Deep Sea Embers

Priest John departed with a complex yet determined look on his face. He asked no questions before leaving, nor did Agatha offer any further explanation.

Now, Agatha found herself alone again in the prayer room, where the bright lights fought valiantly against the encroaching darkness from outside, which seemed almost to have a physical presence. The candlesticks in front of the sacred statue flickered weakly with a few lingering flames while wisps of smoke continued to rise from the recently extinguished fire in the basin. In a nearby floor mirror, Agatha’s reflection appeared fragmented and disjointed.

Turning towards the revered image of Bartok, she raised her head. Although her eyes were covered by a black cloth, she gazed intently at the figure enshrouded in the night. To her, the statue, which remained unchanged to any observer, now seemed to be filled with cracks, resembling a pile of debris miraculously held together by some unseen force.

The atmosphere within the cathedral felt increasingly filled with the presence of death. It was as though the very foundation of this world was slowly decaying and dying. Now, it seemed nearly everyone was transitioning from the living to the state of the dead. Individuals who had died unwittingly were active throughout the city-state, including within the church itself. John had passed away, succumbing during midday prayers the previous day; Sister Lora had died in a light sleep. Yet, they continued their duties within the cathedral as if nothing had changed.

Abruptly, a flicker of uncertain flame appeared in the mirror beside her, turning it pitch black before a figure emerged clearly within it.

As Agatha turned, she saw not Captain Duncan in the reflection but Tyrian.

Tyrian spoke first, “My father crafted this path to forge connections among those ‘blessed’ by his fire. Miss Agatha, how are things with you?”

“The number of deceased within the cathedral is on the rise,” Agatha replied softly, a hint of sorrow in her voice. “Many have transitioned from living to dead under surprisingly ordinary circumstances. It seems unstoppable, beyond the reach of any remedy or safeguard.”

“The same situation is unfolding elsewhere in the city-state,” Tyrian responded gravely, “and indeed, in other city-states across the world.”

Agatha nodded in acknowledgment, pausing to consider before she added, “But the presence of the moving dead is not our greatest concern. The true problem lies in the increasing number of people who are ‘awakening.'”

“Yes,” Tyrian acknowledged with a grave tone, “As my father had forewarned, the mechanism designed to ‘correct’ the world is breaking down. The god of death’s last intervention delayed the complete collapse of our sanctuary but, in the process, damaged its ‘correction’ mechanism. Now, this protective barrier, which was supposed to safeguard the minds of ordinary individuals, is deteriorating, and it’s happening more rapidly than we anticipated.”

“Even so, Governor Tyrian, I urge you not to worry excessively. Whether it be the clergy within our church or the guardians and law enforcement personnel outside, many have spent their entire lives training to face such unprecedented calamities, even those that directly impact them.”

“It’s likely that no one foresaw a reality where gods would forever slumber, where even our world would face demise, or that our current predicament would be as grave as it is. Nevertheless, we’ve prepared for ‘everything.’ No matter the circumstance, our primary commitment is to our duties without conditions.

“A few days back, I briefed our team of priests. I informed them about an unfolding disaster, invisible to them as of yet, advised them on safeguarding those ‘awakening,’ and provided guidance for dealing with their own potential ‘awakening.’

“Some of them now share our understanding of the situation, while others have yet to comprehend the full significance of these directives – but this has not hindered their adherence to them.

“I trust that the external law enforcement will act similarly.

“Among any group, there will undoubtedly be individuals who falter, who are overwhelmed by fear or mental strain, failing to meet their responsibilities. Yet, importantly, those who steadfastly fulfil their roles are not few, Governor Tyrian. Regardless of when or how the world’s end arrives, we are ready for it.”

Upon hearing Agatha’s determined words, Tyrian allowed himself a moment of reflection before his expression softened, and he nodded in agreement: “I plan to enlarge the ‘quarantine zone’ and set up a network of shelters around the cemetery area – utilizing the cemetery’s inherent defenses for the gradual relocation and safeguarding of our populace. This effort will necessitate the church’s collaboration.”

“This will be a challenging and extensive endeavor,” Agatha remarked. “With the ‘living’ and ‘dead’ intermingling, and people awakening unpredictably from amongst them, we lack the means to fully discern this transformation. We can’t relocate all awakened individuals to shelters, nor can we view the others as adversaries, even if they roam aimlessly, akin to zombies.”

“I understand, but we must strive to do our utmost,” Tyrian replied with steady composure, “It’s preferable to descending into utter, uncontrollable chaos – should the worst occur, at least we’ll have established sufficient shelters to safeguard a segment of our community.”

