Deep Sea Embers

As the Vanished and the Bright Star made their way through the scattered, dark “islands” floating amidst the surrounding waters, they slowly neared the central island. This main island, composed of massive black boulders, gave the impression of a gargantuan, man-made structure.

Encircling the vessels, a thin mist meandered through the air like a sentient being, caressing the surface of the sea nearby. The breeze that wafted through this mist seemed to be laden with the soft echoes of whispers and murmurs, blending into a haunting chorus.

Standing at the forefront of the deck, Vanna watched as the island of black rock loomed larger in her view. Without realizing it, her grip on the railing tightened. The sound of the gentle and rhythmic waves began to resonate within her mind, transporting her back to a memory long past. She found herself recalling the very first time she heard the sound of the ocean, which was in the prayer room of a cathedral, standing before a goddess’s statue right after her baptism. It was then that a voice, soft as a sea breeze, whispered to her heart:

“Ah… my little fish… you have come.”

Jerking back to the present, Vanna realized the voice was not a figment of her imagination; it was genuinely echoing in her heart. Almost simultaneously, she noticed the island transform. The imposing structure, resembling a grand palace, appeared to quiver slightly. From every door and window, countless massive tendrils stretched out, reaching skyward and then plunging into the sea, stirring the waters and intermingling with the mist.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the tentacles vanished, retracting into the structure. However, numerous large and small shadowy figures began to emerge near the island. They seemed to be an assembly of ships from which countless figures disembarked. Like pilgrims, they held torches and flags, stepping onto the black boulders and making their way into the temple through its side doors…

Vanna thought she could hear music, a festive melody of flutes and percussion that played together, creating visions that flickered and faded before her eyes.

She then witnessed crowds embarking on a pilgrimage, the scene shifting to artisans constructing the grand palace. She saw colossal sea creatures and humans alike gathering for a pilgrimage along the vast coastline, observed individuals in elegant attire lighting lamps on elevated platforms, all while the distant horizon slowly succumbed to a crimson hue. She saw eras of war and peace, heroes, travelers, young warriors safeguarding the masses as they reached the temple, only to find eternal rest on the morning of the second day.

Within these visions, Vanna strived to keep her eyes wide open, peering into each phantom scene. She watched as the palace, crafted from black and dark green boulders, opened its grand doors to her. An entity, shifting through countless forms, emerged to greet her, finally taking on the guise of the “Maiden of Tranquility” and proclaiming, “We have been waiting for a long time…”

A sudden, deep vibration emanated from the depths of the ark, rousing Helena from her meditative state.

In the prayer room, the main lights remained off, leaving only the gentle glow of a dim oil lamp burning in front of the statue. Its flickering flame cast moving shadows around the room, creating the illusion of whispering figures lurking within the interplay of light and darkness.

Helena scanned the room, her gaze cutting through the dimness. As the whispering voices faded into silence, she drew closer to the goddess’s statue, her attention fixed on a dark red “pillar” that rose from the floor. This was no ordinary pillar, but a nerve cord that stretched from the ark’s depths to its current position.

“I think I just heard Its voice,” Helena murmured softly.

At that moment, an aged, deliberate voice reached her ears. “They have arrived safely,” it said, carrying a tone of satisfaction. “My kin… They’re filled with joy, even the Queen is content.”

Confusion marred Helena’s expression. “Didn’t the Sea Song also reach this place before?”

The old voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, replied, “It’s different this time, young one. The visitor this time is someone the Queen has awaited for many years.”

“Many years?”

“Yes, since the day the ‘Sun’ first rose…”

Meanwhile, the Vanished had completed a quarter circle around the black island, eventually finding a suitable spot for anchorage through a break in the boulders. Sailor skillfully maneuvered the rudder, guiding the massive ship to a halt near the shore. Subsequently, a smaller boat was lowered, ferrying Duncan and his companions onto the island.

“Let’s explore the island; stay put here, don’t wander off,” Duncan instructed the small boat that had transported them, as it bobbed in a makeshift “harbor” framed by rectangular black stones.

Following his command, the boat began to sway gently, splashing against the stones.

Suddenly, a wind swept in from the sky, bringing with it a whirlwind filled with countless colorful pieces of paper. This maelstrom, originating from the direction of the Bright Star, landed about ten meters from Duncan, where it took on the form of Lucretia.

With everyone assembled on the island, the firm ground beneath their feet provided a small comfort amidst the foreboding atmosphere of this world’s edge. Duncan stepped onto an elevated rectangular black stone, surveying the pathway that led to the palace.

