Deep Sea Embers

Duncan found himself once again enveloped in the majestic fog that bridged the sky and the sea. However, this time his arrival at the frontier was shrouded in the secrecy of night, a stark contrast to his last visit. The sky above was a tumult of darkness, pressing down as if it could touch the world. The only light came from the eerie glow known as the World’s Creation, which bathed the cloud edges and the fog wall in a pale, cold light. This massive fog barrier, visible through the night, seemed like a living entity—a dark, undulating mass that stood tall and distant. Its surface occasionally shifted to reveal unsettling, bizarre shapes, striking fear into the hearts of all who glimpsed it, evoking a primal dread.

The edges of this fog wall, touched by the light of the World’s Creation, appeared to be adorned with countless eyes that stared down coldly and malevolently from the sky, overseeing the hubris of humans daring to explore the unknown ends of the world.

At the base of this imposing curtain of fog, human ambition had gathered in the form of fleets, poised on the brink of the unknown.

Upon sighting a distant lighthouse, Duncan commanded the Vanished, leading it to adjust their course slightly. Heading towards the southeast, they soon encountered the border—a massive, floating mobile port that sat atop the mist-enshrouded sea. It was a marvel of engineering, with its large steam core releasing plumes of white steam into the air and a differential machine’s towering presence, its rotating lights occasionally slicing through the darkness to reveal the shadows of ships of various sizes nearby.

Surrounding the floating port were over a dozen ships, each distinct in design and size, while small patrol boats wove through the waters, their lights flickering in the darkness like fireflies dancing over an endless abyss.

Here, at the edge of the world, the usual rules of light discipline were abandoned, allowing these beacons of human presence to shine freely. They stood as a testament to humanity’s persistence, a striking contrast to the vast and unfathomable sea and fog wall. Yet, brave as they were, these lights of civilization seemed almost inconsequential against the backdrop of the Boundless Sea and the towering fog, tiny specks that the ever-shifting fog could engulf at any moment.

In this world on the brink of collapse, these lights on the sea represented humanity’s fragile yet defiant reach towards the crumbling edges of their sanctuary.

The arrival of the Vanished and the Bright Stars did not go unnoticed. Patrol vessels nearby quickly relayed their approach, and a welcoming steam whistle sounded from the mobile port, its echo carrying through the night. A beacon from the port’s lighthouse then reached out across the sea, guiding the two ships to dock at the port’s edge.

Once docked, Duncan led his crew onto the pier, where they were met by a gathering of figures there to welcome them. Among these figures, one in particular caught Duncan by surprise.

Pope Helena herself stood among the welcoming party of clergy, a sight that Duncan had not anticipated.

“Welcome to the ‘Border Base’. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” Pope Helena took a step forward, her smile warm as she greeted Duncan and Lucretia, giving a slight nod in welcome.

Duncan, visibly taken aback by the sight of the High Priestess, couldn’t hide his surprise. “How come you’re here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be on your ark right now? Can it really travel here so quickly?”

Helena’s smile broadened at Duncan’s question. “Should the need arise, the Church’s ark can sail at speeds that rival your ship,” she explained, her tone light. Yet, she quickly clarified, “But no, I’m not physically here. The Storm Cathedral remains at Wind Harbor. What stands before you is merely one of my avatars. It seemed fitting for me to personally send you off as you embark into the border.”

Duncan’s eyebrows arched in surprise at her revelation. The figure before him showed no obvious signs of being an illusion. “…Really can’t tell,” he admitted, impressed.

With a graceful motion, Helena raised her hand toward Duncan. Mist began to curl at the edges of her arm, and her skin turned as transparent as water, revealing the illusionary nature of her presence.

“Creating illusions in water and fog is a gift from my lord,” she said, as her hand returned to its normal appearance and she started walking again. “This isn’t considered a significant divine power—most high-ranking members of the Storm Church can perform it.”

As Duncan followed Helena deeper into the border base, he glanced back at Vanna, who was trailing a bit behind. “Can you do this too?” he inquired, curiosity piqued.

Vanna hesitated for a brief moment before lowering her gaze, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. “Uh… actually…”

Before she could elaborate, Helena interjected from ahead, without needing to look back. “She can’t,” she stated plainly. “Despite my efforts to teach her, she never mastered it.”

Vanna remained silent, her head still bowed in a mix of embarrassment and disappointment.

Shirley, who had been quietly following, seized the moment to tease, stepping closer to Vanna with a look of mock astonishment. “Hey, didn’t you claim your divine art skills were pretty decent?”

Caught in a moment of humiliation, Vanna felt compelled to defend her expertise, albeit reluctantly. “…Divine arts are vast, encompassing combat, healing, support, and several specialized fields like research, secrets, and miracles. I wasn’t proficient in all of them; my focus was quite specific…”

Half understanding yet curious, Shirley was about to guess, “Oh, so you’re skilled in combat…”

Still leading the way, Helena cut off the speculation without looking back. “She excels in healing,” she corrected, setting the record straight.

