Deep Sea Embers

An unsettling presence abruptly interrupted the smooth flow of the conversation that had been ongoing.

“There’s someone coming – it seems to be one of our retainers,” Agatha quickly pulled her hand away from the reflective surface of the mirror.

“I get it. I promise not to spook him,” came the voice from the mirror, sending its message straight into Agatha’s thoughts. “I’ll remain close, hidden. Look closely and you’ll find traces of me.”

Agatha acknowledged with a nod. Yet, just as the image in the mirror was about to vanish, a thought flashed across her mind, prompting her to ask, “Do you feel cold where you are?”

“…I don’t feel the cold anymore.”

The voice within her consciousness faded away, and the eerie feeling of being observed lessened. The reflection of Agatha in the mirror reverted to its ordinary state: eyes concealed beneath a dark cloth and dressed in the attire of a priestess.

Hesitating for a split second, Agatha tentatively extended her hand towards the mirror. The chill of the plain glass greeted her fingers, making the recent surreal event feel like nothing but a fleeting illusion.

Almost immediately, she detected footsteps drawing close to the door, which was followed by a soft knock. “Archbishop, are you available?”

The senior guardians still habitually referred to her as the “Gatekeeper” while the younger clerics of the church had adopted the title “Archbishop” for her.

Gathering her thoughts and maintaining her poise, Agatha replied, “I’m here, come on in.”

The door slowly creaked open, revealing a distinguished church retainer wearing a somber grey robe. He greeted Agatha with a salute, “Archbishop, City Hall has dispatched an urgent message. They insist on your prompt presence at the southern port—Admiral Tyrian is already there, waiting for you.”

“City Hall? They require me at the southern port?” Agatha couldn’t help but knit her brows in confusion, “Did they specify the reason?”

“They didn’t provide details, citing only its urgency and confidentiality,” the retainer replied with a hint of unease. “However, Admiral Tyrian did send word… he mentioned, ‘The Master of Fire might find it of interest’.”

A flicker of concern passed across Agatha’s face.

“Understood. Ready the vehicle, I shall depart at once.”

In no time, Agatha was en route to the southern port, being transported in a steam-powered car. Given the mysterious nature of Tyrian’s message, she opted to journey solo without her usual retinue.

Throughout the trip, her mind was in turmoil, spinning with speculation.

What could possibly have transpired? What would elicit such urgency from someone as composed as Admiral Tyrian? She recalled that during a recent conflict, the southern port had been overrun by imitation monsters. Cleanup operations were still underway… Could they have stumbled upon something amidst the rubble? Maybe an unholy relic from the dreaded Annihilators? Or perhaps a peculiar “specimen” left behind by the retreating fake creatures?

Yet, none of these scenarios seemed significant enough to warrant Admiral Tyrian’s immediate and cryptic summons.

With these unsettling notions, Agatha deftly made her way through the city’s empty, martial-law-controlled streets. She maneuvered past various security points before finally reaching the cordoned-off southern port.

Every corner was manned by city-state guards. The church’s armed guardians patrolled methodically, identifying and marking areas of contamination for future decontamination. Groups of priests collected samples from the designated zones. Now and then, groups of academy students, garbed in heavy protective outfits, moved from one building to another under the supervision of their instructors. These students, studying civil engineering, were assigned to assess key port infrastructures and make plans for subsequent repair and reconstruction.

The vehicle came to a halt in an expansive clearing just outside the restricted area’s perimeter. Accompanied by a pair of soldiers, Agatha navigated through a labyrinth of bustling activity stations, each teeming with workers, towards a less frequented segment of the port territory.

Their journey concluded before a colossal structure resembling an old warehouse.

“This is as far as we can accompany you,” the duo of soldiers informed Agatha with a hint of remorse. “We’re not privy to what lies ahead. The general will elucidate the circumstances to you.”

What lies ahead?

Agatha found the choice of words intriguing but decided not to probe. Offering a gracious nod to the soldiers, she turned her attention to the formidable warehouse structure. It was evident that it had been sealed off for a considerable duration, with the vestiges of past battles marring its exterior.

Interestingly, the warehouse wasn’t safeguarded by city-state troops but by a phalanx of undead mariners.

Through Agatha’s unique vision, the living radiated a gentle warmth and luminescence. In stark contrast, the undead manifested as vacant, ashen apparitions, their indistinct forms enveloped in a smoky, gray haze. Recognizing the undead’s dominance over the warehouse’s defenses, she surmised that something exceptionally peculiar was transpiring.

