Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 756: The Far Voyager

In a fog so thick and clinging it felt almost like moving through a dense, sticky substance, the immaculate white exterior of the Sea Song glided forward like a spectral presence.

At first unnoticed by the crew, the once steady roar of the steam core began to transform. It morphed into a strange, low groan that intertwined with layers of echoes. This sound was punctuated by occasional sharp screeches from the pipes, mingled with soft murmurs that resembled the unintelligible whisperings of someone lost in a deep dream.

“The machine seems to have taken on a life of its own…” the priest reported after returning from the engine room to the bridge where the captain stood in command. “The calming effect of the incense we’ve been using is starting to wear off.”

“Sever the connection to the differential engine’s drive shaft, switch every piece of machinery to manual operation, and release some of the steam core’s pressure until it’s back in the yellow zone. Also, change the metal ore catalyst in two hours,” the captain instructed with calm authority. “And reduce the engine room staff’s shifts to three-hour rotations.”

“Yes, captain,” the priest responded, his head bowed in respect. Suddenly, his voice dropped to a hoarse, deep tone, as if a rush of uncontrolled air had forced its way out of his lungs, though it seemed to go unnoticed by those around him. He then turned to leave, and the stern-faced lady captain watched him go before diverting her gaze elsewhere.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a patch of rust beginning to form on the railing next to her seat. It spread slowly, emblematic of the relentless passage of time, years seeming to dissolve before her eyes.

But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the rust vanished from sight as if it were merely a trick of the light. Caught off guard and without a moment to process this anomaly, a deep, vaguely familiar yet eerily unsettling voice whispered directly into her mind:

“Ah… you have come… my little fish… swim, swim… back to the currents…”

The sound of waves gently lapping reached her ears as though she were engulfed by the sea itself, a chilling sensation creeping across her skin. The captain felt momentarily bewildered by the sensation but quickly regained her composure.

This snapped the captain to full alertness, and she immediately turned her attention to the side of the bridge. Peering through the broad expanse of the cabin windows, she caught sight of a faint green glow slowly intensifying within the mist. It seemed as though a massive creature was making its approach, its form gradually becoming more distinct and revealing itself to be another ship.

A colossal ship with a towering bow and sails that appeared almost translucent emerged from the fog, approaching from the side and rear. It caught up to the Sea Song, which was running at full power with an eerie ease. This mysterious vessel was always enveloped in a sort of “distortion” that made it difficult to discern its finer details. However, the Sea Song’s captain instantly recognized the distinct features of this imposing ship—

“It’s the Vanished!” the captain cried out, her voice laced with astonishment, “How did it get here!?”

“That ship has appeared!”

“The Vanished!?”

“Wasn’t it last seen at Wind Harbor?!”

“It’s drawing near!”

These exclamations filled the bridge, creating a cacophony of shock and disbelief. Swiftly, the first mate approached the captain, urgency in his step: “Captain, that ship is closing in on us.”

“…Signal them with the light, ask what they want,” the captain quickly decided, then commanded, “Everyone, to your battle stations. Increase pressure in the church boiler. Remember, we are at the frontier. Do not hastily trust what you see; it may not be the Vanished as we know it.”

Without hesitation, the first mate relayed the orders, and soon, the Sea Song began flashing a series of light signals from its side. These rhythmic pulses of light cut through the dense fog, sending a silent, urgent message across the enigmatic border sea.

All eyes on the bridge were fixed on the shadowy figure of the approaching ship through the fog, which seemed to become even more indistinct and spectral as it neared, resembling a mirage. Suddenly, the captain spotted a bright light flashing near the bow of the Vanished—shining through the mist in a repeating pattern.

Could it be? Had the phantom ship actually acknowledged their signal and was now communicating with them?

The flickering light captured the attention of many on the bridge. The captain scrutinized the signal, her brow furrowed in concentration. Moments later, the first mate rushed to her side: “Captain, the Vanished has signaled a salute to us… that’s all.”

Confusion momentarily marred the captain’s stoic face, but another development quickly overshadowed this. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the shadowy figure of the large ship starting to accelerate away through the fog.

The Vanished unfurled its ghostly sails and silently picked up speed, swiftly surpassing the Sea Song and venturing into the more obscure parts of the sea. Its massive form soon vanished, swallowed by the ever-changing mist.

“That direction is…” the first mate began, a realization dawning on him. He whispered in awe, “Captain, the Vanished is heading towards ‘Him’!”

The captain, however, offered no reply. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the horizon. It was as if, in the moment the Vanished disappeared, she glimpsed a distant destiny through the fog.

