Deep Sea Embers

Agatha, a woman with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, was deeply captivated by the perplexing mystery surrounding how the key had ended up in the hands of the city’s first governor. Every historical account, be it from the passionate followers of the Frost Queen or the narratives from the city’s ruling class, seemed to consistently underline a single unwavering truth—there was an irreconcilable rift between the Frost Queen and the revolutionaries.

Despite being at loggerheads, with seemingly no hope for any mutual understanding or shared goals, the existence of such a distinct key from Queen Nora in the governor’s possession was puzzling. Why would Winston describe this key as both a “curse” and a “gift”?

Engulfed in her thoughts, Agatha sought answers from Winston, her eyes locking onto his, “Was there a covert agreement between the Frost Queen and the rebels during their uprising?”

Winston replied with a mix of amusement and earnestness, “You paint a picture more dramatic than the reality, Gatekeeper. While it’s tempting to imagine a twisted tale of a crazed queen joining forces with a benevolent revolutionary, using the rebellion as the perfect opportunity to dismantle an old regime and transfer power, life isn’t always as theatrical as the stories we craft.”

After a brief pause to make a derisive smirk, he continued: “The revolt was inevitable. The gap between the so-called ‘Mad Queen’ and the city’s inhabitants had widened beyond repair. Once a formidable sovereign, the repercussions of her Abyss Plan nearly brought the city to its knees. It was the city’s would-be first governor who initiated the revolt against the Frost Queen, hoping to rescue the city from ruin. No amount of diplomatic talks could have bridged the profound mistrust and animosity between them.”

“However, you are onto something. An ‘unspoken understanding’ did exist between the two parties. The Frost Queen recognized that her downfall was destined, while the rebels realized her erratic actions were not mere insanity, but indications of deeper, concealed truths.”

Winston went on, “On the eve of her execution, the rebel leader, who was soon to become the governor, bravely approached the incarcerated queen, seeking the hidden knowledge she held. The Frost Queen, in turn, entrusted him with the key, asserting that once she was executed and her life force faded, the one in possession of the key would inherit all the secrets and knowledge she had amassed.”

Winston hesitated, an odd mixture of a mocking smile and genuine vulnerability reflecting in his eyes. His gaze, filled with deep brooding, settled on the gleaming brass key he held. After what felt like an eternity, his face transformed into a sardonic smirk as he said, “Ever wondered about her final message to the rebel leader? The annals of our history have always been silent on this matter, a secret reserved only for the lineage of governors.”

“‘I’ve given everything. If you genuinely think you can achieve what eluded me, then may fate favor you. Now, bear the weight of this legacy.’ Those were the words whispered to the first governor as he became the key’s guardian.”

Absorbing this revelation, Agatha murmured, her tone thick with wonder and sadness, “Each decision casts its own shadow.”

Drawing her from her thoughts, Winston suddenly looked up, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. With a theatrical flourish, he held the brass key aloft, “How about a firsthand experience, Gatekeeper? Care to view reality through Nora’s prism?”

Agatha found herself torn. The key, imbued with the weight of countless secrets and histories, called out to her. She could feel her pulse quickening, every beat resonating with the allure of the brass artifact. Seemingly alive, the key beckoned, offering a portal into a hidden realm spanning decades of buried truths and veiled strife. Wrestling with her trepidation, she inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and cautiously reached out.

The moment her fingers grazed the key, a chilling sensation swept through her.

Immediately, a cascade of visions erupted from an abyssal void. Streams of luminescence and shadows intertwined, creating a chaotic whirlwind that threatened to consume her sanity. Amid this tempestuous dance of fragmented insights, vivid images cascaded through her mind.

Colossal tentacle-like appendages slowly emerged from the depths of a fathomless ocean, casting expansive shadows.

A gaze, ancient and deep as the abyss itself, peered from the ocean’s depths towards the human realm, observing with a chilling indifference reminiscent of age-old gods.

From the ocean’s bed, a surge of amorphous shadows began to materialize, transforming into haunting reflections of the known world. At the intersection of reality and delusion, these apparitions oscillated, shifting between ethereal forms and solid beings. This realm, an eerie underworld, teemed with monstrous specters whose empty stares were locked onto the human cities.

Beneath the cities, everything appeared shrouded in an ancient, impenetrable gloom. From the remains of long-forgotten epochs, malevolent entities began to emerge, rising ever upwards, ever onwards…

Throughout this whirlwind of perceptions, Agatha couldn’t shake off the sensation of a specific “gaze” upon her. It wasn’t so much a physical look but rather an omnipresent sense of being watched. It felt like she was being surveyed by the very essence of time itself.