It dawned on her that Admiral Tyrian might have more faith in his undead brigade than in the regular city-state sentinels.

“Greetings, ma’am,” an undead watcher addressed her. A grievous wound separated his upper torso from the rest, with almost a quarter of it missing. He remained intact, almost magically, with tattered fabric remnants fluttering around him. He sported a fresh coat denoting a Frost soldier but embellished it with a sleeve insignia of the Queen’s Guard. In spite of his gruesome visage, the undead mariner executed a flawless salute to Agatha, “Upon entry, a guide will usher you to the elevator. The general awaits your presence in the underground chamber.”

Acknowledging him, Agatha was now certain that the true nature of the situation would remain cloaked in mystery until she was deep within the facility.

Inside the warehouse, another detachment of undead sailors directed her to a concealed elevator, cleverly camouflaged behind faux wall panels.

She embarked on the elevator journey. It descended for what felt like an eternity before finally opening its gates to a clandestine facility, absent from any known documentation.

Emerging from the elevator, her sight was greeted by an enormous, dimly lit underground chamber. The remnants of the faux invasion’s sludge littered the floor. Undead sailors industriously cleared the debris, and in the chamber’s depths stood a towering individual guarding a massive entryway.

It was none other than Admiral Tyrian—the newly appointed ruler of Frost.

Without hesitation, Agatha advanced towards him.

“Ah, Ms. Agatha, your presence is most anticipated,” Tyrian extended his greetings, “I half expected you to live up to the tales, making a grand entrance from the city’s heart, soaring here on the currents of the wind…”

The corners of Agatha’s lips quirked up slightly, revealing a hint of amusement. “I might command the Gray Wind, but even I wouldn’t venture across such vast distances,” she remarked coolly. However, her casual demeanor was briefly disrupted when her attention snapped to the massive door looming behind Tyrian. “What’s the purpose of this underground hideaway? Why establish such a place in the South Port?”

Tyrian raised an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “It seems this place was as much a mystery to you as it was to the rest of us. This facility eludes all official documentation. If it weren’t for our recent efforts to excavate the wreckage here, this place would’ve remained a concealed enigma.” He paused dramatically before leaning in, “Care to wager on what we stumbled upon in this clandestine chamber?”

Exhaling with evident exasperation, Agatha retorted, “Enough with the suspense, Governor.” An eerie green glow emanated momentarily from beneath the cloth shrouding her eyes. “We’re among our own kind here.”

A hearty laugh burst from Tyrian, but it soon faded, giving way to a solemn expression. He took a step to the side, inviting her to look for herself. “Behold. The truth lies just beyond this threshold.”

Following the unspoken invitation, Agatha’s “sight” was drawn to the door. The ancient barrier bore silent testimony to a bygone struggle: faded bloodstains and punctured bullet holes hinted at an undisclosed skirmish that had occurred deep within this very facility during the Frost defensive battles. But now, no remnants of that fierce battle—neither invader nor defender—remained.

Hesitating no further, Agatha reached out, her fingers connecting with the door. The once-sturdy lock had long since been breached, allowing the weighty alloy gate to swing open with a groan. A vast expanse bathed in the warm glow of gas lamps and electric bulbs stretched out before her while the briny tang of the sea teased her senses.

Frozen at the threshold, she “observed” a colossal, elliptical, egg-like structure securely anchored by robust beams. Directly beneath this intricate machine, a chute extended, carrying with it the unmistakable aroma of the ocean. It seemed to form a direct channel, connecting this chamber to the distant sea.

After what felt like an eternity, Agatha finally managed to voice her astonishment. “Is this…?”

“A marine exploration vessel, or more specifically, an underwater submersible,” Tyrian interjected, a cocktail of emotions evident in his voice. “It seems to be crafted from a contemporary design, showcasing advancements far surpassing any technology we’ve harnessed to date.”

With the revelation sinking in, Agatha swiveled around to face him, her voice urgent. “Who’s the mastermind behind this marvel?”

“Governor Winston is a probable suspect. But given the depth of this secret, it’s plausible that multiple governors had a hand in its creation,” Tyrian offered cautiously. “We’ve yet to locate comprehensive records detailing its inception, so the identity of the original instigator remains shrouded in uncertainty. What we do know is that, from the meager clues we’ve gathered, this facility has been operational in secret until a mere two months prior.”