This revelation surprised not only Shirley but most of the group. Duncan, in particular, found himself reassessing Vanna, the formidable warrior beside him, trying to reconcile her prowess in battle with her proficiency in healing arts, a combination that seemed at odds with her formidable exterior…

In the typical portrayal, healing clergywomen are imagined in light cloth armor, clutching a short staff, positioned safely at the back of the battle formation due to their low defense and susceptibility to damage. They are the fragile lifelines that could perish with a single misstep. Then there’s Vanna, a figure capable of effortlessly overpowering demons single-handedly—how had she become associated with the role of a healer?

Duncan found himself grappling with this incongruity, though he kept his thoughts to himself, choosing not to voice the glaring question. However, the crew of the Vanished was not known for their reticence, often characterized by their direct and unfiltered curiosity.

“Why, though?” Shirley couldn’t hide her bewilderment, her gaze fixed on Vanna. Her confusion was palpable as she gestured towards Vanna’s imposing stature, her question trailing off into a puzzled, “…Why?”

Helena provided an answer with a nonchalant tone, “She became adept at setting bones on the training field after practice sessions,” revealing that Vanna had mastered this aspect of healing in merely six months.

Shirley’s puzzled expression dissolved into understanding, and even Duncan found himself nodding, albeit with a complex mix of emotions, “…That makes more sense.”

Vanna, the subject of their discussions, remained silent, her head bowed, lost in thought.

Duncan, however, was struck by another realization. “But you’ve been with us on the ship for so long, and I’ve hardly seen you perform any healing. Why is that?” he inquired, looking at Vanna with a thoughtful expression.

Vanna’s response was laced with a hint of resignation, “Do you think anyone on the Vanished actually needs healing?”

Duncan paused, considering her words. He looked around at his crew, realizing the unique composition of the Vanished’s occupants—predominantly non-living beings, making the necessity for a healer somewhat redundant. The only somewhat human figure, old Morris, was renowned for his resilience, seemingly more durable than many saints…

Vanna sighed once more, her gesture towards her greatsword and the clasp on her shoulder speaking volumes. “I think it’s better this way—preventing harm by eliminating threats before they can cause injury. That way, nobody has to suffer.”

Helena’s gaze then shifted to Anomaly 077, who lingered at the back of the group. She slowed her pace, giving the mummy a contemplative look before posing a question, “Do you remember this place?”

Sailor’s response was calm and measured, indicative of his complex relationship with his memories. “I remember, but it’s vague,” he admitted. Despite having regained some of his memories, including those of this very location, they felt detached, as if belonging to someone else. “Even the deepest memories seem foreign, except for those involving Captain Caraline,” he concluded, reflecting on the peculiar nature of his recollections.

Helena’s voice was gentle, refraining from delving deeper into the extent of Sailor’s recollections or his emotional connection to the place. It was a delicate acknowledgment of the chasm between Anomaly 077’s past life as the Sea Song’s first mate, a role he played until not so long ago, and his current existence as a distant echo of that life. For the port’s guards, the transition might seem recent, but for Sailor, it was a chapter from another lifetime.

“You’re essentially a stranger here now,” Helena reassured Sailor, her words offering comfort. “Aside from myself and a select few within the Church’s higher echelons, no one knows of your current appearance. You needn’t fret over bumping into old ‘friends’—unless you wish to, of course.”

Sailor appeared caught off guard by Helena’s assurance, his response carrying a tone of genuine gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, bowing his head slightly in appreciation.

It was at this juncture that Lucretia’s curiosity bubbled to the surface. “Has this port always operated in the border region?” she inquired. “My own ventures have taken me near these waters, yet I’ve never come across it…”

Helena provided a comprehensive overview of the port’s history and function. “This mobile port has anchored the border waters for the better part of a decade,” she began. “However, the dense fog that blankets this region often obscures its presence. It serves a dual purpose: as a border patrol and exploration fleets base. It’s also a hub for research. Equipped with extensive laboratories and observational equipment, it delves into the mysteries of the spirit world and the marine ecosystem. Its missions often necessitate ventures deep into the fog. When not on a specific assignment, it patrols the eastern border. Its movements and stops are cloaked in secrecy by the Church. It’s no surprise that you’ve never stumbled upon it.”

Lucretia expressed her admiration for the port’s operations and its role in the border waters, “…Impressive.”

Helena echoed the sentiment, her voice tinged with a mix of pride and nostalgia. “Yes, it is indeed impressive. This place was forged by the collective efforts of many remarkable people.” Her gaze then drifted towards a point in the distance, lost in thought for a moment. “The Sea Song, it set sail from Dock No. 2, right over there,” she noted, pointing out the location with a hint of wistfulness.