Deep Sea Embers

Following the departure of the cargo fleet, the docks, under the cloak of night, transformed into a realm of unparalleled quietude, a stark contrast to the usual hustle and bustle. The once busy machinery for loading and unloading now stood silent, its operations halted, and individuals unrelated to the docks’ operations had been ushered away from the work zones. In this newfound stillness, only the essential security personnel remained, their presence complemented by the soft glow of gas lamps flanking the roads, serving as silent sentinels through the night.

Venturing down the southern ramp of the docks, traversing a lengthy staircase, one would find themselves greeted by the expansive sandy shores. By daylight, this locale was a cherished haven for the town’s residents, offering a respite from the daily grind.

However, in the present nightly atmosphere, all that remained was a deserted beach, its sands caressed by the dark, endless sea. The night air, tinged with the salty chill of the sea breeze, seemed to carry within it whispers of sorrow as the waves relentlessly battered distant rocks, their frothy upheavals casting ghostly shadows under the moon’s ethereal light.

The solemn-faced guardians, tasked with securing all pathways leading to this coastal domain, stood with lanterns and swords in hand, their vigilant eyes piercing the veil of night that lay beyond the city’s limits.

“The coast is now off-limits,” declared a fully armed Truth Guardian, halting Taran El in his tracks. The guardian shone his lantern upon the scholar’s face, meticulously scrutinizing his features and the count of his eyes, “The outer perimeter is now dangerous… Truth Keeper?”

Upon noticing the figure trailing behind Taran, the guardian, illuminated by the lantern’s soft glow, expressed surprise at recognizing the visage of Ted Lir.

“We merely seek a stroll along the shore,” Ted Lir assured the guardian with a gentle nod, “We shall return within the hour.”

“…You may proceed, but this gentleman must present a pass,” the Truth Guardian responded after a moment’s hesitation, his gaze fixed upon Taran El, “Without it, passage is barred.”

“I am Taran El, a university professor granted second-tier night passage privileges.” Taran El promptly produced the requisite document from his attire, a pass he always carried. “This grants me access to the coastal region…”

Upon inspecting Taran El’s credentials, the Truth Guardian’s demeanor softened, and he allowed them to pass.

“Thank you,” Ted Lir expressed his gratitude to the guardian, advancing forward.

Yet, as they were about to cross the checkpoint, the guardian felt compelled to voice his concerns: “…Truth Keeper, and Professor Taran, with the departure of the sun fragment, the coast has been sealed. What purpose brings you here?”

“…We aim to see any alterations to the coastal region after the sun fragment’s departure,” Taran El explained as they continued their walk, “We’ll not be long.”

Silence enveloped Taran El and Ted Lir as they meandered along the quiet beach, a silence that was soon broken by Taran El’s observation.

“It seems this area too has been cordoned off,” he remarked, noting the heightened vigilance, “The guardians here are exceptionally dedicated.”

“They were chosen by me,” Ted Lir revealed, “This coastal zone is merely one of many sealed areas. Should this have been the Great Steam Core or a Level One Containment Zone, even I, alongside the Governor, would be obliged to present identification and justify our presence.”

A moment of silence ensued before Taran El voiced another thought, “Any word yet?”

“The Vanished and the Bright Star crossed the border a month past. Now, their existence is all we can determine,” Ted Lir replied with calm resolve, “Captain Duncan remains stationed in Pland, and the avatar at Frost continues its daily actions. Occasionally, tidbits concerning the Vanished are all there is to go upon in terms of information. The news about the end of the world is still mostly confined to secrecy among the city-states.”

After a brief pause, Ted Lir added, “Even my resources are limited to such snippets of information.”

“Knowing they are ‘alive’ and active at the border offers a bit of comfort,” Taran El confessed softly.

“The irony isn’t lost on me,” Ted Lir said, slowing his pace, a complex emotion surfacing, “that amidst all this, neither ship has encountered a single soul truly ‘alive.'”

Taran El couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Hence my use of ‘alive.’ Was that not apparent?”

Ted Lir shot Taran El a look of mock frustration, “…How could that have been clear?”

Their laughter broke the night’s solemnity, offering a brief respite from the cold air. Taran El then turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the Storm Church’s Ark once stood. Now, only the vast, empty expanse of sea met his eyes, its surface a pale glow under the fissuring crack in the sky.