“…I understand. The church will fully support City Hall’s initiatives as they await your directives.”

…

Before the ark-like colossal ship, reminiscent of a small city-state, stood a vast array of hydraulic machinery at its prow, forming a formidable mechanical barrier. Countless heavy metal battering rams, arranged in precise order along this “mechanical wall,” were methodically hoisted along their tracks before crashing down forcefully. These metallic behemoths acted like a multitude of sharp teeth, relentlessly crushing the thick ice ahead. Amidst the continuous roar of machinery and the thunderous sound of ice shattering, the church ark persisted in its slow advance through the icy maritime expanse.

This ice-breaking mechanism carved a lengthy path through the ice layer, leaving behind a trail that pointed back towards civilization. Ahead, nothing but solid ice and darkness stretched into the distance, with the dense fog that marked the “border” churning and swelling at the edge of visibility, growing more ominous and formidable, yet seemingly always just out of reach.

Frem stood atop the church ark, his gaze fixed on the endless icy plains stretching out before him, flanked by two fire basins ablaze with flames as cold as ice. These flames crackled with low, indistinct murmurs as if hiding secrets within their glow.

He felt the “focus” that had been revealed to him in the latest revelation by the flame tower, Ta Ruijin, was near. This unique point held the potential to maintain the “legacy” in its pure form during the transition from the old world to the new.

Frem was aware that the “Captain” was orchestrating a monumental plan akin to the creation of a world. He understood that success would herald the arrival of a “new world” – a concept beyond his ability to visualize. Yet, he was certain it would be vastly superior to the twisted, dark, and crisis-laden expanse of the Boundless Sea that currently enveloped them.

This new realm promised a place for everyone, a fact Frem gleaned from the sporadic messages that had returned from the edge of the known world.

However, this rebirth necessitated destruction; everything from the old world would be eradicated in this transformative process. The “Captain” might possess the means to “rebirth” individuals in this new world, but what of the creations left behind?

What would become of the poems, the melodies, the remarkable works of art, the precious scrolls and tablets chronicling the Dark Ages, the Old City-State Era, the New City-State Era, and the essence of a once-thriving civilization? Was there a way to safeguard these artifacts?

Even if preservation were possible, these remnants of the past could pose a significant challenge during the process of world creation, potentially becoming a monumental burden.

This deep-rooted concern propelled the Flame Bearers on their arduous journey northward, and now, after enduring countless hardships, they were on the cusp of reaching their goal.

Their mission was to bestow a “legacy” upon the inhabitants of the new world, safeguarded within this eternally frozen ice field.

It was within reach, just beyond them.

Yet, an unexpected, shrill noise erupted in the distance, swiftly followed by a cacophony of explosions and the grinding sound of metal on metal. The ark beneath their feet shuddered violently, emitting a deep groan as if some internal mechanism had ceased operation.

A sense of dread washed over Frem in an instant.

Shortly thereafter, a woman priestess, clad in a dark robe and her face obscured by a veil, rushed to Frem’s side.

“Your Holiness, the main power conduit of the ice-breaking device has suffered a rupture!”

…

Meanwhile, the Vanished and Bright Star traversed a monochromatic grey-white expanse. At the end of this prolonged “transition channel,” a subtle infusion of color was beginning to emerge.

Duncan, stationed at the bow of the Vanished, gazed silently towards the slowly materializing seascape ahead. He detected approaching footsteps, accompanied by a sense of “warmth” that had become a rarity in this world.

Turning, Duncan observed Nina behind him, enveloped in a gentle radiance, the sunlight cascading around her, seemingly dispelling the pervasive chill left by the world’s demise.

“…Have you discovered a new application for ‘sunlight’?” Duncan queried, his eyebrows arched in amusement, a smile gracing his face before he grew contemplative, “Your control has become increasingly refined – initially, even attempting to boil water with a flame would result in singed hair.”

Nina responded with a slight squint, “Yes, and it would occasionally singe those shadowy passersby from the darkness and various demons.”

“…I’m inclined to believe their presence wasn’t merely coincidental.”

“It’s of no consequence.”

A momentary silence ensued between them.

Then, in a soft tone, Nina broke the silence, “…We’re almost there.”

“Yes,” Duncan replied gently, poised to articulate further thoughts, but before he could, the indistinct hues at the periphery of his vision burst forth into a serene expanse of sea and islands dotting the horizon.

“Space jump… concluded.”

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