Deep Sea Embers

Nina was wholly unprepared for the scene unfolding before her. Having seen Mr. Morris make contact with the brilliant barrier, she had let her imagination wander, conjuring up a myriad of potential consequences. Would sethereal creature spring forth from the illuminating glow? Or perhaps their surroundings would undergo a rapid transformation, a complete change in the setting? She had even briefly pictured a catastrophic plummet, reminiscent of the fabled fall of Uncle Duncan and the mysterious dream version of the Vanished from the heavens. Yet, the current spectacle was beyond her wildest speculations.

The lustrous partition, resembling the legendary “Silent Wall,” disintegrated without warning. It shattered noiselessly, as fragile and unexpected as a delicate soap bubble popping in the air.

That once-majestic, glowing barricade, which had presented such an imposing obstacle, was annihilated within seconds. What was once a robust formation reduced to a mere cascade of shining particles, disappearing in a fleeting instant.

Following the barrier’s disintegration, the entire forest seemed to momentarily hold its breath, plunging into an eerie stillness. But almost immediately, the mists that had blanketed the forest stirred, continuing their mysterious dance. Jolted back to the present, Nina, driven by concern, swiftly approached her mentor.

“Mr. Morris!” her voice tinged with anxiety, “Are you okay? How did it just…?”

His response was a shaky “I-I don’t know…” Mr. Morris, who was typically a composed, trustworthy, and polished academic, now wore an expression of genuine surprise. A slight, involuntary quiver of his lips betrayed his inner astonishment. Strangely, his mind wandered back to a lecture from his formative years at the Truth Academy. It was a list of the paramount rules of archaeology, emphasized with fervor by his esteemed professor, Lune:

Never lay a finger on anything.

Approach the environment with utmost caution.

I repeat, avoid all contact.

Refrain from making hasty judgments.

Seriously, keep your hands to yourself.

Show reverence for the remnants of ancient cultures.

For XXXX sake, resist the urge to touch!

Staring down at his hands, a wave of nostalgia hit Mr. Morris, and he was consumed with the familiar trepidation of childhood mischief, praying that his actions would remain undiscovered by his instructors.

Yet, his reverie was swiftly shattered by Nina’s soft, startled exclamation.

Forced by the sudden change, her gaze was now fixed intently on a particular spot – the exact location that the “Silent Wall” had once concealed. In tandem, Mr. Morris lifted his eyes, tracing her gaze.

What they saw was a shadowy, mist-enshrouded landscape. At the edge of the forest, where the rolling terrains met the horizon, the fog began to dissipate, unveiling the contours of an enormous entity.

Mr. Morris’s first instinct was to identify it as a mountain, though its form was peculiar, contorted, and oddly warped.

As Morris peered intently, his initial assumption of the presence of a twisted mountain was entirely upended. Instead, he discerned a tree – but this wasn’t an ordinary tree. It was gargantuan in size, and it bore an appearance of utter devastation. The immense tree seemed as though it had been violently torn apart by sgreat force. Its mangled remains sprawled across the expanse, so distorted and misshapen that trying to envision its former splendor was a challenge.

Its once-expansive canopy, which likely provided shade for vast plains, had collapsed, succumbing to the relentless onslaught of tand natural forces. The sturdy trunk, which must have once stood tall and proud, was now fragmented and in ruins. The vibrant green foliage, which might have rustled in ancient breezes, was now conspicuously absent, having perhaps been devoured by an inferno. What remained was a macabre structure of branches, grotesquely twisted and reaching out as if beckoning the heavens, reminiscent of the gnarled digits of a decaying skeletal hand.

Monumental branches, still eerily erect, resembled the broken spires of ancient cathedrals, while the roots, though fractured, evoked the image of walls from bygone civilizations. The nightmarish scene before them was akin to an apocalyptic tableau. The ground, instead of fertile soil, was covered in a layer of ash, seeping into every nook and cranny, emphasizing the desolation surrounding the tree’s remnants. The atmosphere was laden with a sense of ancient cataclysm, and Morris and Nina felt as if they were standing on the precipice of a long-forgotten kingdom.

