Deep Sea Embers

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The swirling wind, laden with light grey dust, slowly faded from Duncan’s line of sight.

Agatha was gone.

Only after the last remnants of the dusty breeze had fully dissipated did Vanna speak, piercing the heavy silence, “I can’t shake the feeling that she’s transformed so much since our last encounter,” she said, a note of uncertainty in her voice. “Her final words were particularly striking—they don’t sound like something the ‘Gatekeeper’ we once knew would say.”

Duncan, ever the pragmatist, replied, “Life’s experiences can reshape a person, and given what she’s been through, it’s not surprising. Moreover, her position now isn’t just that of a simple ‘gatekeeper’. The responsibilities she bears demand she evolve.”

Vanna, trying to gauge Duncan’s reaction, asked, “Aren’t you concerned at all?”

He responded with a measured tone, “She’s remained steadfast. Those who undergo profound shifts in understanding often come out with even greater resolve. She might be burdened with the survival of the city-state, but she remains rational. She won’t be swayed into paranoia or misguided paths. Her closing remarks might not exude the devoutness of old, but they were spoken with clarity.”

Vanna was quiet for a beat, and when Duncan turned to gaze intently at her, he posed a probing question, “Your real concern isn’t about Agatha, is it?”

Hesitating only briefly, Vanna confessed, “My faith dictates honesty. Yes, my concerns are more personal. When I look at Agatha, I see a reflection of my own faltering faith and actions that border on heresy.”

Duncan waited, giving her space to speak her truth.

Vanna continued, “I always thought that all challenges could be met with strong faith and an unyielding spirit. I believed that the gods set the cosmic order, and we, as their creations, functioned harmoniously within that design. Yet, I’ve come to realize this cosmic order is as ephemeral as sea foam. Mere belief and tenacity can’t save our city-state. The world as we’ve known it is being questioned…”

“Our belief in the eternal ‘Sun’, the ‘metal ore’ that drives our era possibly being a gift from ancient deities, the realization that gods can’t shield the city-state from all perils, and the uncharted mysteries lurking in the ocean’s depths, which no holy book has mentioned. Your arrival even challenges my long-held beliefs about subspace.”

Duncan replied with a thoughtful nod, “On that last point, remain questioning. As for the rest, you’re largely right. Our comprehension of the universe is inherently flawed. We can’t pin our hopes on a singular, unchanging ‘truth’ to explain everything. If such an unwavering ‘truth’ does exist, it’s beyond our current grasp. So, having our beliefs shaken is a necessary step in our civilization’s progression.”

Absorbing Duncan’s insights, Vanna seemed lost in contemplation. After a prolonged pause, she whispered more to herself than to him, “Then where do the gods fit into all this?”

Duncan replied candidly, “I don’t really know. My encounters with them, if any, have been from a distance, too distant to form a concrete belief. But two things I’m sure of: firstly, the four gods are real entities in this world. And secondly, they have, to some degree, been the guardians and guiding forces of our civilization.”

Vanna’s face registered a brief hint of confusion. In her two decades of life, she had never come across anyone who spoke of the four gods with such clinical detachment—without the usual reverence or admiration, as if they were mere items for scrutiny. This type of evaluation seemed almost blasphemous and audacious. Yet, coming from Duncan, who had experienced the enigmatic subspace, Vanna couldn’t help but be affected by…

His words struck her as chillingly analytical, much like a tool used to gauge the world around her.

Her introspection was disrupted by Duncan’s voice, gently chiding, “Vanna, don’t overcomplicate things. You still have faith in Gomona, right?”

Without hesitation, Vanna replied, “Yes, my faith remains steadfast.”

“That’s just it. Your faith hasn’t wavered, and Agatha still puts her faith in Bartok. The fact that your gods haven’t forsaken you despite your evolving thoughts suggests that your introspections aren’t misaligned with their teachings,” Duncan spoke with conviction, “Questioning and doubting doesn’t automatically equate to heresy. The truly devout are those who maintain their faith even after wrestling with such uncertainties.”

“It’s vital to strike a balance between a robust faith and a healthy skepticism. Embrace the world for what it is, acknowledge that your perceptions might be limited or biased, and accept the inevitability of your own doubts. Frankly, if Gomona can hear your prayers about the Disappeared, what isn’t within your capacity to accept?”

Vanna’s eyes darted instinctively towards the elevated city district, where the imposing Silent Cathedral stood tall atop Frost Peak.

