Deep Sea Embers

Sailor lay perfectly still and silent, camouflaged among the contrasting hues of the tall, black and white grass, convincing himself he had become indistinguishable from a lifeless body.

The wind, chaotic and unyielding, whipped through the wild grass, creating waves that seemed alive. Within this tumult, faint sounds began to emerge, weaving through the air like distant whispers, subdued conversations, and the ghostly strains of music, creating an otherworldly symphony.

Embracing the tranquility associated with death, Sailor shut his eyes, allowing the serene embrace of the imagined afterlife to envelop him amidst the boundless wilderness.

With a staff in hand, Agatha moved around Sailor in a deliberate pattern, tracing a circle around him thrice. With each step she took, runes etched into the earth below her glowed, casting an eerie light. Pausing by Sailor’s head, she planted her staff into the ground and extended her arms wide as if to welcome or invoke something unseen.

Suddenly, the wind intensified, carrying clearer and more distinct sounds. Duncan, observing the scene, anticipated the awakening of the “gatekeeper” of this realm. However, as abruptly as it had risen, the wind calmed, and the sounds faded into silence.

“…Hmm?” Agatha opened her eyes, a look of perplexity crossing her face, her brow knitting together in concern.

“What’s happening?” Duncan inquired, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected turn of events.

Sailor, still lying on the ground, cautiously opened his eyes, sensing that the ritual might not be proceeding as planned. He remembered Agatha’s earlier instructions to remain silent and immobile, so he communicated his confusion and concern solely through his eyes, daring not to move or speak.

Agatha, troubled, revealed, “At the final moment when we should have established a connection, I felt the presence of the realm’s ‘gatekeepers’. Yet, they didn’t engage with us; they simply departed.”

She continued, clarifying their original intent, “Our aim wasn’t just to be noticed. We needed the ‘gatekeeper’ of this side to reveal themselves. Even if they detected the feigned death, it should have prompted them to appear more swiftly, as a simulated demise is a grave offense, perhaps even more so than an actual death.”

Understanding the stakes, Duncan then realized the implications: “Ah, so our actions could actually provoke these ‘gatekeepers’?”

“Yes,” Agatha affirmed, “Should they discover our ruse, their fury would be immense.”

Duncan, taken aback, remarked, “You hadn’t mentioned this risk before.”

Agatha responded with a nonchalant shrug, “As long as we remain undetected, there’s no issue. But if discovered, I admit, there’s little I could do. I might not be able to confront them, but I am adept at escaping. Should it come to it, negotiating with the ‘gatekeepers’ is feasible. They’re reasonable beings who usually can be appeased after an initial fight.”

Now slightly wary, Duncan sensed that the situation was not as straightforward as he had initially believed.

Yet, without dwelling on his reservations, he redirected his attention to the immediate issue: the apparent indifference of the ‘gatekeeper’ to their staged scenario of death.

Agatha’s expression conveyed her resolve as she paused, deep in thought. Then, her gaze shifted decisively towards Sailor, and she broke the silence with a sense of urgency: “I’ll attempt the ritual once more. As soon as it concludes, you need to spring to your feet and dash back to our small boat as swiftly as you can—this action will disrupt the ‘passage’. Remember, do not look back under any circumstances.”

Sailor, clearly anxious, could only respond with a wandering gaze, prompting Agatha to seek a simpler form of communication: “I need clarity. Just nod or shake your head slightly.”

After a brief hesitation, Sailor’s head began to sway as if to signal ‘no’, yet he halted midway and instead offered a subtle nod.

“Alright, I’ll take that as your agreement. Remain still; I’m about to restart the process.”

With that, Agatha grasped the combat staff that had emerged from the depths of her memory. Once again, she ignited the pale flames at her feet, reactivating the enigmatic runes etched into the earth.

As the ritual recommenced, the wind whipped up around them, carrying whispers and murmurs through the air. Agatha successfully reestablished the “passage,” and even Duncan felt the presence of “them” once more.

At the ritual’s climax, Agatha forcefully planted the staff into the ground and commanded, “Now – get up!”

Sailor, prepared for this moment, sprang up with urgency, vaulting over the encircling flames, and sprinted towards the origami boat nearby.

This sudden movement from the “deceased” Sailor disrupted the ritual, tearing through the “passage” and revealing a realm that lay concealed within a deeper layer of reality to Duncan.

The flames surged upwards, and the triangular rune array left by Agatha burst into a brilliant light. Then, above the triangle, the air itself seemed to fracture silently, a sliver of twilight emerging from this crack—a rapid expansion that painted the ascending flames with a twilight glow.

