in agreement, and he quickly sprinted towards the back of the deck. Within moments, the powerful searchlight mounted on the upper part of the patrol ship was activated, casting a sequence of light signals into the all-encompassing fog.

However, the ship’s silhouette within the fog did not slow down.

The patrol ship commander kept his gaze fixed on the vague shadow in the fog, noting that it not only failed to slow down, but in fact sped up. As it came closer, the fog over the surrounding sea seemed to deliberately dissipate. In a short span of time, the billowing haze had advanced to within a hundred meters of the patrol ship, showing an alarming tendency to surround the vessel from all sides!

“Cursed pirates!” The patrol ship commander muttered a nearly inaudible curse. He turned and rushed towards the bridge, shouting as he made a direct path for the control panel, “Reverse! Turn the ship around. That behemoth is charging right at us. Has there been any response from the Mist Fleet?”

“No response to the signal light! The short-range calls also remain unanswered!” A soldier stationed at the control panel yelled back, “We’re trying to contact the Sea Mist on the agreed frequency, but there’s no reply… Wait, there’s a response now!”

Suddenly, the communication light on the control panel lit up, and the automated recorder started its rhythmic ticking and clicking. A lengthy punch tape continually spewed from the machine. The communications officer quickly collected the tape and scanned the inscriptions on it. After a moment, he looked up in confusion, “The Mist Fleet claims they haven’t crossed the boundary. All their ships are anchored.”

“All anchored?” The patrol ship commander’s eyes bulged in disbelief, and then he glanced out the window to see the dense fog already creeping onto his vessel’s bow. Although the helmsman was working hard to steer the ship away, the ship’s speed obviously couldn’t outrun the disturbingly fast spread of the fog. Within the continually rolling haze, the vague shadow relentlessly advanced.

“Turn! Hard to port, turn now!”

The patrol ship suddenly veered to the side, its steam core letting out a deep growl. The rudder and side paddle thrusters cooperated, forcing the ship to swerve in the fog with such intensity that it risked tearing the vessel apart. Amidst the violent shaking and uproar, the patrol ship commander clung to the railing beside him, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding outside the porthole.

Emerging from the rapidly clearing fog, a gigantic ship surged forward, nearly brushing against the railings of the patrol ship.

It didn’t belong to the Frost Navy, nor was it a part of the Mist Fleet—it was a corroded relic of a battleship from an ancient era. Its significantly weathered paint and old-fashioned bow structure silently narrated the countless hardships it had endured over the years.

The patrol ship commander stared, shocked, at the massive ship as it sailed past his patrol vessel. After a few seconds, he swiftly regained his senses, recalling an illustration and related record he had once seen in a historical document.

“That’s the ‘Warrior’… reported to have sunk four decades ago…”