She imagined Agatha making her way back to that cathedral via the “Grey Wind.” Would Agatha seek solace in her prayer chamber, reflecting upon her recent alliance with the enigmatic “Shadows of Subspace” before the statue of Bartok? Would she ponder the future of the city-state and decide that “any hindrance to its survival is heretical, while all else can be tolerated”?

After what felt like an eternity, Vanna finally redirected her gaze from the distant cathedral, her voice soft as she posed a question, “…Does the deity truly remain indifferent?”

“I can’t say for sure, but if I were in their shoes, it wouldn’t bother me,” Duncan shrugged nonchalantly, “From our perspective, neither the God of Death nor the Goddess of Storm seems particularly concerned. Perhaps their priorities lie elsewhere.”

As Vanna sank into deep contemplation, Morris, who had been observing silently, couldn’t resist commenting, “I never took you for someone who’d hold such profound views on faith. I always assumed you were indifferent to such matters.”

Duncan looked at Morris with genuine interest, “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve always been fascinated by any ideology that attempts to elucidate the world’s mysteries.” He paused, noticing the confusion etched on the faces of both Vanna and Morris (Alice, as usual, remained oblivious). With a playful smile, Duncan teased, “There’s no need for concern over the affairs of the city-state right now. Perhaps it’s time we delve into the ‘Book of Blasphemy.'”

…

Amid the quiet, Shirley nodded off, the fourth math card still in her hand.

A faint clinking of chains filled the air. Dog, ever so gently to avoid disturbing her slumber, used a paw to stabilize the dark chain. Sitting upright, he carefully draped a blanket over Shirley with his mouth. With another paw, he cleared the table of the math cards, ensuring they wouldn’t be tainted by Shirley’s drool.

As Dog set about organizing the room, his attention was drawn to the math cards strewn across the table. Each card displayed basic arithmetic problems. He paused and mused, “Has she managed to answer most of these correctly?”

Intrigued, he whispered softly to himself, then instinctively glanced over at Shirley. She had shifted in her sleep, murmuring indistinct words, with a delicate trail of saliva shining at the edge of her lips.

“She must’ve put in quite an effort,” he concluded.

Shaking his head with a mixture of admiration and amusement, Dog lay back and, after some internal debate, stretched out a paw to pick up a book from a stack on the floor. The book was his.

At first glance, the book looked ordinary—a common paperback that could be found in any bookstore within the city-state. The title “Algebraic Computation” was embossed on its front.

Dog leaned down, his eye sockets glowing a deep, unsettling red, casting flickering shadows as he studied the book’s cover. He hesitated briefly and then slowly flipped it open.

Suddenly, he snapped his head up, scanning the room with heightened vigilance.

The bookshelves seemed undisturbed. The room’s dark nooks remained tranquil, beams of sunlight penetrated the window, and the gentle rhythm of waves could be heard from outside.

“Alright, the surroundings are secure, potential distractions are minimal, and the book is still related to mathematics… it’s time for the third attempt,” Dog muttered, prepping himself.

With renewed determination, Dog dived deep into the book’s content, absorbing the formulas, internalizing the symbols, and working through the calculations. He sought to unravel the mysteries of the universe using the collective knowledge passed down by generations.

Initially, distractions and stray thoughts fragmented his concentration. But soon, the intricacies of math began to weave a cocoon of focus around him. As always, the subject drew him in, engrossing him completely.

As numbers and symbols swirled in his mind, painting a vast tapestry of comprehension, Dog felt an unfamiliar sensation. It was as if he wasn’t alone in his quest for knowledge.

Someone else was reading the same lines.

Someone else was processing the same thoughts.

An unseen presence was observing his journey with quiet interest.

Perplexed, Dog tilted his head.

Beneath the stark white pages, between the neatly printed words, and amidst the intricate web of knowledge crafted by symbols and diagrams, a radiant red glow, encircled by a myriad of tiny, luminous points of light, regarded him with an intense focus akin to an eye.

Dog stiffened.

He was transfixed by the mesmerizing red gleam.

Drawn inexorably closer, he felt as though he was floating towards this constellation of radiant points.

But this sensation was short-lived.

Suddenly, an overpowering force originating from the mysterious chain he wore jerked him back to reality, breaking the spell that the pulsating red light had cast.

Stunned, Dog gasped, his senses reeling from the abrupt interruption. Almost reflexively, his gaze darted to the black chain draped around his neck.

It was this very chain, and the mysterious power it harbored, that had saved him in that crucial moment—evidence of Shirley’s protective influence.

Yet, upon inspection, the chain lay slack on the floor, showing no signs of recent movement.

Further along the chain, Shirley remained undisturbed, nestled comfortably on the table, still lost in the land of dreams.

She had not stirred, not even slightly.