A subtle gust, arising from the ash-blanketed earth, stirred up a veil of silvery dust, which merged with the lingering mist from the forest, enveloping Morris and Nina in an eerie, spectral waltz.

Amidst this tumultuous whirlwind, Nina believed she discerned a whisper, almost as if someone was murmuring intimately into her ear, “…because she always understood, the Silent Wall could never truly protect. She was merely a youngling, and when destiny beckoned, all she could proffer was a fleeting illusion…”

Jolted by the unexpected voice, Nina swiveled around, searching for its origin.

But there was merely a solitary sapling.

This diminutive tree, emerging from the surrounding ash and grime, bore contorted limbs and boughs that stretched upwards. Yet its delicate tips hung limply, quivering with the wind’s caress. Its silhouette bore a remarkable resemblance to the tree described by Shirley, believed to be the final incarnation of Shireen.

Within the ethereal realm of the Nameless, even the tiniest of shrubs stood taller and seemed hardier than this singular sapling.

With a mixture of trepidation and intrigue, Nina cautiously approached the young tree. After a brief moment of contemplation, she gently touched its roughened surface, and with a soft, inquisitive tone, she uttered, “Shireen?”

No reply emanated from the sapling; only the subtle rustling of its boughs in the gentle wind was audible.

The mysterious whisper seemed to have been a figment of her imagination, as Nina could only sense the grainy texture of the tree’s bark beneath her fingers.

Yet, she couldn’t resist being transported to memories of their adventurous journey, led by an exuberant girl. She imagined the girl navigating the thick forest, penetrating the radiant shield of the Silent Wall, and arriving at this ashen dominion’s edge. Eventually, the girl metamorphosed into this tree, standing as a sentinel over the remains of a once-magnificent civilization.

“Nina, csee this,” Morris’s voice interrupted her reverie.

The sound of Morris’s voice broke through Nina’s introspection, echoing nearby.

Jolted from her contemplative state, Nina quickly moved to where Morris was standing. As she neared, her gaze followed the trajectory of his outstretched arm.

What met her eyes was nothing short of astonishing. A succession of young saplings, seemingly sprouting from the very ashes of the immense fallen tree, extended towards the forest’s edge. These saplings appeared to form a barrier, perhaps standing sentinel over the remnants of the great tree.

Or, alternatively, these guardians could be safeguarding the entrance to a vibrant woodland that one might only encounter in the most vivid of dreams.

Indeed, the circumference of the once grand tree’s remnants was bordered by a multitude of such saplings.

The gentle waft of a breeze caused the slender trees to oscillate in a choreographed dance. This motion produced a delicate hushed symphony that blurred the lines between the leaves’ swish and the wind’s soft melodies.

Nina, awestruck, gazed at this spectacle. After what seemed like hours, she whispered, almost to herself, “All of these… each one is Shireen…”

Morris, for a time, chose to remain silent. The seasoned academic appeared deeply engrossed, his eyes surveying the saplings that encapsulated the vestiges of what was perhaps a lost civilization. Then, with a jolt, as if struck by a lightning bolt of insight, he made his way to a nearby elevated spot. From this vantage point, he meticulously examined their trail, his gaze extending to the expansive forest in the distance.

Veils of mist drifted out from the woodland, interlacing with the ashen particulate that hung in the air, creating an opaque curtain on the horizon.

Returning from the elevation, Morris’s visage was marked with profound contemplation as he neared Nina. Observing his profound expression, Nina couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Morris, what did you discern?”

In a voice laden with gravity, he replied, “I’m forming a daring theory — ‘Shireen’ might actually be the Silent Wall.”

A look of confusion crossed Nina’s face.