This omnipresent “gaze” held no discernible emotion. It wasn’t malevolent, nor was it kind-hearted. Instead, it felt like a neutral entity, a detached observer, akin to an empty shell that impassively witnesses a naive traveler treading the path of undeniable realities. The “gaze” resonated with a haunting, emotionless tone.

Suddenly, a voice pierced the void, “Ah, you’ve arrived.”

Almost instantly, a deafening explosion resounded within the confines of Agatha’s mind, scattering her coherent thoughts. She grappled with the influx of colorful images, each testing her mental resilience and perceptual limits. Amidst this onslaught, she could faintly detect fragments of thoughts, some possibly imprinted with Queen Nora’s desires or declarations, but they were too fleeting and intricate for her to grasp fully.

The frenetic stream of visions faded as Agatha regained a semblance of control over her senses. Gradually opening her eyes to the familiar abyssal darkness, with Winston before her, still in the act of presenting the brass key—it appeared as if no time had elapsed at all.

Yet, she felt a distinct shift. There was an evident alteration in her perception, and she rapidly scanned her surroundings, searching for the source.

The once all-encompassing black void now seemed to recede, revealing an endless expanse where vague, writhing shadows began to solidify, morphing into tangible shapes. Amidst the ever-shifting interplay between solid forms and ephemeral apparitions, Agatha discerned beings materializing from the encompassing emptiness. They resembled gnarled tree limbs, their expansive networks dominating the vast void. These shadowy “limbs” entwined and merged, with luminescent sparks traversing between them, reminiscent of messages traveling within neural pathways.

A colossal structure caught Agatha’s attention within the dense labyrinth formed by these limb-like entities, reminiscent of an age-old forest’s underbelly.

It was an immense tentacle-like pillar, seemingly acting as a conduit between the sky and the ground below. Intricate dark blue patterns adorned its surface, and upon closer inspection, each design bore a resemblance to countless, watchful eyes.

Was she experiencing the early signs of a mental breakdown? A mere hallucination, perhaps? Or could this be the tangible onset of insanity?

A cascade of anxious thoughts besieged Agatha. She instinctively shut her eyes, hoping to escape the haunting vision of the “pillar”, only to find its silhouette stubbornly etched against her closed eyelids. Desperate, she attempted to invoke the deity of death, seeking divine magic as a sanctuary, aiming to fortify her wits. However, much to her disquiet, she realized she was lucid, standing in the midst of a realm she couldn’t recognize, which blurred the lines between reality and fantasy.

Frozen in place, captivated by the enigma surrounding her, she was yanked back to the moment by Governor Winston’s familiar voice, “You’ve caught a glimpse of it, haven’t you?”

Lifting his gaze, the governor emitted a weary sigh, “It’s quite the sight to behold.”

Searching for grounding, Agatha’s eyes darted around, noticing, to her shock, that what she had mistaken for a simple tree stump, against which Winston leaned, was in fact an offshoot of the massive “branch” network that enveloped them. The stump was but a terminus sprouting from these branches, crowned by a nebulous black formation that stretched to the furthest reaches of this bizarre expanse.

“These… formations, what are they?”

“You’re witnessing the tangible echoes of an age-old deity’s thoughts,” Winston elucidated calmly, “Your understanding, having just begun this journey with the key, is still in its infancy. However, after spending years in the company of this key, the revelations it has bestowed upon me dwarf any speculations you might entertain.”

Caught in this surreal revelation, Agatha murmured, “Thoughts of an ancient deity?”

“It’s rather captivating,” Winston continued, “These branch-like manifestations aren’t truly material. Perhaps, what you’re seeing is just a snapshot of a deity’s transient thought, a thought that resonates so intensely in this realm that it assumes the magnificent form before you. But a word of caution, don’t try deciphering the dance of those luminescent sparks. Doing so might lead you to the precipice of madness.”

Turning sharply towards Winston, Agatha inquired, “Has anyone lost their sanity to this sight?”

Winston offered a knowing chuckle, “Indeed, one has. Recall the name Ray Nora?”

A heavy silence fell over Agatha. After a contemplative pause, she whispered, “And beyond these vast formations, what lies there?”

Winston responded with a nonchalant air, “That would be the Nether Lord, or at least, a minuscule fragment that has infiltrated our city-state.”