Through this widening breach, Duncan caught sight of an unusually tall figure cloaked in black. Contrary to Agatha’s predictions, the figure showed no signs of anger but merely observed the scene quietly before turning away.

Confused, Duncan turned to Agatha, who was visibly taken aback. She called out to the departing “gatekeeper” in frustration, “Wait! Doesn’t this violation of the rules concern you? The faking of death, the deliberate sabotage of the guiding passage—address this issue!”

But the figure continued to walk away, seemingly indifferent to her protests. As it departed, the crack in the sky began to seal shut.

Stunned yet determined, Agatha was about to take matters into her own hands and force the passage open to pursue when suddenly, dry, claw-like hands emerged at the edge of the closing gap. These hands grasped the edges of the crack, holding it ajar and then forcefully widening it again as the sound of breaking glass filled the air, signifying the forcible reopening of the passage.

Emerging from the other side of the crack was a figure, a “gatekeeper” draped in a robe as dark as the deepest night. Its hood was so deep that it shrouded its face entirely, leaving only two dimly glowing yellow eyes visible, flickering with an eerie light akin to fire beneath the shadow of the hood. The gatekeeper leaned forward, and from beneath the hood came a voice, gravelly and deep, as though it were echoing up from the depths of the earth itself, uttering a single command: “Come.”

With that terse, chilling command, the crack, resembling shattered glass, disintegrated without a sound.

Simultaneously, the morose landscape that Duncan had been staring at—the embodiment of night within the wilderness—crumbled away. The shroud of perpetual darkness that had enveloped the realm of the dead lifted, unveiling the soft luminescence of twilight. The monochrome grass of the wilderness, unnamed and untouched, began to sway gently in the twilight breeze, revealing a pathway that extended endlessly into the horizon as if it were a bridge between the heavens and the earth itself.

The towering “gatekeeper” stood silently upon this newly revealed path, immovable and solemn as if it were part of the landscape itself.

Duncan’s gaze momentarily drifted back towards the Lost and the Dazzling Stars, the two ships now appearing as ghostly, frozen silhouettes in the distance, bathed on one side by the twilight glow. Despite the newfound light, the edge of the wilderness seemed to retain a shadow of its former nocturnal veil.

Turning his attention forward once more, Duncan observed the silent gatekeeper breaking the stillness of the moment, issuing another brief command: “Go.”

With that, the figure began to stride along the path, prompting Duncan and Agatha to exchange a glance before hurriedly following.

“The situation is somewhat perplexing,” Agatha whispered to Duncan as they walked, her voice tinged with unease. “The gatekeepers I recall… the ones from my memories, they don’t behave like this. Their presence feels off… Their actions and mannerisms are different.”

“The one who walked away earlier was strange as well,” Duncan added casually. “At least this one has chosen to appear and guide us. That’s something, given that we’ve reached a ‘deeper place.'”

“That’s precisely why it’s strange,” Agatha replied, her brow furrowed in thought. “The gatekeepers should easily recognize that we’re not ‘dead.’ Typically, they would inquire or negotiate before leading us anywhere… Yet, this one simply began guiding us. It’s as if he was expecting us…”

Duncan nodded, finding her observation logical. “Why not ask him?”

After a brief hesitation, Agatha looked up towards the tall figure, which had slowed its pace ahead of them. “Are you specifically waiting for us here?” she inquired.

The towering figure remained silent, offering no response as if Agatha’s question had fallen on deaf ears.

Unwavering in her determination, Agatha raised her voice after a brief pause, seeking clarity: “Do you recognize us? Can you see that we are not actually deceased?”

The imposing figure ahead halted momentarily, releasing a noncommittal grunt that sounded like “Hmm.”

Turning towards Duncan with a mix of confusion and resignation, Agatha speculated, “It seems this gatekeeper may simply be uninterested in our state.”

Duncan remained silent, absorbing Agatha’s observation. After a moment of contemplation, he directed a question at the gatekeeper: “Earlier, we encountered another gatekeeper who disregarded us and departed. There were mentions of others as well. Where have they gone?”

To their astonishment, the gatekeeper ceased walking, breaking his silence with a word that resonated deeply: “Funeral.”

Puzzled, Duncan queried further, “A funeral? Are you implying that the other gatekeepers have gathered for a funeral?”

“Yes,” came the terse reply.

“Whose funeral could it be?” Agatha inquired, driven by a mix of curiosity and concern.

“The Death God’s,” the gatekeeper responded, turning to face them. Under the shadow of his hood, the dull yellow glow of his eyes seemed to burn with a quiet intensity.

“The Death God is dead,” he declared, a statement that hung in the air with a weight that seemed to shift the very atmosphere around them.