Suddenly, a soft, deep voice resonated in her ears—

“Little fish… you’ve all done well, now it’s time to rest, don’t be afraid… every weary soul has a destination. If you can’t return, this will be your new haven…”

A profound sense of peace enveloped her, touching the very core of her being. With a slight tremor of resolve, the captain gently closed her eyes and murmured, “…Please bear witness…”

When her eyes snapped open again, they shimmered with an unfathomable depth, reflecting a storm within: “…Bear witness to my return journey. My mission is far from complete.”

Fragments of forgotten memories abruptly flooded back into the captain’s consciousness, reigniting the tale of her journey through the disjointed streams of time. She recalled the arduous passage after crossing the boundary, the myriad challenges and shadows she faced, the obscured sea lying at the fog’s end, an ancient island frozen in a moment of time, the colossal temple, the final resting place of titanic creatures, and the deceased deities within the temple—and her homeland, shrouded in perpetual nightfall.

“…You must traverse that boundary… cross the critical threshold of the six miles… They are reaching out to the mortal realm, go seek Them… convey our regards, and return with Their message…”

The counsel given under Queen Helena’s crown still resonated within her, though it now seemed like millennia had passed, leaving behind nothing more than a faint memory.

The captain shook her head, her steps leading her toward the helm. Unbeknownst to her, the uniform she once wore with pride had degraded into worn, ragged cloth, and the once orderly and glowing bridge had decayed into a crumbling wreck, worn down by the relentless sea breeze and the passage of time. All illumination had faded, the pervasive fog creeping through shattered windows and blanketing the bridge.

The vessel appeared deserted, devoid of any crew members, as if they had long since departed—remaining forever in the Lord’s domain, in that everlasting sanctuary of peace.

As the captain navigated through the desolation, her footing unsteady on the ship that seemed lost to centuries, she caught sight of a figure trembling near the helm.

Likewise, the figure slowly turned to face her.

He appeared desiccated and grotesque as if the sea wind had mummified him over a century, his features contracted and distorted into a visage of horror.

This was no more than a grotesque mummy—but then, the captain realized with a jolt that it was her first mate.

The mummy spoke, its voice grating like coarse stone on stone: “Captain, welcome back to the ship. It seems your retirement is yet to come.”

“…You remained as well.” The captain responded, her voice now just as raspy and chilling as the figure before her.

“Yes, my tasks remain incomplete,” the first mate murmured, “The others have found their rest, but I was haunted by a dream. In it, a ghost ship ablaze with green fire emerged, and you beckoned me to signal it… alas, that signal roused me from sleep. I despise that ship—the Vanished, for it shattered the tranquility bestowed by God… those cursed green flames ensure I’ll never find peace again.”

The captain barely registered the first mate’s bitter recounting—though she noted his drastic changes, her weary mind struggled to focus on these minor details. She simply made her way to the helm, observing the first mate’s efforts there: “Can this ship still embark on a voyage?”

“No,” the first mate replied, turning his head to reveal a ghastly grin, “The steam core ceased to function ages ago, and the hull beneath us has decayed into nothing more than rubble. We’re utterly devoid of any power.”

“…Then what exactly are you attempting to do?”

“I’m trying to make this ship move again, captain,” the first mate explained with deliberate slowness, “If you grasp the steering wheel and will it like a ship… it will begin to move. Believe me, Captain. Eventually, we’ll navigate through this perpetual fog and return to the blasted expanse of the Boundless Sea…”

The captain took a seat, absorbing the first mate’s words. After a considerable silence, she murmured, almost as though she was engaging in a private conversation with herself: “Then I must also find myself a task.”

“I would advise you to leave behind some form of documentation,” the first mate suggested, “Once we cross that boundary again, it’s uncertain what transformations might occur. The changes could be profound; you might no longer be yourself, and I may evolve further beyond my current state. It’s possible we’ll forget our identities and our actions. Only sacred scripture has the power to offer lasting insight…”

Sacred scriptures…

The captain’s eyelids fluttered slowly, her mind briefly sharpening. With a moment’s pause for consideration, she extended her hand to retrieve something from the pocket of her frayed coat.

What she found was her logbook—a possession of every captain who sailed the sea.

Time had also left its mark on the logbook, yet the paper, sanctified by divine blessing, had resisted the ravages of time and decay; its inscriptions remained legible.

She bowed her head, drawing a pencil from another pocket, and began to inscribe a new entry on its pages—

“I am Captain Caraline of the Sea Song. Herein lies the record of my voyage home…”

“We encountered ‘Him’—approximately fifty years after we crossed the critical threshold beyond the six-mile marker.”