Vanna began speaking beside the man: “This is a place of pilgrimage. In my vision, I saw numerous people arriving from faraway lands by boat, igniting large bonfires around the island, and adorning the temple’s path with flags…”

Reflecting on her vision, she moved next to another large stone near Duncan, pointing towards a broad, stone-laid path.

“This path leads directly to the temple. In the mornings, pilgrims disembark on the island, forming a procession that stretches from the shoreline all the way to the temple’s entrance. The island itself was constructed by people using a form of technology that’s beyond my comprehension. They melted and shaped stones from the depths of the sea into these massive boulders and then commanded summoned behemoths to erect the island using these hefty stones…”

Duncan absorbed Vanna’s recounting, his imagination painting vivid pictures of how this place must have looked in those bygone eras, now lost to memory. He hopped off the rectangular black stone and led the group down the ‘Pilgrimage Road’ Vanna had envisioned, heading towards the temple.

“What else did you see?” Shirley inquired, walking alongside Vanna with a look of curiosity.

“Land-dwelling humans lived in harmony with gargantuan sea creatures – they revered these giant sea beings, known as ‘Leviathans’, as gods and divine messengers. However, their reverence wasn’t just religious; it was part of a deeper, more symbiotic relationship,” Vanna explained, trying to piece together the sudden influx of knowledge. “They lived alongside many other titans, of the sky, of the underground, mastering the forces of mountains and glaciers…”

“They forged pacts with these ancient entities and drew strength from the giants, a power so vast it could reshape rivers, lakes, mountains, and the very earth itself, creating wonders beyond imagination… But I struggle to detail these marvels precisely. I’ve only glimpsed fragmented visions and received knowledge from nowhere. I can’t fully envision those scenes; they seem to be ‘Its’ memories. ‘It’ shared these memories with me, then fell silent.”

Abruptly, Vanna’s voice tapered off, her expression clouding with concern as she gazed towards the palace.

“…Its condition is dire; It shared those visions and then ceased to communicate.”

Duncan paused on the side of the path.

His attention was caught by something at the roadside – a withered piece of black material resembling dried seaweed, seemingly inconsequential.

Yet, he furrowed his brow, fixated on the desiccated “seaweed bundle,” sensing something amiss, his face a mask of contemplation.

“What’s that?” Nina noticed and moved closer to the object, tempted to pick it up for a closer look but stopped short, turning to Duncan with a puzzled look, “Did you find something odd?”

Duncan brooded for a moment before bending down towards the withered black material, extending his hand. Then, something remarkable occurred.

The desiccated material began to transform, causing a dizzying visual effect. It elongated, reconfigured, and by the time Duncan made contact, it had morphed into a crude cylindrical shape. As he lifted it, the cylinder’s surface unveiled intricate patterns, along with features resembling buttons and indicator lights.

Duncan examined the complex cylindrical object in his hand with a contemplative gaze before decisively pressing the most prominent button on its surface.

Immediately, vibrant music emanated from the device, a harmonious blend of drums, bells, and flutes filling the air.

He remained silent, his gaze fixed on the cylinder for an extended period. Without uttering a word, Duncan resumed his march forward, the device still in his grasp.

Vanna paused, momentarily taken aback. The memories of the island that had flooded her mind now converged once more in her vision. She envisioned the original owner of this small device—a child, trudging alongside a group of refugees. With hand extended and led by an adult, the child clutched the device as it played a lively tune.

As the vision faded, Vanna realized Duncan had moved significantly ahead. She hurried to close the distance between them.

Upon reaching the somber black temple, a vast circular plaza unfolded before them. A solitary figure stood in silence at the plaza’s center.

Lucretia reacted with swift precision, her short baton at the ready. However, before she could act, the figure in the plaza—seemingly the temple’s last sentinel from an era long past—collapsed without a sound into a heap of ashes. These remnants were swiftly carried away by the wind, leaving Lucretia no chance to discern the guardian’s appearance, be it male or female.

“…That was the vice-captain of the guard,” Vanna abruptly stated.

“The guard?” Morris echoed instinctively.

Vanna’s expression was one of confusion as she furrowed her brow, shaking her head after a brief pause. “…I don’t know, the thought just came to me out of nowhere…”

Her explanation was cut short by a warping sound.

The melody emanating from the cylindrical device in Duncan’s possession began to warp, growing increasingly unpleasant to the ear. Simultaneously, its surface started to lose its color, rapidly withering and distorting until the music ceased altogether within a mere few seconds. The device reverted to a cluster of withered black material, akin to dried seaweed.