Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 814: Bonfire

As Duncan slowly came back to his senses, the brilliant glow of starlight that had previously covered the sand began to recede, disappearing as if it had never been there at all. This light seemed to be absorbed back into Duncan himself.

Witnessing this, Ta Ruijin also breathed a sigh of relief as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Then, the being known as the “Eternal Flame” shifted his attention to Vanna, who was standing a short distance away.

As the starlight faded, Vanna seemed unaffected by its presence or departure. It was as though she was entirely unaware of the starlight’s disappearance, lost in her thoughts much like Duncan had been just moments before. It was only after some time had passed that she looked up and began to take in the changes in her environment and herself – a faint purple glow remained at the tips of her silver-white hair, suggesting that the starlight had always been a part of her, only now becoming visible under a certain mystical illumination.

Breaking the silence, Ta Ruijin spoke up, directing his words towards Vanna. “You’ve been subtly influenced by the power of the Flame Usurper, becoming an embodiment of his essence,” he said, acknowledging her with a slight nod. “This confirms my suspicions – the true nature of the Flame Usurper’s essence isn’t in the flames themselves, but hidden beneath them.”

Vanna started to understand the depth of the conversation happening between the captain and this ancient deity. Her expression changed several times as she processed the information.

Turning his attention back to Duncan, Ta Ruijin continued, “In reality, Flame Usurper, you’ve never fully entered this world. You’ve been observing the complexities of the Boundless Sea from afar, through a veil, only occasionally seeing its true essence with your own eyes. And I believe I understand the significance of this ‘flaming end’ you’ve mentioned. It’s a result of your limited perspective.”

“The act of ‘usurping’ Navigator One is tied to the necessity of preserving this sanctuary. To protect it, you must remain fully aware of its condition… you must continue to be ‘Duncan.'”

Ta Ruijin paused, giving Duncan time to digest his words before speaking again, this time more softly, “The Flame Usurper’s gaze, if fully unleashed, could lead to the destruction of this world. Its presence depends on your perception.

“On the other hand, when you need to take ‘the first step,’ you must embrace the identity of the Flame Usurper. It’s ‘Captain Duncan’s’ perspective that will maintain the sanctuary amid the flames, leading to ‘the end of the flame.’ This outcome, beyond your personal intent, may be the one thing in this world you cannot avoid.”

In this narrative, the perceptions of “Duncan” and “Zhou Ming” reveal different aspects of the world.

After a lengthy silence, Duncan, still embodying his role as “Duncan,” finally spoke, “I understand,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting Ta Ruijin’s. “Thank you for the reminder. It’s indeed crucial.”

“Good,” Ta Ruijin responded with a smile. Then, showing the strain in his ancient, bent figure, he slowly pushed himself up from the sand, standing with a mix of determination and effort.

As he stood, sand flowed off his body like the last grains in an hourglass, a poignant reminder of time’s relentless march. The night wrapped its dark cloak around the desert, and he, in the midst of this timeless landscape, fixed his eyes on the far-off horizon.

After a moment of contemplation, he exhaled a soft, almost mournful breath, “There’s scarcely anything left…”

Upon hearing his somber reflection, Vanna couldn’t help but ask, “What was this place before?”

“Before? It hardly was a bustling hub even in its prime. From the beginning, the ‘history’ we speak of in the sanctuary was more like a shadow in the flow of time—a mere outline of mine, fleshed out and maintained by the ritual efforts of those who tended the flames. They crafted a semblance of a world moving forward, enduring through the ages. But this place, it was never brimming with life as we know it.”

“Yet, it wasn’t always this barren desert. Once, in what now stretches as an endless dry expanse, there were rivers and oases, rare as they might have been. Despite the illusory nature of time here, it bore witness to events worthy of note.”

“Back then, cities rose near these water sources, home to intelligent beings other than humans. These cities were as if reflections in a mirror, cast by the real world into this dream I had spun. In their shared memory, the world was flourishing, forever prosperous.”

Bending down, the ancient figure scooped up a handful of sand, watching it trickle through his fingers, taken by the cool night air.

“Then, decay set in. The real world began losing its vibrancy, and as it did, the sanctuary’s record of history grew fragmented and incomplete. With every self-correction this place underwent, more decay, like gangrene, crept into its narrative. The once fertile land was slowly consumed by the encroaching sands, its past whispers echoing in the ruins left behind, leading to the desolation you see now.”

Vanna thought back to the city ruins she had explored, the voices she had heard echoing through the vast desert, and the artifacts she had seen, all of which had seemed so real at the time.