“The arks have departed,” Taran El mused, a sense of abandonment enveloping him, “Wind Harbor feel so forsaken…”

“Quit it with your melodrama,” Ted Lir chided pragmatically, “Bury yourself in grading papers for a night, and such fanciful notions will quickly fade.”

“I am unlike you,” Taran El retorted, pride in his tone, “My students are diligent; their submissions reflect earnest effort…”

Ted Lir merely snorted, dismissing the scholar’s sentiment.

Yet, after a prolonged silence, both men found common ground by speaking in unison, “Grading papers has its merits.”

Caught off guard by their simultaneous realization, they shared a moment of bitter laughter before retreating into silence once more.

Just beyond where they stood, the vast expanse of the sea mirrored their silence, its surface as still as glass, unmarred by any ripple. The sea air, laden with the tang of salt and the bite of chill, swept in from the unseen horizons, yet the sea itself remained eerily calm as if under a spell.

The celestial luminescence bathed the world, casting a uniform, ghostly glow over everything, transforming the nocturnal seascape into a scene of otherworldly calm.

Ted Lir, his expression clouded with concern, gazed out toward the tranquil coastline, his forehead creased in confusion.

“What seems to be the matter?” inquired Taran El, noting the unease on his companion’s face.

“It’s weird… I suddenly have this sensation that we’re missing something,” Ted Lir voiced his unease, his words tinged with uncertainty. “Don’t you feel it too? There ought to be sounds – the whisper of wind caressing the sea’s surface, the gentle batter of water against the shore…”

He trailed off, his gaze fixated on the distant, silent sea as he stood enveloped in the night’s stillness.

Gradually, both men persuaded themselves that perhaps all was as it should be.

…

Meanwhile, Tyrian, standing at the shoreline, faced the sea’s unnatural stillness with a furrowed brow. A momentary wave of disorientation swept over him, blurring the lines between reality and something else entirely.

Shaking his head in a bid to dispel the fog of confusion, he grappled with an internal contradiction. His senses told him the sea’s calm was normal, yet a part of him stubbornly held onto the memory of a different scene – one where waves danced and frolicked.

Breaking the silence, he uttered, “…The waves have vanished.”

Turning to address the imposing figure beside him, he sought confirmation, “Father, is there something amiss?”

Duncan remained silent, pondering, while the confused Aiden asked, “Waves? What’s wrong with them? What do you mean?”

Tyrian’s confusion deepened upon hearing Aiden’s response, prompting him to physically shake his head in an attempt to clear the unsettling sensation. He gazed out at the sea, feeling a fundamental aspect of it slipping away from his grasp, a ‘natural vision’ of the world fading from collective memory.

Then, Duncan’s voice reached him, solemn and grave: “She has forgotten the waves.”

This declaration seemed to anchor Tyrian back to clarity. The mention of “the waves” by his father abruptly dispelled his confusion, replacing it with sheer astonishment.

He looked out to the sea, eyes wide with realization.

Aiden, too, appeared to snap out of his own befuddlement, his gaze towards the sea now filled with a mix of realization and fear.

In this moment, it became apparent that across the world, the sea had transformed into a mirror-like calm – the concept of “waves” had been erased from existence.

“Father,” Tyrian turned sharply towards Duncan, a sense of urgency in his voice, “The Storm Goddess, She…”

“It’s rot,” Duncan interjected softly, his voice carrying a weight of inevitability.

Tyrian and Aiden froze, absorbing the gravity of the situation.

“Fear not, She remains with us. Although the decaying rot deepens, the sea endures, and thus, so does she,” Duncan reassured them, dispelling the dread with his calm demeanor. “This ‘peeling away’ is but part of the rot’s progression, a phenomenon not unfamiliar to our world.”

Tyrian, momentarily stunned, echoed, “Already occurred before?”

Duncan posed a question, seemingly out of the blue, “Do you recall how many intelligent races inhabit our world?”

“Of course, there’s three…” Tyrian responded almost reflexively.

However, Duncan’s question hinted at a deeper, more unsettling truth, suggesting a loss far greater than just the waves – a hint of forgotten histories and beings.

“Before long, you’ll also lose the memory of waves breaking against the shore. The world will ‘correct’ this, erasing it from existence. Until then, cherish the memory of their ‘existence’,” Duncan spoke softly, his hand resting reassuringly on Tyrian’s shoulder.

“Do not mention ‘waves’ from now on; the very word is considered a blasphemous concept and will contaminate those who hear it.”

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