Morris continued, “The legendary Atlantis is believed to have manifested the Silent Wall with the sole purpose of shielding the elves. However, this task, monumental as it was, seemed doomed from inception. Yet, from all indications, it appears that Atlantis, the ‘architect’, was aware of this inevitable fate. Regardless, the Silent Wall, in its devotion, ceaselessly endeavored to heed this directive.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, then added, “My scrutiny of the forest’s border has ledto discern that these ‘nameless saplings’ delineate the boundary separating the woods from the ruins. Their arrangement isn’t random; there’s a methodical pattern suggesting a deliberate design.”

“But…” Nina faltered, searching for the right words, “We aren’t elves, are we?”

Morris shook his head, responding, “The land we tread isn’t the genuine Atlantis or the ‘Pristine Dreamland’. Always bear in mind, we currently reside within the ‘Dream of the Nameless One.”

This revelation caused Nina to fall silent, the weight of Morris’s assertion dawning upon her.

Ancient elven lore was rich with tales from a tlong past. These chronicles painted vivid pictures of the mighty demon deity, “Saslokha,” who wove the fabric of the universe within the intricate tapestry of his dreams. Within this dreamlike expanse, the majestic World Tree, known as “Atlantis,” stood sentinel, sheltering and preserving the elfin race from external perils. Their dominion and the extent of their influence spanned epochs predating the emergence of the vast oceanic expanses.

Yet, like all great tales, this one had its culmination. The grand narrative of the elves drew to a close with a catastrophic event of unparalleled magnitude – the Great Annihilation.

Their present stay in Wind Harbor seemed to be a puzzling phenomenon. A peculiar convergence of the sun’s aberrant behavior and the looming “Twilight” produced this vast, dream-like projection. This setting was akin to an “echo” – perhaps a vestigial remembrance deeply embedded in the collective consciousness of the elven lineage.

In this reverberating memory, both Atlantis and the Silent Wall, true to their ancient mandates, perceived every soul entering the verdant forest with pure intentions as an “elf.” The reason was grounded in historical truth. Both these age-old guardians had met their end countless eons ago, a twhen the world had known no sentient beings other than the elves.

With a blend of awe and curiosity, Nina posed a pressing question, “What’s our next move?”

Morris, for a moment, was lost in contemplation. Instead of responding verbally, he engaged in a silent, telepathic dialogue with the ship’s captain. Conveying the myriad mysteries and discoveries they had encountered within this enchanted woodland, he sought direction and insight.

……

Duncan was in a state of complete bewilderment.

At this very moment, he stood beside Agatha, deep within the dream near the base of the Vanished. They were intently examining the enormous spinal structure that once belonged to an ancient god. Their primary objective was to unearth any clues or knowledge pertaining to the “Great Demon God Saslokha” or perhaps unveil hidden enigmas about the vessel they were aboard.

It was beyond Duncan’s wildest speculations that during his brief moment of distraction, Morris and Nina would stumble upon such monumental discoveries.

They had not only managed to traverse the Silent Wall but had delved into its concealed mysteries and had even… gazed upon the vestiges of Atlantis.

Duncan felt as though he was caught in a surreal vortex of astonishment and disbelief.

While the “Sea Witch” and her unlettered companions were still navigating the intricacies of the forest, and the lone athlete faced arduous trials in the desert, it was the scholarly Morris and his student Nina who had daringly journeyed to the very epicenter of the map, nearly uncovering the grave of a deity from antiquity.

The situation conjured an analogy in Duncan’s mind: as if he had dispatched a pair of scouts at the outset of a mission, only to discover a few phases later that the monster, Cthulhu, lay defeated right at their camp’s entrance.

Shaking off the haze of his thoughts, Duncan chose to focus. He was acutely aware that Morris was awaiting his guidance.

His eyes scanned the environment, immersed in an eerie, obsidian fog. Below him, the majestic backbone of Saslokha sprawled, a silent testament to its bygone might. This relic of a once-mighty god appeared to be communicating with him, sending subtle, unspoken messages. Even the Vanished, strategically erected upon this divine structure, seemed to be channeling its energies, yearning to relay its “historical imprints.”

Drawing a steadying breath, Duncan formed a clear directive in his mind, “Venture closer to those ‘relics’. Commence a thorough examination of Atlantis.”