Then, a memory struck her—the “theories” and “heretical speculations” she had once stumbled upon in the cathedral archives of Pland. These texts spoke of a world’s duality.

Some theorists had suggested that our world was split, that somewhere, there existed a parallel realm where the sea and land were inverted—a vast, dry wasteland punctuated by the rare oasis or river, home to civilizations that mirrored our own in some eerie, reflective dance.

With widened eyes, Vanna looked out into the distance, her mind painting vivid images of ancient city-states that lay in ruins across the desert sands…

This was the realm those scholars had speculated about, a mirrored version of our world.

And it was real—tucked away at the edge of the world, cradled in the fading memories of an ancient deity.

Vanna suddenly looked up as though she was about to say something important to Ta Ruijin. However, before she could utter a word, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the air, stirring the sand into a frenzy.

The sandstorm rose like a thick curtain separating the heavens from the earth, engulfing both her and the captain. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared, leaving behind a calm. The formidable figure of Ta Ruijin, who had just been standing in the desert, was now nowhere to be seen.

In the midst of daylight that broke through the clouds and mist, shedding light on the ash-strewn landscape, a gentle breeze picked up, causing the pale ash to dance in the air, reminiscent of a delicate fabric moving in the wind.

Coming back to reality, Vanna surveyed her surroundings, her eyes scanning the horizon. All she could see was a vast expanse of ash, punctuated here and there by columns of smoke that twisted upwards towards the sky.

Not too far from her position, the remains of a bonfire struggled to stay alight, its flames flickering weakly on the verge of being snuffed out.

Next to this dying fire sat Ta Ruijin. The once powerful giant now appeared frail and withered, his form barely more than a skeleton. It was as though he himself had become part of the fire, his body the kindling, with only a weak, trembling flame emanating from what remained of him, fluttering in the wind.

He sat there, head hung low, with something that had once been beside him now reduced to indistinct ashes. His hand clutched a piece of black stone, suggesting he had been intensely focused on some task until movement eluded him.

Vanna moved closer to the feeble fire, her gaze lingering on the giant’s face in silent contemplation.

Lost in her thoughts, she thought she heard that distinct sound again –

Ding… Ding Ding…

At that moment, Duncan came up to her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder.

“It’s time to go,” he murmured softly, “while the fire still burns.”

Vanna gave a small nod in agreement.

Duncan then reached out, his finger extended towards the embers next to Ta Ruijin.

Without a word, the flames subtly shifted to a soft green glow, their light now resembling the sparkle of distant stars, slowly flickering as if breathing.

In the midst of the fire’s last dance, Duncan whispered to himself, “See you in our new world.”

…

Far away, under the cover of an eternal night, a vast fleet made its way northward.

The night wind swept across the calm sea, bringing with it the piercing cold of the northern waters, a cold that seemed to seep into one’s very soul. The dim, ethereal light of the fissuring World’s Creation illuminated the scene, revealing icebergs floating on the dark, reflective surface of the sea. Their ghostly forms cast shifting shadows, moving both slowly and swiftly, accompanying the ships on their journey.

Even the mighty bonfire, often seen as a beacon of warmth and safety, could not dispel the penetrating chill that seemed to engulf the sea. Frem, standing by the central bonfire on the deck of the Cathedral Ark, felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. What was typically a source of heat and comfort now felt as though it radiated no warmth at all. Instead, a profound coldness, as if emanating from a bottomless abyss, seeped through, biting into his very bones.

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Frem, the Flame Bearer Pope, from his contemplation. He turned toward the noise and saw a priestess dressed in a black gown adorned with flame-like patterns, her face obscured by a veil, approaching him. She walked with a deliberate grace towards the bonfire, then bowed respectfully in his presence.

“Your Holiness, we have navigated through Frost’s waters and have just received communication from the vessels of the Storm Church. They have confirmed they will meet with us in thirty minutes to hand over the ‘goods,'” she informed him.

“Mm,” Frem responded, his mind still partly on the unsettling cold, “…And the archives? Are they ready to receive?”

“The storage has been arranged,” the tall orcish priestess assured him. “We have made space in our storage compartments to accommodate the incoming documents.”

Frem gave a nod, his expression one of tacit approval.

“There’s more,” the priestess added, “We’ve also received a message from Frost. Governor Tyrian sends his regards, along with a message:

“‘May the blessings of the world be upon you. Greetings to those who record and inherit. Move forward with assurance, for every effort to preserve is of value. In addition: ‘they’ have traversed the domain of flame and are now making their way to the final node.'”

Her report finished, the priestess stood silently by, awaiting any further instructions or questions from Frem, her posture embodying the solemn duty and the weight of the message she had just delivered.